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QUEEN  ANNE. 


A  CHILD'S 


HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND 


BY 

CHARLES  DICKENS 


NEW   YORK 

JOHN  W.   LOVELL   COMPANY 

150  Worth  Street,  corner  Mission  Place 


tH* 


I  vJ»* 


CONTENTS, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

PAGE. 

Chapter  I.     Ancient  England  and  the  Romans, 7 

Chapter  II.  Ancient  England  under  the  early  Saxons,  .  .  .  16 
Chapter  III.  England  under  the  good  Saxon,  Alfred,  ...  20 
Chapter  IV.     England  under  Athelstan  and  the  six  boy  kings,     .        .      26 

Chapter  V.     England  under  Canute  the  Dane, 36 

Chapter  VI.     England   under   Harold   Harefoot,    Hardicanute,    and 

Edward  the  Confessor, 3^ 

Chapter  VII.     England  under  Harold  the  Second,  and  conquered  by 

the  Normans, 45 

Chapter  VIII.     England  under  William  the  First,  the  Norman  Con- 
queror,        .  49 

Chapter  IX.  England  under  William  the  Second,  called  Rufus,  .  56 
Chapter  X.  England  under  Henry  the  First,  called  Fine-Scholar,  .  62 
Chapter  XI.  England  under  Matilda  and  Stephen,  .  .  .  73 
Chapter  XII.  England  under  Henry  the  Second,  ....  75 
Chapter  XIII.  England  under  Richard  the  First,  called  the  Lion- 
Heart,  93 

Chapter  XIV.  England  under  King  John,  called  Lackland,  .  .  102 
Chapter  XV.     England  under  Henry  the  Third,   called   Henry  the 

Third  of  Winchester, IX3 

Chapter  XVI.  England  under  Edward  the  First,  called  Longshanks,  125 
Chapter  XVII.  England  under  Edward  the  Second,  .  .  .  .  141 
Chapter  XVIII.  England  under  Edward  the  Third,  .  .  .  .150 
Chapter  XIX.  England  under  Richard  the  Second,  .  .  .  .162 
Chapter  XX.     England    under  Henry    the    Fourth,    called    Boling- 

broke, J72 

Chapter  XXI.     England  under  Henry  the  Fifth, 177 

Chapter  XXII.     England  under  Henry  the  Sixth,         .        .        .        .187 

Chapter  XXIII.     England  under  Edward  the  Fourth 205 

Chapter  XXIV.  England  under  Edward  the  Fifth,  .  .  .  .212 
Chapter  XXV.  England  under  Richard  the  Third,  .  .  .  .217 
Chapter  XXVI.  England  under  Henry  the  Seventh,  .  .  .  .221 
Chapter  XXVII.     England  under  Henry  the  Eighth,  called  Bluff  King 

Hal,  and  Burly  King  Harry,      ........    SJI 


M 194477 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Merry 
Chapter 
Chapter 


XXVIII.  England  under  Henry  the  Eighth, 

XXIX.  England  under  Edward  the  Sixth,     . 

XXX.  England  under  Mary,  .... 

XXXI.  England  under  Elizabeth,  .        .        . 

XXXII.  England  under  James  the  First, 
England  under  Charles  the  First,  . 
England  under  Oliver  Cromwell,    . 

England    under    Charles    the  Second, 


XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

Monarch, 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 


England  under  James  the  Second, 
Conclusion,    .        .        .        .        . 


called 


PAGE. 

•  242 

.  252 

.  =59 

.  271 

.  294 

.  3Jo 

.  337 


the 


353 
373 

380 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


No  Thoroughfare, X 

Master  Humphrey's  Clock, .         .         .        .  120 

The  Mudfog  Association 235 

Holiday  Romance, •        •         .         .  276 

George  Silverman's  Explanation,       .        .        .        .        .        .         .         .  311 

The  Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary,        ...*•••        -  33** 

Perils  of  Certain  English  Prisoners,  .        .                 •        .        .        .         .  366 

The  Haunted  Hou»e,                  » 411 


A 

CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ANCIENT  ENGLAND  AND  THE  ROMANS. 

If  you  look  at  a  Map  of  the  World,  you  will  see,  in  the  left- 
hand  upper  corner  of  the  Eastern  Hemisphere,  two  Islands 
lying  in  the  sea.  They  are  England  and  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land. England  and  Scotland  form  the  greater  part  of  these 
Islands.  Ireland  is  the  next  in  size.  The  little  neighboring 
islands,  which  are  so  small  upon  the  Map  as  to  be  mere  dots, 
are  chiefly  little  bits  of  Scotland — broken  off,  I  dare  say,  in 
the  course  of  a  great  length  of  time,  by  the  power  of  the 
restless  water. 

In  the  old  days,  a  long,  long  while  ago,  before  Our  Saviour 
was  born  on  earth  and  lay  asleep  in  a  manger,  these  Islands 
were  in  the  same  place,  and  the  stormy  sea  roared  round 
them,  just  as  it  roars  now.  But  the  sea  was  not  alive,  then, 
with  great  ships  and  brave  sailors,  sailing  to  and  from  all 
parts  of  the  world.  It  was  very  lonely.  The  Islands  lay 
solitary,  in  the  great  expanse  of  water.  The  foaming  waves 
dashed  against  their  cliffs,  and  the  bleak  winds  blew  over 
their  forests  ;  but  the  winds  and  waves  brought  no  adventur- 
ers to  land  upon  the  Islands,  and  the  savage  Islanders  knew 
nothing  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  the  rest  of  the  world 
knew  nothing  of  them. 

It  is  supposed  that  the  Phoenicians,  who  were  an  ancient 
people,  famous  for  carrying  on  trade,  came  in  ships  to  these 
Islands,  and  found  that  they  produced  tin  and  lead  ;  both  very 
useful  things,  as  you  know,  and  both  produced  to  this  very 
hour  upon  the  sea-coast.  The  most  celebrated  tin  mines  in 
Cornwall  are,  still,  close  to  the  sea.     One  of  them,  which  I 


B  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

have  seen,  is  so  close  to  it  that  it  is  hollowed  out  underneath 
the  ocean  ;  and  the  miners  say,  that  in  stormy  weather,  when 
they  are  at  work  down  in  that  deep  place,  they  can  hear  the 
noise  of  the  waves  thundering  above  their  heads.  So,  the 
Phoenicians,  coasting  about  the  Islands,  would  come,  without 
much  difficulty,  to  where  the  tin  and  lead  were. 

The  Phoenicians  traded  with  the  Islanders  for  these  metals, 
and  gave  the  Islanders  some  other  useful  things  in  exchange. 
The  Islanders  were,  at  first,  poor  savages,  going  almost  na- 
ked, or  only  dressed  in  the  rough  skins  of  beasts,  and  stain- 
ing their  bodies,  as  other  savages  do,  with  colored  earths  and 
the  juices  of  plants.  But  the  Phoenicians,  sailing  over  to  the 
opposite  coasts  of  France  and  Belgium,  and  saying  to  the  peo- 
ple there,  "  We  have  been  to  those  white  cliffs  across  the 
water,  which  you  can  see  in  fine  weather,  and  from  that 
country,  which  is  called  Britain,  we  bring  this  tin  and  lead," 
tempted  some  of  the  French  and  Belgians  to  come  over  also. 
These  people  settled  themselves  on  the  south  coast  of  En- 
gland, which  is  now  called  Kent  ;  and,  although  they  were  a 
rough  people  too,  they  taught  the  savage  Britons  some  useful 
arts,  and  improved  that  part  of  the  Islands.  It  is  probable 
that  other  people  came  over  from  Spain  to  Ireland,  and  set- 
tled there. 

Thus,  by  little  and  little,  strangers  became  mixed  with  the 
Islanders,  and  the  savage  Britons  grew  into  a  wild,  bold  peo- 
ple ;  almost  savage,  still,  especially  in  the  interior  of  the  coun- 
try away  from  the  sea  where  the  foreign  settlers  seldom  went  ; 
but  hardy,  brave,  and  strong. 

The  whole  country  was  covered  with  forests  and  swamps. 
The  greater  part  of  it  was  very  misty  and  cold.  There  were 
no  roads,  no  bridges,  no  streets,  no  houses  that  you  would 
think  deserving  of  the  name.  A  town  was  nothing  but  a 
collection  of  straw-covered  huts,  hidden  in  a  thick  wood,  with 
a  ditch  all  round,  and  a  low  wall,  made  of  mud,  or  the  trunks 
of  trees  placed  one  upon  another.  The  people  planted  little 
or  no  corn,  but  lived  upon  the  flesh  of  their  flocks  and  cattle. 
They  made  no  coins,  but  used  metal  rings  for  money.  They 
were  clever  in  basket-work,  as  savage  people  often  are  ;  and 
they  could  make  a  coarse  kind  of  cloth,  and  some  very  bad 
earthenware.  But  in  building  fortresses  they  were  much  more 
clever. 

They  made  boats  of  basket-work,  covered  with  the  skin  of 
animals,  but  seldom,  if  ever,  ventured  far  from  the  shore. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  9 

They  made  swords,  of  copper  mixed  with  tin  ;  but  these 
swords  were  of  an  awkward  shape,  and  so  soft  that  a  heavy 
blow  would  bend  one.  They  made  light  shields,  short  pointed 
daggers,  and  spears — which  they  jerked  back  after  they  had 
thrown  them  at  an  enemy,  by  a  long  strip  of  leather  fastened 
,to  the  stem.  The  butt-end  was  a  rattle,  to  frighten  an  ene- 
my's horse.  The  ancient  Britons,  being  divided  into  as  many 
as  thirty  or  forty  tribes,  each  commanded  by  its  own  little 
king,  were  constantly  fighting  with  one  another,  as  savage 
people  usually  do,  and  they  always  fought  with  these 
weapons. 

They  were  very  fond  of  horses.  The  standard  of  Kent  was 
the  picture  of  a  white  horse.  They  oould  break  them  in  and 
manage  them  wonderfully  well.  Indeed,  the  horses  (of 
which  they  had  an  abundance,  though  they  were  rather  small) 
were  so  well  taught  in  those  days,  that  they  can  scarcely  be 
said  tp  have  improved  since  ;  though  *he  men  are  so  much 
Wiser.'  They  understood,  and  obeyed,  every  word  of  com- 
mand  ;  and  would  stand  still  by  themselves,  in  all  the  din 
and  noise  of  battle,  while  their  masters  w?nt  to  fight  on  foot, 
The  Britons  could  not  have  succeeded  in  their  most  re- 
markable art,  without  the  aid  of  these  sensible  and  trusty 
animals.  The  art  I  mean,  is  the  construction  and  manage- 
ment of  war-chariots  or  cars,  for  which  ttosy  have  ever  been 
celebrated  in  history.  Each  of  the  best  sort  of  these  chariots, 
not  quite  breast  high  in  front,  and  open  at  the  back,  con- 
tained one  man  to  drive,  and  two  or  three  others  to  fight — 
all  standing  up.  The  horses  who  drew  them  were  so  well 
trained,  that  they  would  tear  at  full  gallop,  over  the  most 
stony  ways,  and  even  through  the  woods  ;  dashing  down  their 
master's  enemies  beneath  their  hoofs,  and  cutting  them  to 
pieces  with  the  blades  of  swords  or  scythes,  which  were 
fastened  to  the  wheels,  and  stretched  out  beyond  the  car  on 
each  side,  for  that  cruel  purpose.  In  a  moment,  while  at  full 
speed,  the  horses  would  stop,  at  the  driver's  command.  The 
men  within  would  leap  out,  deal  blows  about  them  with  their 
swords  like  hail,  leap  on  the  horses,  on  the  pole,  spring  back 
into  the  chariots  any  how  ;  and,  as  soon  as  they  vere  safe, 
the  horses  tore  away  again. 

The  Britons  had  a.  strange  and  terrible  religion,  called  the 
Religion  of  the  Druids.  It  seems  to  have  been  brought 
over,  in  very  early  times  indeed,  from  the  opposite  country 
of  France,  anciently  called  Gaul,  and  to  have  mixed  up  th< 


io  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

worship  of  the  Serpent,  and  of  the  sun  and  moon,  with  the 
worship  of  some  of  the  Heathen  Gods  and  Goddesses. 
Most  of  its  ceremonies  were  kept  secret  by  the  priests,  the 
Druids,  who  pretended  to  be  enchanters,  and  who  carried 
magicians'  wands,  and  wore,  each  of  them,  about  his  neck, 
what  he  told  the  ignorant  people  was  a  Serpent's  egg  in  a 
golden  case.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  Druidical  ceremo- 
nies included  the  sacrifice  of  human  victims,  the  torture  of 
some  suspected  criminals,  and,  on  particular  occasions,  even 
the  burning  alive  in  immense  wicker  cages,  of  a  number  of 
men  and  animals  together.  The  Druid  priests  had  some  kind 
of  veneration  for  the  oak,  and  for  the  mistletoe — the  same 
plant  that  we  hang  up  in  houses  at  Christmas  Time  now — 
when  its  white  berries  grew  upon  the  oak.  They  met  to- 
gether in  dark  woods,  which  they  called  sacred  groves  ;  and 
there  they  instructed,  in  their  mysterious  arts,  young  men 
who  came  to  them  as  pupils,  and  who  sometimes  staid  with 
them  as  long  as  twenty  years. 

These  Druids  built  great  temples  and  altars,  open  to  the 
sky,  fragments  of  some  of  which  are  yet  remaining.  Stone- 
henge,  on  Salisbury  Plain,  in  Wiltshire,  is  the  most  extraor- 
dinary of  these.  Three  curious  stones,  called  Kits  Coty 
House,  on  Bluebell  Hill,  near  Maidstone,  in  Kent,  form  an- 
other. We  know,  from  examination  of  the  great  blocks  of 
which  such  buildings  are  made,  that  they  could  not  have  been 
raised  without  the  aid  of  some  ingenious  machines,  which  are 
common  now,  but  which  the  ancient  Britons  certainly  did  not 
use  in  making  their  own  uncomfortable  houses.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  the  Druids,  and  their  pupils  who  staid  with  them 
twenty  years,  knowing  more  than  the  rest  of  the  Britons,  kept 
the  people  out  of  sight  while  they  made  these  buildings,  and 
then  pretended  that  they  built  them  by  magic.  Perhaps 
they  had  a  hand  in  the  fortresses  too  ;  at  ail  events,  as  they 
were  very  powerful,  and  very  much  believed  in,  and  as  they 
made  and  executed  the  laws,  and  paid  no  taxes,  I  don't  won- 
der that  they  liked  their  trade.  And,  as  they  persuaded  the 
people  the  more  Druids  there  were,  the  better  off  the  people 
would  be,  I  don't  wonder  that  there  were  a  good  many  of 
them.  But  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that  there  are  no  Druids, 
noK>,  who  go  on  in  that  way,  and  pretend  to  carry  Enchanters' 
Wands  and  Serpents'  Eggs — and  of  course  there  is  nothing 
of  the  kind,  any  where. 

Such  was  the  improved  condition  of  the  ancient  Britons, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  it 

fifty-five  years  before  the  birth  of  Our  Saviour,  when  the  Ro- 
mans, under  their  great  general,  Julius  Caesar,  were  masters 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  known  world.  Julius  Caesar  had  then  just 
conquered  Gaul ;  and  hearing,  in  Gaul,  a  good  deal  about  the 
opposite  Island  with  the  white  cliffs,  and  about  the  bravery 
of  the  Britons  who  inhabited  it — some  of  whom  had  been 
fetched  over  to  help  the  Gauls  in  the  war  against  him — he  re- 
solved, as  he  was  so  near,  to  come  and  conquer  Britain  next. 

So,  Julius  Caesar  came  sailing  over  to  this  island  of  ours, 
with  eighty  vessels  and  twelve  thousand  men.  And  he  came 
from  the  French  coast  between  Calais  and  Boulogne,  "  be- 
cause thence  was  the  shortest  passage  into  Britain  ;  "  just  for 
the  same  reason  as  our  steam-boats  now  take  the  same  track, 
every  day.  He  expected  to  conquer  Britain  easily  :  but  it 
was  not  such  easy  work  as  he  supposed — for  the  bold  Britons 
fought  most  bravely  ;  and,  what  with  not  having  his  horse- 
soldiers  with  him  (for  they  had  been  driven  back  by  a  storm), 
and  what  with  having  some  of  his  vessels  dashed  to  pieces  by 
a  high  tide  after  they  were  drawn  ashore,  he  ran  great  risk 
of  being  totally  defeated.  However,  for  once  that  the  bold 
Britons  beat  him,  he  beat  them  twice  ;  though  not  so  soundly 
but  that  he  was  very  glad  to  accept  their  proposals  of  peace, 
and  go  away. 

But,  in  the  spring  of  the  next  year,  he  came  back  ;  this 
time,  with  eight  hundred  vessels  and  thirty  thousand  men. 
The  British  tribes  chose,  as  their  general-in-chief,  a  Briton, 
whom  the  Romans  in  their  Latin  language  called  Cassivel- 
launus,  but  whose  British  name  is  supposed  to  have  been 
Caswallon.  A  brave  general  he  was,  and  well  he  and  his 
soldiers  fought  the  Roman  army !  So  well,  that  whenever  in 
that  war  the  Roman  soldiers  saw  a  great  cloud  of  dust,  and 
heard  the  rattle  of  the  .apid  British  chariots,  they  trembled 
in  their  hearts.  Besides  a  number  of  smaller  battles,  there 
was  a  battle  fought  near  Canterbury,  in  Kent  ;  there  was  a 
battle  fought  near  Chertsey,  in  Surrey  ;  there  was  a  battle 
fought  near  a  marshy  little  town  in  a  wood,  the  capital  of 
that  part  of  Britain  which  belonged  to  Cassivellaunus,  and 
which  was  probably  near  what  is  now  St.  Albans,  in  Hertford- 
shire. However,  brave  Cassivellaunus  had  the  worst  of  it, 
on  the  whole  ;  though  he  and  his  men  always  fought  like  lions. 
As  the  other  British  chiefs  were  jealous  of  hire?  and  were  always 
quarreling  with  him,  and  with  one  another,  he  gave  up,  and 
proposed  peace.     Julius  Caesar  was  very  glad  to  grant  peace 


12  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

easily,  and  to  go  away  again  with  all  his  remaining  ships  and 
men.  He  had  expected  to  find  pearls  in  Britain,  and  he  may 
have  found  a  few  for  any  thing  I  know  ;  but,  at  all  events,  he 
found  delicious  oysters,  and  I  am  sure  he  found  tough  Britons 
— of  whom,  I  dare  say,  he  made  the  same  complaint  as  Na- 
poleon Bonaparte  the  great  French  General  did,  eighteen 
hundred  years  afterwards,  when  he  said  they  were  such  un- 
reasonable fellows  that  they  never  knew  when  they  were 
beaten.     They  never  did  know,  I  believe,  and  never  will. 

Nearly  a  hundred  years  passed  on,  and  all  that  time  there 
was  peace  in  Britain.  The  Britons  improved  their  towns  and 
mode  of  life  :  became  more  civilized,  traveled,  and  learned  a 
great  deal  from  the  Gauls  and  Romans.  At  last,  the  Roman 
Emperor,  Claudius,  sent  Aulus  Plautius,  a  skillful  general, 
with  a  mighty  force,  to  subdue  the  Island,  and  shortly  after- 
wards arrived  himself.  They  did  little  ;  and  Ostorius  Scap- 
ula, another  general,  came.  Some  of  the  British  Chiefs  of 
Tribes  submitted.  Others  resolved  to  fight  to  the  death 
Of  these  brave  men,  the  bravest  was  Caractacus  or  Caradoc, 
who  gave  battle  to  the  Romans,  with  his  army,  among  the 
mountains  of  North  Wales.  "  This  day,"  said  he  to  his  sol- 
diers, "  decides  the  fate  of  Britain  !  Your  liberty,  or  your 
eternal  slavery,  dates  from  this  hour.  Remember  your  brave 
ancestors,  who  drove  the  great  Caesar  himself  across  the  sea  !  " 
On  hearing  these  words,  his  men,  with  a  great  shout,  rushed 
upon  the  Romans.  But  the  strong  Roman  swords  and  armor 
were  too  much  for  the  weaker  British  weapons  in  close  con- 
flict. The  Britons  lost  the  day.  The  wife  and  daughter  of 
the  brave  Caractacus  were  taken  prisoners  ;  his  brothers  de- 
livered themselves  up  ;  he  himself  was  betrayed  into  the  hands 
of  the  Romans  by  his  false  and  base  stepmother  ;  and  they 
carried  him,  and  all  his  family,  in  triumph  to  Rome. 

But  a  great  man  will  be  great  in  misfortune,  great  in  prison, 
great  in  chains.  His  noble  air,  and  dignified  endurance  of 
distress,  so  touched  the  Roman  people  who  thronged  the 
streets  to  see  him,  that  he  and  his  family  were  restored  to 
freedom.  No  one  knows  whether  his  great  heart  broke,  and 
he  died  in  Rome,  or  whether  he  ever  returned  to  his  own 
dear  country.  English  oaks  have  grownup  from  acorns,  and 
withered  away,  when  they  were  hundreds  of  years  old — and 
other  oaks  have  sprung  up  in  their  places,  and  died  too,  very 
aged — since  the  rest  of  the  history  of  the  brave  Caractacus 
was  forgotten. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  13 

Still  the  Britons  would  not  yield.  They  rose  again  and 
again,  and  died  by  thousands,  sword  in  hand.  They  rose 
on  every  possible  occasion.  Suetonius,  another  Roman 
general,  came,  and  stormed  the  Island  of  Anglesey  (then 
called  Mona)  which  was  supposed  to  be  sacred,  and  he  burned 
the  Druids  in  their  own  wicker  cages,  by  their  own  fires. 
But,  even  while  he  was  in  Britain,  with  his  victorious  troops, 
the  Britons  rose.  Because  Boadicea,  a  British  queen,  the 
widow  of  the  King  of  the  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  people,  resisted 
the  plundering  of  her  property  by  the  Romans  who  were  set- 
tled in  England,  she  was  scourged,  by  order  of  Catus,  a  Ro- 
man officer;  and  her  two  daughters  were  shamefully  insulted 
in  her  presence,  and  her  husband's  relations  were  made  slaves. 
To  avenge  this  injury,  the  Britons  rose,  with  all  their  might 
and  rage.  They  drove  Catus  into  Gaul  ;  they  laid  the  Roman 
possessions  waste  ;  they  forced  the  Romans  out  of  London, 
then  a  poor  little  town,  but  a  trading  place  ;  they  hanged, 
burned,  crucified,  and  slew  by  the  sword,  seventy  thousand 
Romans  in  a  few  days.  Suetonius  strengthened  his  army, 
and  advanced  to  give  them  battle.  They  strengthened  their 
army,  and  desperately  attacked  his,  on  the  field  where  it  was 
strongly  posted.  Before  the  first  charge  of  the  Britons  was 
made,  Boadicea,  in  a  war-chariot,  with  her  fair  hair  stream- 
ing in  the  wind,  and  her  injured  daughters  lying  at  her  feet, 
drove  among  the  troops,  and  cried  to  them  for  vengeance  on 
their  oppressors,  the  licentious  Romans.  The  Britons  fought 
to  the  last  ;  but  they  were  vanquished  with  great  slaughter, 
and  the  unhappy  queen  took  poison. 

Still,  the  spirit  of  the  Britons  was  not  broken.  When 
Suetonius  left  the  country,  they  fell  upon  his  troops,  and  re- 
took the  Island  of  Anglesey.  Agricola  came,  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  afterward,  and  retook  it  once  more,  and  de- 
voted seven  years  to  subduing  the  country,  especially  that 
part  of  it  which  is  now  called  Scotland  ;  but  its  people,  the 
Caledonians,  resisted  him  at  every  inch  of  ground.  #  They 
fought  the  bloodiest  battles  with  him  ;  they  killed  their  very 
wives  and  children,  to  prevent  his  making  prisoners  of  them  ; 
they  fell,  fighting,  in  such  great  numbers  that  certain  hills  in 
Scotland  are  yet  supposed  to  be  vast  heaps  of  stones  piled 
up  above  their  graves.  Hadrian  came  thirty  years  after- 
ward, and  still  they  resisted  him.  Severus  came,  nearly  a 
hundred  years  afterward,  and  they  worried  his  great  army 
like  dogs,  and  rejoiced  to  see  them  die,  by  thousands,  in  the 


14  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

bogs  and  swamps.  Caracalla,  the  son  and  successor  of 
Severus,  did  the  most  to  conquer  them,  for  a  time ;  but  not 
by  force  of  arms.  He  knew  how  little  that  would  do.  He 
yielded  up  a  quantity  of  land  to  the  Caledonians,  and  gave 
the  Britons  the  same  privileges  as  the  Romans  possessed. 
There  was  peace,  after  this,  for  seventy  years. 

Then  new  enemies  arose.  They  were  the  Saxons,  a  fierce, 
seafaring  people  from  the  countries  to  the  North  of  the 
Rhine,  the  great  river  of  Germany  on  the  banks  of  which 
the  best  grapes  grow  to  make  the  German  wine.  They  be- 
gan to  come,  in  pirate  ships,  to  the  sea-coast  of  Gaul  and 
Britain,  and  to  plunder  them.  They  were  repulsed  by 
Carausius,  a  native  either  of  Belgium  or  of  Britain,  who  was 
appointed  by  the  Romans  to  the  command,  and  under  whom 
the  Britons  first  began  to  fight  upon  the  sea.  But,  after  this 
time,  they  renewed  their  ravages.  A  few  years  more,  and 
the  Scots  (which  was  then  the  name  for  the  people  of 
Ireland),  and  the  Picts,  a  northern  people,  began  to  make 
frequent  plundering  incursions  into  the  South  of  Britain. 
All  these  attacks  were  repeated,  at  intervals,  during  two 
hundred  years,  and  through  a  long  succession  of  Roman 
Emperors  and  Chiefs ;  during  all  which  length  of  time,  the 
Britons  rose  against  the  Romans,  over  and  over  again.  At 
last  in  the  days  of  the  Roman  Honorius,  when  the  Roman 
power  all  over  the  world  was  fast  declining,  and  when  Rome 
wanted  all  her  soldiers  at  home,  the  Romans  abandoned  all 
hope  of  conquering  Britain,  and  went  away.  And  still,  at 
last,  as  at  first,  the  Britons  rose  against  them,  in  their  old 
brave  manner  ;  for,  a  very  little  while  before,  they  had 
turned  away  the  Roman  magistrates,  and  declared  them- 
selves an  independent  people. 

Five  hundred  years  had  passed,  since  Julius  Caesar's  first 
invasion  of  the  Island,  when  the  Romans  departed  from  it 
forever.  In  the  course  of  that  time,  although  they  had  been 
the  cause  of  terrible  fighting  and  bloodshed,  they  had  done 
much  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  Britons.  They  had 
made  great  military  roads  ;  they  had  built  forts  ;  they  had 
taught  them  how  to  dress,  and  arm  themselves,  much  better 
than  they  had  ever  known  how  to  do  before  ;  they  had  re- 
fined the  whole  British  way  of  living.  Agricola  had  built  a 
great  wall  of  earth,  more  than  seventy  miles  long,  extending 
from  Newcastle  to  beyond  Carlisle,  for  the  purpose  of  keep- 
ing out  the  Picts  and  Scots  ;  Hadrian  had  strengthened  it ; 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  15 

Severus,  finding  it  much  in  want  of  repair,  had  built  it  afresh 
of  stone.  Above  all,  it  was  in  the  Roman  time,  and  by 
means  of  Roman  ships,  that  the  Christian  religion  was  first 
brought  into  Britain,  and  its  people  first  taught  the  great 
lesson  that,  to  be  good  in  the  sight  of  God,  they  must  love 
their  neighbors  as  themselves,  and  do  unto  others  as  they 
would  be  done  by.  The  Druids  declared  that  it  was  very 
wicked  to  believe  in  any  such  thing,  and  cursed  all  the 
people  who  did  believe  it  very  heartily.  But,  when  the 
people  found  that  they  were  none  the  better  for  the  blessings 
of  the  Druids,  and  none  the  worse  for  the  curses  of  the 
Druids,  but,  that  the  sun  shone  and  the  rain  fell  without 
consulting  the  Druids  at  all,  they  just  began  to  think  that 
the  Druids  were  mere  men,  and  that  it  signified  very  little 
whether  they  cursed  or  blessed.  After  which,  the  pupils  of 
the  Druids  fell  off  greatly  in  numbers,  and  the  Druids  took 
to  other  trades. 

Thus  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  the  Roman  time  in 
England.  It  is  but  little  that  is  known  of  those  five  hundred 
years  ;  but  some  remains  of  them  are  still  found.  Often, 
when  laborers  are  digging  up  the  ground  to  make  founda- 
tions for  houses  or  churches,  they  light  on  rusty  money  that 
once  belonged  to  the  Romans.  Fragments  of  plates  from 
which  they  ate,  of  goblets  from  which  they  drank,  and  of 
pavement  on  which  they  trod,  are  discovered  among  the 
<ear/c'h  that  is  broken  by  the  plow,  or  the  dust  that  is 
crumbled  by  the  gardener's  spade.  Wells  that  the  Romans 
sunk,  still  yield  water ;  roads  that  the  Romans  made,  form 
part  of  our  highways.  In  some  old  battle-fields,  British 
spear-heads  and  Roman  armor  have  been  found,  mingled 
together  in  decay,  as  they  fell  in  the  thick  pressure  of  the 
fight.  Traces  of  Roman  camps  overgrown  with  grass,  and 
of  mounds  that  are  the  burial-places  of  heaps  of  Britons,  are 
to  be  seen  in  almost  all  parts  of  the  country.  Across  the 
bleak  moors  of  Northumberland,  the  wall  of  Severus,  over- 
run with  moss  and  weeds,  still  stretches,  a  strong  ruin  ;  and 
the  shepherds  and  their  dogs  lie  sleeping  on  it  in  the  summer 
weather.  On  Salisbury  Plain,  Stonehenge  yet  stands :  a 
monument  of  the  earlier  time  when  the  Roman  name  was 
unknown  in  Britain,  and  when  the  Druids,  with  their  best 
magic  wands,  coul&nflj:  have  written  it  in  the  sands  of  the 
•wild  sea-shoi;e. 


16  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER  II. 

ANCIENT    ENGLAND    UNDER    THE    EARLY    SAXONS. 

The  Romans  had  scarcely  gone  away  from  Britain,  when 
the  Britons  began  to  wish  they  had  never  left  it.  For,  the 
Roman  soldiers  being  gone,  and  the  Britons  being  much  re- 
duced in  numbers  by  their  long  wars,  the  Picts  and  Scots 
came  pouring  in,  over  the  broken  and  unguarded  wall  of 
Severus,  in  swarms.  They  plundered  the  richest  towns,  and 
killed  the  people  ;  and  came  back  so  often  for  more  booty 
and  more  slaughter,  that  the  unfortunate  Britons  lived  a  life 
of  terror.  As  if  the  Picts  and  Scots  were  not  bad  enough  on 
land,  the  Saxons  attacked  the  islanders  by  sea ;  and,  as  if 
something  more  were  still  wanting  to  make  them  miserable, 
they  quarreled  bitterly  among  themselves  as  to  what  prayers 
they  ought  to  say,  and  how  they  ought  to  say  them.  The 
priests,  being  very  angry  with  one  another  on  these  questions, 
cursed  one  another  in  the  heartiest  manner ;  and  (uncom- 
monly like  the  old  Druids)  cursed  all  the  people  whom  they 
could  not  persuade.  So,  altogether,  the  Britons  were  very 
badly  off,  you  may  believe. 

They  were  in  such  distress,  in  short,  that  they  sent  a  letter 
to  Rome  entreating  help — which  they  called  the  Groans  of 
the  Britons  ;  and  in  which  they'said,  "  The  barbarians  chase 
us  into  the  sea,  the  sea  throws  us  back  upon  the  barbarians, 
and  we  have  only  the  hard  choice  left  us  of  perishing  by  the 
sword,  or  perishing  by  the  waves."  But  the  Romans  could 
not  help  them,  even  if  they  were  so  inclined  ;  for  they  had 
enough  to  do  to  defend  themselves  against  their  own 
enemies,  who  were  then  very  fierce  and  strong.  At  last,  the 
Britons,  unable  to  bear  their  hard  condition  any  longer,  re- 
solved to  make  peace  with  the  Saxons,  and  to  invite  the 
Saxons  to  come  into  their  country,  and  help  them  to  keep 
out  the  Picts  and  Scots. 

It  was  a  British  Prince  named  Vortigern  who  took  this 
resolution,  and  who  made  a  treaty  of  friendship  with  Hengist 
and  Horsa,  two  Saxon  chiefs.  Both  of  these  names,  in  the 
old  Saxon  language,  signify  Horse  ;  for  the  Saxons,  like 
many  other  nations  in  a  rough  state,  were  fond  of  giving  men 
the  names  of  animals,  as  Horse,  Wolf,  Bear,  Hound.     The 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  17 

Indians  of  North  America— a  very  inferior  people  to  the 
Saxons,  though — do  the  same  to  this  day. 

Hengist  and  Horsa  drove  out  the  Picts  and  Scots  ;  and 
Vortigern,  being  grateful  to  them  for  that  service,  made  no 
opposition  to  their  settling  themselves  in  that  part  of  En- 
gland which  is  called  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  or  to  their  inviting 
over  more  of  their  countrymen  to  join  them.  But  Hengist 
had  a  beautiful  daughter  named  Rowena ;  and,  when  at  a 
feast,  she  filled  a  golden  goblet  to  the  brim  with  wine,  and 
gave  it  to  Vortigern,  saying  in  a  sweet  voice,  "  Dear  King, 
thy  health  !  "  the  King  fell  in  love  with  her.  My  opinion  is, 
that  the  cunning  Hengist  meant  him  to  do  so,  in  order  that 
the  Saxons  might  have  greater  influence  with  him  ;  and  that 
the  fair  Rowena  came  to  that  feast,  golden  goblet  and  all, 
»n  purpose. 

At  any  rate,  they  were  married  ;  and,  long  afterward, 
whenever  the  King  was  angry  with  the  Saxons,  or  jealous  of 
their  encroachments,  Rowena  would  put  her  beautiful  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  softly  say,  "  Dear  King,  they  are  my 
people  !  Be  favorable  to  them,  as  you  loved  that  Saxon 
girl  who  gave  you  the  golden  goblet  of  wine  at  the  feast !  " 
And,  really,  I  don't  see  how  the  King  could  help  himself. 

Ah  !  We  must  all  die  !  In  the  course  of  years,  Vortigern 
died — he  was  dethroned,  and  put  in  prison,  first,  I  am 
afraid  ;  and  Rowena  died  ;  and  generations  of  Saxons  and 
Britons  died  ;  and  events  that  happened  during  a  long,  long 
time,  would  have  been  quite  forgotten  but  for  the  tales  and 
songs  of  the  old  Bards,  who  used  to  go  about  from  feast  to 
feast,  with  their  white  beards,  recounting  the  deeds  of  their 
forefathers.  Among  the  histories  of  which  they  sang  and 
talked,  there  was  a  famous  one,  concerning  the  bravery  and 
virtues  of  King  Arthur,  supposed  to  have  been  a  British 
Prince  in  those  old  times.  But,  whether  such  a  person  really 
lived,  or  whether  there  werfc  several  persons  whose  histories 
came  to  be  confused  together  under  that  one  name,  or 
whether  all  about  him  was  invention,  no  one  knows. 

I  will  tell  you,  shortly,  what  is  most  interesting  in  the  early 
Saxon  times,  as  they  are  described  in  these  songs  and  stories 
of  the  Bards. 

In,  and  long  after,  the  days  of  Vortigern,  fresh  bodies  of 
Saxons,  under  various  chiefs,  came  pouring  into  Britain. 
One  body,  conquering  the  Britons  in  the  East,  and  settling 
there,  called  their  kingdom  Essex  ;  another  body  settled  in 


18  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  West  and  called  their  kingdom  Wessex  ;  the  Norfolk 
or  Norfolk  people,  established  themselves  in  one  place  ;  the 
Southfolk,  or  Suffolk  people  established  themselves  in  an- 
other ;  and  gradually  seven  kingdoms  or  states  arose  in 
England,  which  were  called  the  Saxon  Heptarchy.  The 
poor  Britons,  falling  back  before  these  crowds  of  fighting 
men  whom  they  had  innocently  invited  over  as  friends,  re- 
tired into  Wales  and  the  adjacent  country  ;  into  Devonshire, 
;and  into  Cornwall.  Those  parts  of  England  long  remained 
unconquered.  And  in  Cornwall  now — where  the  sea-coast 
is  very  gloomy,  steep,  and  rugged — where,  in  the  dark 
winter-time,  ships  have  often  been  wrecked  close  to  the 
land,  and  every  soul  on  board  has  perished — where  the 
winds  and  waves  howl  drearily,  and  split  the  solid  rocks  into 
arches  and  caverns — there  are  very  ancient  ruins,  which  the 
people  call  the  ruins  of  King  Arthur's  Castle. 

Kent  is  the  most  famous  of  the  seven  Saxon  kingdoms, 
because  the  Christian  religion  was  preached  to  the  Saxons 
there  (who  domineered  over  the  Britons  too  much,  to  care 
for  what  they  said  about  their  religion,  or  any  thing  else)  by 
Augustine,  a  monk  from  Rome.  King  Ethelbert,  of  Kent, 
was  soon  converted  ;  and  the  moment  he  said  he  was  a 
Christian,  his  courtiers  all  said  they  were  Christians  ;  after 
which,  ten  thousand  of  his  subjects  said  they  were  Chris- 
tians too.  Augustine  built  a  little  church,  close  to  this 
King's  palace,  on  the  ground  now  occupied  by  the  beautiful 
cathedral  of  Canterbury.  Sebert,  the  King's  nephew,  built 
on  a  muddy  marshy  place  near  London,  where  there  had 
been  a  temple  to  Apollo,  a  church  dedicated  to  Saint  Peter, 
which  is  now  Westminster  Abbey.  And,  in  London  itself, 
on  the  foundation  of  a  temple  to  Diana,  he  built  another 
little  church,  which  has  risen  up,  since  that  old  time,  to  be 
St.  Paul's. 

After  the  death  of  Ethelbert,  Edwin,  King  of  Northum- 
bria,  who  was  such  a  good  king  that  it  was  said  a  woman  or 
child  might  openly  carry  a  purse  of  gold,  in  his  reign,  with- 
out fear,  allowed  his  child  to  be  baptized,  and  held  a  great 
council  to  consider  whether  he  and  his  people  should  all  be 
Christians  or  not.  It  was  decided  that  they  should  be. 
Coifi,  the  chief  priest  of  the  old  religion,  made  a  great 
speech  on  the  occasion.  In  this  discourse,  he  told  the  peo- 
ple that  he  had  found  out  the  old  gods  to  be  impostors.  "  I 
am  quite  satisfied  of  it,"  he  said.     "Xook  at  me  !     I  have 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  19 

been  serving  them  all  my  life,  and  they  have  done  nothing 
for  me  ;  whereas,  if  they  had  been  really  powerful,  they 
could  not  have  decently  done  less,  in  return  for  all  I  have 
done  for  them,  than  make  my  fortune.  As  they  have  never 
made  my  fortune,  I  am  quite  convinced  they  are  impostors!" 
When  this  singular  priest  had  finished  speaking,  he  hastily 
armed  himself  with  sword  and  lance,  mounted  a  war-horse, 
rode  at  a  furious  gallop  in  sight  of  all  the  people  to  the 
temple,  and  flung  his  lance  against  it  as  an  insult.  From 
that  time,  the  Christian  religion  spread  itself  among  the 
Saxons,  and  became  their  faith. 

The  next  very  famous  prince  was  Egbert.  He  lived  about 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  afterward,  and  claimed  to  have  a 
better  right  to  the  throne  of  Wessex  than  Beortric,  another 
Saxon  prince  who  was  at  the  head  of  that  kingdom,  and  who 
married  Edburga,  the  daughter  of  Offa,  king  of  another  of 
the  seven  kingdoms.  This  Queen  Edburga  was  a  handsome 
murderess,  who  poisoned  people  when  they  offended  her. 
One  day,  she  mixed  a  cup  of  poison  for  a  certain  noble  be« 
longing  to  the  court ;  but  her  husband  drank  of  it  too,  by 
mistake,  and  died.  Upon  this,  the  people  revolted,  in  great 
crowds  ;  and  running  to  the  palace,  and  thundering  at  the 
gates,  cried,  "  Down  with  the  wicked  queen,  who  poisons 
men  !  "  They  drove  her  out  of  the  country,  and  abolished 
the  title  she  had  disgraced.  When  years  had  passed  away, 
some  travelers  came  home  from  Italy,  and  said  that  in  the 
town  of  Pavia  they  had  seen  a  ragged  beggar-woman,  who 
had  once  been  handsome,  but  was  then  shriveled,  bent,  and 
yellow,  wandering  about  the  streets,  crying  for  bread  ;  and 
that  this  beggar-woman  was  the  poisoning  English  queen. 
It  was,  indeed,  Edburga  ;  and  so  she  died,  without  a  shelter 
for  her  wretched  head. 

Egbert,  not  considering  himself  safe  in  England,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  having  claimed  the  crown  of  Wessex  (for 
he  thought  his  rival  might  take  him  prisoner  and  put  him  to 
death),  sought  refuge  at  the  court  of  Charlemagne,  king  of 
France.  On  the  death  of  Beortric,  so  unhappily  poisoned 
by  mistake,  Egbert  came  back  to  Britain  ;  succeeded  to  the 
throne  of  Wessex  ;  conquered  some  of  the  other  monarchs 
of  the  seven  kingdoms  ;  added  their  territories  to  his  own  ; 
and,  for  the  first  time,  called  the  country  over  which  he 
ruled,  England. 

And  now,  new  enemies  arose,  who,  for  a  long  time,  trou- 


ao         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

bled  England  sorely.  These  were  the  Northmen,  the  people 
of  Denmark  and  Norway,  whom  the  English  called  the 
Danes.  They  were  a  warlike  people,  quite  at  home  upon 
the  sea.  ;  not  Christians  ;  very  daring  and  cruel.  They  came 
over  in  ships,  and  plundered  and  burned  wheresoever  they 
landed.  Once,  they  beat  Egbert  in  battle.  Once,  Egbert 
beat  them.  But  they  cared  no  more  for  being  beaten 
than  the  English  themselves.  In  the  four  following  short 
reigns,  of  Ethelwulf,  and  his  sons,  Ethelbald,  Ethelbert,  and 
Ethelred,  they  came  back,  over  and  over  again,  burning  and 
plundering,  and  laying  England  waste.  In  the  last-men- 
tioned reign,  they  seized  Edmund,  King  of  East  England, 
and  bound  him  to  a  tree.  Then,  they  proposed  to  him  that 
he  should  change  his  religion  ;  but  he,  being  a  good  Chris- 
tian, steadily  refused.  Upon  that,  they  beat  him,  made 
cowardly  jests  upon  him,  all  defenseless  as  he  was,  shot 
arrows  at  him,  and,  finally  struck  off  his  head.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  say  whose  head  they  might  have  struck  off  next,  but 
for  the  death  of  King  Ethelred  from  a  wound  he  had 
received  in  fighting  against  them,  and  the  succession  to 
his  throne  of  the  best  and  wisest  king  that  ever  lived  in 
England. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    THE    GOOD    SAXON,    ALFRED. 

Alfred  the  Great  was  a  young  man,  three-and-twenty 
years  of  age,  when  he  became  king.  Twice  in  his  child- 
hood, he  had  been  taken  to  Rome,  where  the  Saxon  nobles 
were  in  the  habit  of  going  on  journeys  which  they  supposed 
to  be  religious  ;  and,  once,  he  had  staid  for  some  time  in 
Paris.  Learning,  however,  was  so  little  cared  for,  then,  that 
at  twelve  years  old  he  had  not  been  taught  to  read  :  although, 
of  the  sons  of  King  Ethelwulf,  he,  the  youngest,  was  the 
favorite.  But  he  had — as  most  men  who  grow  up  to  be 
great  and  good  are  generally  found  to  have  had — an  excel- 
lent mother  ;  and,  one  day,  this  lady,  whose  name  was 
Osburga,  happened,  as  she  was  sitting  among  her  sons,  to 
read  a  book  of  Saxon  poetry.  The  art  of  printing  was  not 
known  until  long  and  long  after  that  period,  and  the  book, 
which  was  written,  was  what  is  called  "  illuminated,"  with 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  21 

beautiful  bright  letters,  richly  painted.  The  brothers  ad- 
miring it  very  much,  their  mother  said,  "  I  will  give  it  to 
that  one  of  you  princes  who  first  learns  to  read."  Alfred 
sought  out  a  tutor  that  very  day,  applied  himself  to  learn 
with  great  diligence,  and  soon  won  the  book.  He  was  proud 
of  it,  all  his  life. 

This  great  king,  in  the  first  year  of  his  reign,  fought  nine 
battles  with  the  Danes.  He  made  some  treaties  with  them 
too,  by  which  the  false  Danes  swore  they  would  quit  the 
country.  They  pretended  to  consider  that  they  had  taken  a 
ver.y  solemn  oath,  in  swearing  this  upon  the  holy  bracelets 
that  they  wore,  and  which  were  always  buried  with  them 
when  they  died  ;  but  they  cared  little  for  it,  for  they  thought 
nothing  of  breaking  oaths  and  treaties  too,  as  soon  as  it 
suited  their  purpose,  and  coming  back  again  to  fight,  plunder, 
and  burn,  as  usual.  One  fatal  winter,  in  the  fourth  year  of 
King  Alfred's  reign,  they  spread  themselves  in  great  num- 
bers over  the  whole  of  England  ;  and  so  dispersed  and  routed 
the  King's  soldiers  that  the  King  was  left  alone,  and  was 
obliged  to  disguise  himself  as  a  common  peasant,  and  to 
take  refuge  in  the  cottage  of  one  of  his  cowherds  who  did 
not  know  his  face. 

Here,  King  Alfred,  while  the  Danes  sought  him  far  and 
near,  was  left  alone  one  day,  by  the  cowherd's  wife,  to  watclr 
some  cakes  which  she  put  to  bake  upon  the  hearth.  But, 
being  at  work  upon  his  bow  and  arrows,  with  which  he 
hoped  to  punish  the  false  Danes  when  a  brighter  time  should 
come,  and  thinking  deeply  of  his  poor  unhappy  subjects 
whom  the  Danes  chased  through  the  land,  his  noble  mind 
forgot  the  cakes,  and  they  were  burned.  "  What !  "  said  the 
cowherd's  wife,  who  scolded  him  well  when  she  came  back, 
and  little  thought  she  was  scolding  the  King,  "  you  will  be 
ready  enough  to  eat  them  by-and-by,  and  yet  you  cannot 
watch  them,  idle  dog  ?  " 

At  length,  the  Devonshire  men  made  head  against  a  new 
host  of  Danes  who  landed  on  their  coast ;  killed  their  chief, 
and  captured  their  flag  ;  on  which  was  represented  the  like- 
ness of  a  Raven — a  very  fit  bird  for  a  thievish  army  like 
that,  I  think.  The  loss  of  their  standard  troubled  the  Danes 
greatly,  for  they  believed  it  to  be  enchanted — woven  by  the 
three  daughters  of  one  father  in  a  single  afternoon — and 
they  had  a  story  among  themselves  that  when  they  were  vic- 
torious in  battle,  the  Raven  stretched  his  wings  and  seemed 


22  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

to  fly  ;  and  that  when  they  were  defeated,  he  would  droop. 
He  had  good  reason  to  droop,  now,  if  he  could  have  done 
any  thing  half  so  sensible ;  for,  King  Alfred  joined  the 
Devonshire  men  ;  made  a  camp  with  them  on  a  piece  of  firm 
ground  in  the  midst  of  a  bog  in  Somersetshire  ;  and  prepared 
for  a  great  attempt  for  vengeance  on  the  Danes,  and  the 
deliverance  of  his  oppressed  people. 

But,  first,  as  it  was  important  to  know  how  numerous 
those  pestilent  Danes  were,  and  how  they  were  fortified, 
King  Alfred,  being  a  good  musician,  disguised  himself  as 
a  glee-man  or  minstrel,  and  went,  with  his  harp,  to  the  Dan- 
ish camp.  He  played  and  sang  in  the  very  tent  of  Guthrum 
the  Danish  leader,  and  entertained  the  Danes  as  they  ca- 
roused. While  he  seemed  to  think  of  nothing  but  his  music, 
he  was  watchful  of  their  tents,  their  arms,  their  discipline, 
every  thing  that  he  desired  to  know.  And  right  soon  did  this 
great  king  entertain  them  to  a  different  tune  ;  for,  summon- 
ing all  his  true  followers  to  meet  him  at  an  appointed  place, 
where  they  received  him  with  joyful  shouts  and  tears,  as  the 
monarch  whom  many  of  them  had  given  up  for  lost  or  dead, 
he  put  himself  at  their  head,  marched  on  the  Danish  camp, 
defeated  the  Danes  with  great  slaughter,  and  besieged  them 
for  fourteen  days  to  prevent  their  escape.  But,  being  as 
merciful  as  he  was  good  and  brave,  he  then,  instead  of  kill- 
ing them,  proposed  peace  :  on  condition  that  they  should  al- 
together depart  from  that  Western  part  of  England,  and 
settle  in  the  East  ;  and  that  Guthrum  should  become  a 
Christian,  in  remembrance  of  the  Divine  religion  which  now 
taught  his  conqueror,  the  noble  Alfred,  to  forgive  the  enemy 
who  had  so  often  injured  him.  This,  Guthrum  did.  At  his 
baptism,  King  Alfred  was  his  godfather.  And  Guthrum 
was  an  honorable  chief  who  well  deserved  that  clemency  ; 
for,  ever  afterward,  he  was  loyal  and  faithful  to  the  king. 
The  Danes  under  him  were  faithful  too.  They  plundered 
and  burned  no  more,  but  worked  like  honest  men.  They 
plowed,  and  sowed,  and  reaped,  and  led  good  honest  En- 
glish lives.  And  I  hope  the  children  of  those  Danes  played, 
many  a  time,  with  Saxon  children  in  the  sunny  fields  ;  and 
that  Danish  young  men  fell  in  love  with  Saxon  girls,  and 
married  them  ;  and  that  English  travelers,  benighted  at  the 
doors  of  Danish  cottages,  often  went  in  for  shelter  until  morn- 
ing ;  and  that  Danes  and  Saxons  sat  by  the  red  fire,  friends, 
talking  of  King  Alfred  the  Great. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  23 

All  the  Danes  were  not  like  these  under  Guthrum  ;  for 
after  some  years,  more  of  them  came  over,  in  the  old  plun- 
dering and  burning  way — among  them  a  fierce  pirate  of  the 
name  of  Hastings,  who  had  the  boldness  to  sail  up  the 
Thames  to  Gravesend,  with  eighty  ships.  For  three  years, 
there  was  a  war  with  these  Danes  ;  and  there  was  a  famine  in 
the  country,  too,  and  a  plague,  both  upon  human  creatures 
and  beasts.  But  King  Alfred,  whose  mighty  heart  never 
failed  him,  built  large  ships  nevertheless,  with  which  to  pur- 
sue the  pirates  on  the  sea  ;  and  he  encouraged  his  soldiers, 
by  his  brave  example,  to  fight  valiantly  against  them  on  the 
shore.  At  last,  he  drove  them  all  away  ;  and  then  there  was 
repose  in  England. 

As  great  and  good  in  peace,  as  he  was  great  and  good  in 
war,  King  Alfred  never  rested  from  his  labors  to  improve  his 
people.  He  loved  to  talk  with  clever  men,  and  with  trav- 
elers from  foreign  countries,  and  to  write  down  what  they 
told  him,  for  his  people  to  read.  He  had  studied  Latin 
after  learning  to  read  English,  and  now  another  of  his  labors 
was,  to  translate  Latin  books  into  the  English-Saxon  tongue, 
that  his  people  might  be  interested,  and  improved  by  their 
contents.  He  made  just  laws,  that  they  might  live  more 
happily  and  freely  ;  he  turned  away  all  partial  judges,  that 
no  wrong  might  be  done  them  ;  he  was  so  careful  of  their 
property,  and  punished  robbers  so  severely,  that  it  was  a  com- 
mon  thing  to  say  that  under  the  great  King  Alfred,  garlands 
of  golden  chains  and  jewels  might  have  hung  across  the 
streets,  and  no  man  would  have  touched  one.  He  founded 
schools  ;  he  patiently  heard  causes  himself  in  his  Court  of 
Justice  ;  the  great  desires  of  his  heart  were,  to  do  right  to  all 
his  subjects,  and  to  leave  England  better,  wiser,  happier  in 
all  ways,  than  he  found  it.  His  industry  in  these  efforts  was 
quite  astonishing.  Every  day  he  divided  into  certain  por- 
tions, and  in  each  portion  devoted  himself  to  a  certain  pur- 
suit. That  he  might  divide  his  time  exactly,  he  had  wax 
torches  or  candles  made,  which  were  all  of  the  same  size, 
were  notched  across  at  regular  distances,  and  were  always 
kept  burning.  Thus,  as  the  candles  burned  down,  he  di- 
vided the  day  into  notches,  almost  as  accurately  as  we  now 
divide  it  into  hours  upon  the  clock.  But  when  the  candles 
were  first  invented,  it  was  found  that  the  wind  and  draughts 
of  air,  blowing  into  the  palace  through  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  through  the  chinks  in  the  wall,  caused  them 


24  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

to  gutter  and  burn  unequally.  To  prevent  this,  the  King 
had  them  put  into  cases  formed  of  wood  and  white  horn. 
And  these  were  the  first  lanterns  ever  made  in  England. 

All  this  time,  he  was  afflicted  with  a  terrible  unknown  dis- 
ease, which  caused  him  violent  and  frequent  pain  that 
nothing  could  relieve.  He  bore  it,  as  he  had  borne  all  the 
troubles  of  his  life,  like  a  brave  good  man,  until  he  was  fifty- 
three  years  old  ;  and  then,  having  reigned  thirty  years,  he 
died.  He  died  in  the  year  nine  hundred  and  one  ;  but,  long 
ago  as  that  is,  his  fame,  and  the  love  and  gratitude  with 
which  his  subjects  regarded  him,  are  freshly  remembered  to 
the  present  hour. 

In  the  next  reign,  which  was  the  reign  of  Edward,  sur- 
named  The  Elder,  who  was  chosen  in  council  to  succeed,  a 
nephew  of  King  Alfred  troubled  the  country  by  trying  to 
obtain  the  throne.  The  Danes  in  the  East  of  England  took 
part  with  this  usurper  (perhaps  because  they  had  honored  his 
uncle  so  much,  and  honored  him  for  his  uncle's  sake),  and 
there  was  hard  fighting  ;  but  the  King,  with  the  assistance  of 
his  sister,  gained  the  day,  and  reigned  in  peace  for  four  and 
twenty  years.  He  gradually  extended  his  power  over  the 
whole  of  England,  and  so  the  Seven  Kingdoms  were  united 
into  one. 

When  England  thus  became  one  kingdom,  ruled  over  by 
one  Saxon  King,  the  Saxons  had  been  settled  in  the  country 
more  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  years.  Great  changes  had 
taken  place  in  its  customs  during  that  time.  The  Saxons 
were  still  greedy  eaters  and  great  drinkers,  and  their  feasts 
were  often  of  a  noisy  and  drunken  kind  ;  but  many  new  com- 
forts and  even  elegances  had  become  known,  and  were  fast 
increasing.  Hangings  for  the  walls  of  rooms,  where,  in  these 
modern  days,  we  paste  up  paper,  are  known  to  have  been 
sometimes  made  of  silk,  ornamented  with  birds  and  flowers  in 
needlework.  Tables  and  chairs  were  curiously  carved  in  dif- 
ferent woods  ;  were  sometimes  decorated  with  gold  or  silver  ; 
sometimes  even  made  of  those  precious  metals.  Knives  and 
spoons  were  used  at  table  ;  golden  ornaments  were  worn — 
with  silk  and  cloth,  and  golden  tissues  and  embroideries  ; 
dishes  were  made  of  gold  and  silver,  brass  and  bone.  There 
were  varieties  of  drinking-horns,  bedsteads,  musical  instru- 
ments. A  harp  was  passed  around  at  a  feast,  like  the  drink- 
ing-bowl,  from  guest  to  guest ;  and  each  one  usually  sang  or 
played  w*len  his  turn  came.     The  weapons  of  the  Saxons 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  25 

were  stoutly  made,  and  among  them  was  a  terrible  iron  ham- 
mer that  gave  deadly  blows,  and  was  long  remembered.  The 
Saxons  themselves  were  a  handsome  people.  The  men  were 
proud  of  their  long  fair  hair,  parted  on  the  forehead  ;  their 
ample  beards,  their  fresh  complexions,  and  clear  eyes.  The 
beauty  of  the  Saxon  women  filled  all  England  with  a  new 
delight  and  grace. 

I  have  more  to  tell  of  the  Saxons  yet,  but  I  stop  to  say 
this  now,  because  under  the  Great  Alfred,  all  the  best 
points  of  the  English-Saxon  character  were  first  encouraged, 
and  in  him  first  shown.  It  has  been  the  greatest  character 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  Wherever  the  descendants 
of  the  Saxon  race  have  gone,  have  sailed,  or  otherwise  made 
their  way,  even  to  the  remotest  regions  of  the  world,  they 
have  been  patient,  persevering,  never  to  be  broken  in  spirit, 
never  to  be  turned  aside  from  enterprises  on  which  they  have 
resolved.  In  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  America,  the  whole  world 
over  ;  in  the  desert,  in  the  forest,  on  the  sea  ;  scorched  by  a 
burning  sun,  or  frozen  by  ice  that  never  melts  ;  the  Saxon 
blood  remains  unchanged.  Wheresoever  that  race  goes,  there 
law,  and  industry,  and  safety  for  life  and  property,  and  all 
the  great  results  of  steady  perseverance,  are  certain  to  arise. 

I  pause  to  think  with  admiration  of  the  noble  king  who, 
in  his  single  person,  possessed  all  the  Saxon  virtues.  Whom 
misfortune  could  not  subdue,  whom  prosperity  could  not 
spoil,  whose  perseverance  nothing  could  shake.  Who  was 
hopeful  in  defeat,  and  generous  in  success.  Who  loved  jus- 
tice, freedom,  truth  and  knowledge.  Who,  in  his  care  to 
instruct  his  people,  probably  did  more  to  preserve  the  beauti- 
ful old  Saxon  language,  than  I  can  imagine.  Without  whom, 
the  English  tongue  in  which  I  tell  this  story  might  have 
wanted  half  its  meaning.  As  it  is  said  that  his  spirit  still 
inspires  some  of  our  best  English  laws,  so,  let  you  and  I  pray 
that  it  may  animate  our  English  hearts,  at  least  to  this — to 
resolve,  when  we  see  any  of  our  fellow-creatures  left  in  igno- 
rance, that  we  will  do  our  best,  while  life  is  in  us,  to  have 
them  taught  ;  and  to  tell  those  rulers  whose  duty  it  is  to 
teach  them,  and  who  neglect  their  duty,  that  they  have  prof- 
ited very  little  by  all  the  years  that  have  rolled  away  since 
the  year  nine  hundred  and  one,  and  that  they  are  far  behind 
the  bright  example  of  King  Alfred  the  Great. 


26  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  ATHELSTAN  AND  THE  SIX  BOY-KINGS. 

Athelstan,  the  son  of  Edward  the  Elder,  succeeded  that 
king.  He  reigned  only  fifteen  years  ;  but  he  remembered 
the  glory  of  his  grandfather,  the  great  Alfred,  and  governed 
England  well.  He  reduced  the  turbulent  people  of  Wales, 
and  obliged  them  to  pay  him  a  tribute  in  money,  and  in  cattle, 
and  to  send  him  their  best  hawks  and  hounds.  He  was  vic- 
torious over  the  Cornish  men,  who  were  not  yet  quiet  under 
the  Saxon  government.  He  restored  such  of  the  old  laws  as 
were  good,  and  had  fallen  into  disuse  ;  made  some  wise  new 
laws,  and  took  care  of  the  poor  and  weak.  A  strong  alliance, 
made  aganst  him  by  Anlaf  a  Danish  prince,  Constantine 
King  of  the  Scots,  and  the  people  of  North  Wales,  he  broke 
and  defeated  in  one  great  battle,  long  famous  for  the  vast 
numbers  slain  in  it.  After  that,  he  had  a  quiet  reign  ;  the 
lords  and  ladies  about  him  had  leisure  to  become  polite  and 
agreeable  ;  and  foreign  princes  were  glad  (as  they  have  some- 
times been  since)  to  come  to  England  on  visits  to  the  En- 
glish court. 

When  Athelstan  died,  at  forty-seven  years  old,  his  brother 
Edmund,  who  was  only  eighteen,  became  king.  He  was  the 
first  of  six  boy-kings,  as  you  will  presently  know. 

They  called  him  the  Magnificent,  because  he  showed  a 
taste  for  improvement  and  refinement.  But  he  was  beset  by 
the  Danes,  and  had  a  short  and  troubled  reign,  which  came 
to  a  troubled  end.  One  night,  when  he  was  feasting  in  his 
hall,  and  had  eaten  much  and  drunk  deep,  he  saw,  among 
the  company,  a  noted  robber  named  Leof,  who  had  been 
banished  from  England.  Made  very  angry  by  the  boldness 
of  this  man,  the  King  turned  to  his  cup-bearer,  and  said, 
"  There  is  a  robber  sitting  at  the  table  yonder,  who,  for  his 
crimes,  is  an  outlaw  in  the  land — a  hunted  wolf,  whose  life 
any  man  may  take,  at  any  time.  Command  that  robber  to 
depart  !  "  "I  will  not  depart  '  "  said  Leof.  "  No  ?  "  cried 
the  King.  "  No,  by  the  Lord  !  "  said  Leof.  _  Upon  that  the 
King  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  making  passionately  at  the 
robber,  and  seizing  him  by  his  long  hair,  tried  to  throw  him 
down.  But  the  robber  had  a  dagger  underneath  his  cloak, 
and,  in  the  scuffle,  stabbed  the  King  to  death.     That  done, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  27 

he  set  his  back  against  the  wall,  and  fought  so  desperately, 
that  although  he  was  soon  cut  to  pieces  by  the  King's  armed 
men,  and  the  wall  and  pavement  were  splashed  with  his 
blood,  yet  it  was  not  before  he  had  killed  and  wounded  many 
of  them.  You  may  imagine  what  rough  lives  the  kings  of 
those  times  led,  when  one  of  them  could  struggle,  half  drunk, 
with  a  public  robber  in  his  own  dining-hall,  and  be  stabbed 
in  the  presence  of  the  company  who  ate  and  drank  with  him. 

Then  succeeded  the  boy-king  Edred,  who  was  weak  and 
sickly  in  body,  but  >f  a  strong  mind.  And  his  armies  fought 
the  Northmen,  the  Danes,  and  Norwegians,  or  the  Sea-Kings, 
as  they  were  called,  and  beat  them  for  the  time.  And,  in 
nine  years,  Edred  died,  and  passed  away. 

Then  came  the  boy-king  Edwy,  fifteen  years  of  age  ;  but 
the  real  king,  who  had  the  real  power,  was  a  monk  named 
Dunstan — a  clever  priest,  a  little  mad,  and  not  a  little  proud 
and  cruel. 

Dunstan  was  then  Abbot  of  Glastonbury  Abbey,  whither 
the  body  of  King  Edmund  the  Magnificent  was  carried,  to  be 
buried.  While  yet  a  boy,  he  had  got  out  of  his  bed  one 
night  (being  then  in  a  fever),  and  walked  about  Glastonbury 
Church  when  it  was  under  repair  ;  and  because  he  did  not 
tumble  off  some  scaffolds  that  were  there,  and  break  his 
neck,  it  was  reported  that  he  had  been  shown  over  the  build- 
ing by  an  angel.  He  had  also  made  a  harp  that  was  said  to 
play  of  itself — which  it  very  likely  did,  as  ^Eolian  Harps, 
which  are  played  by  the  wind,  and  are  understood  now, 
always  do.  For  these  wonders  he  had  been  once  denounced 
by  his  enemies,  who  were  jealous  of  his  favor  with  the  late 
King  Athelstan,  as  a  magician  ;  and  he  had  been  waylaid, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  and  thrown  into  a  marsh.  But  he  got 
out  again,  somehow,  to  cause  a  great  deal  of  trouble  yet. 

The  priests  of  those  days  were,  generally,  the  only  schol- 
ars. They  were  learned  in  many  things.  Having  to  make 
their  own  convents  and  monasteries  on  uncultivated  grounds 
that  were  granted  to  them  by  the  crown,  it  was  necessary 
that  they  :hould  be  good  farmers  and  good  gardeners,  or 
their  lands  would  have  been  too  poor  to  support  them.  For 
the  decoration  of  the  chapels  where  they  prayed,  and  for  the 
comfort  of  the  refectories  where  they  ate  and  drank,  it  was 
necessary  that  there  should  be  good  carpenters,  good  smiths, 
good  painters,  among  them.  For  their  greater  safety  in 
sickness  and  accident,  living  alone  by  themselves  in  solitary 


28  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

places,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  study  the  virtues  of 
plants  and  herbs,  and  should  know  how  to  dress  cuts,  burns, 
scalds,  and  bruises,  and  how  to  set  broken  limbs.  Accord- 
ingly, they  taught  themselves,  and  one  another,  a  great 
variety  of  useful  arts  ;  and  became  skillful  in  agriculture, 
medicine,  surgery,  and  handicraft.  And  when  they  wanted 
the  aid  of  any  little  piece  of  machinery,  which  would  be  sim- 
ple enough  now,  but  was  marvelous  then,  to  impose  a  trick 
upon  the  poor  peasants,  they  knew  very  well  how  to  make 
it  ;  and  did  make  it  many  a  time  and  often,  I  have  no  doubt. 

Dunstan,  Abbot  of  Glastonbury  Abbey,  was  one  of  the 
most  sagacious  of  these  monks.  He  was  an  ingenious  smith, 
and  worked  at  a  forge  in  a  little  cell.  This  cell  was  made 
too  short  to  admit  of  his  lying  at  full  length  when  he  went 
to  sleep — as  if  that  did  any  good  to  anybody! — and  he  used 
to  tell  the  most  extraordinary  lies  about  demons  and  spirits, 
who,  he  said,  came  there  to  persecute  him.  For  instance, 
he  related  that,  one  day  when  he  was  at  work,  the  devil 
looked  in  at  the  little  window,  and  tried  to  tempt  him  to 
lead  a  life  of  idle  pleasure  ;  whereupon,  having  his  pincers 
in  the  fire,  red  hot,  he  seized  the  devil  by  the  nose,  and  put 
him  to  such  pain,  that  his  bellowings  were  heard  for  miles 
and  miles.  Some  people  are  inclined  to  think  this  nonsense 
apart  of  Dunstan's  madness  (for  his  head  never  quite  recov- 
ered the  fever),  but  I  think  not.  I  observe  that  it  induced 
the  ignorant  people  to  consider  him  a  holy  man,  and  that 
it  made  him  very  powerful.  Which  was  exactly  what  he 
always  wanted. 

On  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  the  handsome  boy-king 
Edvvy,  it  was  remarked  by  Odo,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
(who  was  a  Dane  by  birth),  that  the  King  quietly  left  the 
coronation  feast,  while  all  the  company  were  there.  Odo, 
much  displeased,  sent  his  friend  Dunstan  to  seek  him.  Dun- 
stan finding  him  in  the  company  of  his  beautiful  young  wife 
Elgiva,  and  her  mother  Ethelgiva,  a  good  and  virtuous  lady, 
not  only  grossly  abused  them,  but  dragged  the  young  King 
back  into  the  feasting-hall  by  force.  Some,  again,  think 
Dunstan  did  this  because  the  young  King's  fair  wife  was  his 
own  cousin,  and  the  monks  objected  to  people  marrying 
their  own  cousin  ;  but  I  believe  he  did  it  because  he  was  an 
imperious,  audacious,  ill-conditioned  priest,  who  having  loved 
a  young  lady  himself  before  he  became  a  sour  monk,  hated 
all  love  now,  and  every  thing  belonging  to  it. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  29 

The  young  King  was  quite  old  enough  to  feel  this  insult. 
Dunstan  had  been  Treasurer  in  the  last  reign,  and  he  soon 
charged  Dunstan  with  having  taken  some  of  the  last  King's 
money.  The  Glastonbury  Abbot  fled  to  Belgium  (very  nar- 
rowly escaping  some  pursuers  who  were  sent  to  put  out  his 
eyes,  as  you  will  wish  they  had,  when  you  read  what  follows), 
and  his  abbey  was  given  to  priests  who  were  married  ;  whom 
he  always,  both  before  and  afterwards,  opposed.  But  he 
quickly  conspired  with  his  friend,  Odo  the  Dane,  to  set  up 
the  King's  young  brother,  Edgar,  as  his  rival  for  the  throne; 
and  not  content  with  this  revenge,  he  caused  the  beautiful 
queen  Elgiva,though  a  lovely  girl  of  only  seventeen  or  eight- 
een, to  be  stolen  from  one  of  the  Royal  Palaces,  branded  in 
the  cheek  with  a  red  hot  iron,  and  sold  into  slavery  in  Ire- 
'  land.  But  the  Irish  people  pitied  and  befriended  her  ;  and 
they  said,  "  Let  us  restore  the  girl-queen  to  the  boy-king, 
and  make  the  young  lovers  happy  !  "  and  they  cured  her  of 
her  cruel  wound,  and  sent  her  home  as  beautiful  as  before. 
But  the  villain  Dunstan,  and  that  other  villain  Odo,  caused 
her  to  be  waylaid  at  Gloucester  as  she  was  joyfully  hurrying 
to  join  her  husband,  and  to  be  hacked  and  hewn  with  swords, 
and  to  be  barbarously  maimed  and  lamed,  and  left  to  die. 
When  Edwy  the  Fair  (his  people  called  him  so,  because  he 
was  so  young  and  handsome)  heard  of  her  dreadful  fate,  he 
died  of  a  broken  heart  ;  and  so  the  pitiful  story  of  the  poor 
young  wife  and  husband  ends  !  Ah  !  Better  to  be  two  cot- 
tagers in  these  better  times,  than  king  and  queen  of 
England  in  those  bad  days,  though  never  so  fair  I 

Then  came  the  boy-king  Edgar,  called  the  Peaceful,  fifteen 
years  old.  Dunstan,  being  still  the  real  king,  drove  all  mar- 
ried priests  out  of  the  monasteries  and  abbeys,  and  replaced 
them  by  solitary  monks  like  himself,  of  the  rigid  order  called 
the  Benedictines.  He  made  himself  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, for  his  greater  glory  ;  and  exercised  such  power  over 
the  neighboring  British  princes,  and  so  collected  them  about 
the  King,  that  once,  when  the  King  held  his  court  at  Chester, 
and  went  on  the  river  Dee  to  visit  the  monastery  of  St.  John, 
the  eight  oars  of  his  boat  were  pulled  (as  the  people  used  to 
delight  in  relating  in  stories  and  songs)  by  eight  crowned 
kings,  and  steered  by  the  King  of  England.  As  Edgar  was 
very  obedient  to  Dunstan  and  the  monks,  they  took  great 
pains  to  represent  him  as  the  best  of  kings.  But  he  was 
really  profligate,  debauched,  and  vicious.     He  once  forcibly 


3o  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

carried  off  a  young  lady  from  the  convent  at  Wilton  ;  and 
Dunstan,  pretending  to  be  very  much  shocked,  condemned 
him  not  to  wear  his  crown  upon  his  head  for  seven  years — 
no  great  punishment,  I  dare  say,  as  it  can  hardly  have  been 
a  more  comfortable  ornament  to  wear,  than  a  stewpan  with- 
out a  handle.  His  marriage  with  his  second  wife,  Elfrida, 
is  one  of  the  worst  events  of  his  reign.  Hearing  of  the  beauty 
of  this  lady,  he  despatched  his  favorite  courtier,  Athelwold, 
to  her  father's  castle  in  Devonshire,  to  see  if  she  were  really 
as  charming  as  fame  reported.  Now,  she  was  so  exceedingly 
beautiful  that  Athelwold  fell  in  love  with  her  himself,  and 
married  her  ;  but  he  told  the  King  that  she  was  only  rich— 
not  handsome.  The  King,  suspecting  the  truth  when  they 
came  home,  resolved  to  pay  the  newly  married  couple  a  visit}. 
and,  suddenly,  told  Athelwold  to  prepare  for  his  immediate 
coming.  Athelwold,  terrified,  confessed  to  his  young  wife 
what  he  had  said  anddone,  and  implored  her  to  disguise  her 
beauty  by  some  ugly  dress  or  silly  manner,  that  he  might 
be  safe  from  the  King's  anger.  She  promised  that  she 
would  ;  but  she  was  a  proud  woman,  who  would  far  rather 
have  been  a  queen  than  the  wife  of  a  courtier.  She  dressed 
herself  in  her  best  dress,  and  adorned  herself  with  her  richest 
jewels  ;  and  when  the  King  came,  presently,  he  discovered 
the  cheat.  So,  he  caused  his  false  friend,  Athelwold,  to  be 
murdered  in  a  wood,  and  married  his  widow — this  bad 
Elfrida.  Six  or  seven  years  afterward,  he  died  ;  and  was 
buried,  as  if  he  had  been  all  that  the  monks  said  he  was,  in 
the  abbey  of  Glastonbury,  which  he — or  Dunstan  for  him — 
had  much  enriched. 

England,  in  one  part  of  this  reign,  was  so  troubled  by 
wolves,  which,  driven  out  of  the  open  country,  hid  themselves 
in  the  mountains  of  Wales  when  they  were  not  attacking 
travelers  and  animals,  that  the  tribute  payable  by  the  Welsh 
people  was  forgiven  them,  on  condition  of  their  producing, 
every  year,  three  hundred  wolves'  heads.  And  the  Welsh- 
men were  so  sharp  upon  the  wolves,  to  save  their  money, 
that  in  four  years  there  was  not  a  wolf  left. 

Then  came  the  boy-king,  Edward,  called  the  Martyr,  from 
the  manner  of  his  death.  Elfrida  had  a  son,  named  Ethel- 
red,  for  whom  she  claimed  the  throne  ;  but  Dunstan  did  not 
choose  to  favor  him,  and  he  made  Edward  king.  The  boy 
was  hunting,  one  day,  down  in  Dorsetshire,  when  he  rode 
near   to  Corfe   Castle,    where  Elfrida  and  Ethelred   lived 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  31 

Wishing  to  see  them  kindly,  he  rode  away  from  his  attend- 
ants and  galloped  to  the  castle  gate,  where  he  arrived  at 
twilight,  and  blew  his  hunting  horn.  "  You  are  welcome, 
dear  King,"  said  Elfrida,  coming  out,  with  her  brightest 
smiles.  "  Pray  you  dismount  and  enter."  "  Not  so,  dear 
madam,"  said  the  King.  "  My  company  will  miss  me,  and 
fear  that  I  have  met  with  some  harm.  Please  you  to  give 
me  a  cup  of  wine,  that  I  may  drink  here,  in  the  saddle,  to 
you  and  to  my  little  brother,  and  so  ride  away  with  the 
good  speed  I  have  met  riding  here."  Elfrida,  going  in 
to  bring  the  wine,  whispered  an  armed  servant,  one  of  her 
attendants,  who  stole  out  of  the  darkening  gateway,  and 
crept  round  behind  the  King's  horse.  As  the  King  raised 
the  cup  to  his  lips,  saying,  "  Health  !  "  to  the  wicked  woman 
who  was  smiling  on  him,  and  to  his  innocent  brother  whose 
hand  she  held  in  hers,  and  who  was  only  ten  years  old,  this 
armed  man  made  a  spring  and  stabbed  him  in  the  back. 
He  dropped  the  cup  and  spurred  his  horse  away  ;  but,  soon 
fainting  with  loss  of  blood,  dropped  from  the  saddle,  and,  in 
his  fall,  entangled  one  of  his  feet  in  the  stirrup.  The  fright- 
ened horse  dashed  on  ;  trailing  his  rider's  curls  upon  the 
ground  ;  dragging  his  smooth  young  face  through  ruts,  and 
stones,  and  briers,  and  fallen  leaves,  and  mud  ;  until  the 
hunters,  tracking  the  animal's  course  by  the  King's  blood, 
caught  his  bridle,  and  released  the  disfigured  body. 

Then  came  the  sixth  and  last  of  the  boy  kings,  Ethelred, 
whom  Elfrida,  when  he  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  his  murdered 
brother  riding  away  from  the  castle  gate,  unmercifully  beat 
with  a  torch  which  she  snatched  from  one  of  the  attendants. 
The  people  so  disliked  this  boy,  on  account  of  his  cruel 
mother  and  the  murder  she  had  done  to  promote  him,  that 
Dunstan  would  not  have  had  him  for  king,  but  would  have 
made  Edgitha,  the  daughter  of  the  dead  King  Edgar,  and  of 
the  lady  whom  he  stole  out  of  the  convent  at  Wilton,  Queen 
of  England,  if  she  would  have  consented.  But  she  knew 
the  stories  of  the  youthful  kings  too  well,  and  would  not  be 
persuaded  from  the  convent  where  she  lived  in  peace  ;  so, 
Dunstan  put  Ethelred  on  the  throne,  having  no  one  else  to 
put  there,  and  gave  him  the  nickname  of  the  Unready — 
knowing  that  he  wanted  resolution  and  firmness. 

At  first,  Elfrida  possessed  great  influence  over  the  young 
King,  but,  as  he  grew  older  and  came  of  age,  her  influence 
declined.     The  infamous  woman,  not  having  it  in  her  power 


32  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

to  do  any  more  evil,  then  retired  from  court,  and  according 
to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  built  churches  and  monasteries, 
to  expiate  her  guilt.  As  if  a  church,  with  a  steeple  reaching 
to  the  very  stars,  would  have  been  any  sign  of  true  repent- 
ance for  the  blood  of  the  poor  boy,  whose  murdered  form 
was  trailed  at  his  horse's  heels  !  As  if  she  could  have  buried 
her  wickedness  beneath  the  senseless  stones  of  the  whole 
world,  piled  up  one  upon  another,  for  the  monks  to  live  in  ! 

About  the  ninth  or  tenth  year  of  his  reign,  Dunstan  died. 
He  was  growing  old  then,  but  was  as  stern  and  artful  as 
ever.  Two  circumstances  that  happened  in  connection  with 
him,  in  this  reign  of  Ethelred,  made  a  great  noise.  Once, 
he  was  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  church,  when  the  question 
was  discussed  whether  priests  should  have  permission  to 
marry  ;  and,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  hung  down,  apparently 
thinking  about  it,  a  voice  seemed  to  come  out  of  a  crucifix 
in  the  room,  and  warn  the  meeting  to  be  of  his  opinion. 
This  was  some  juggling  of  Dunstan's,  and  was  probably  his 
own  voice  disguised.  But  he  played  off  a  worse  juggle  than 
that  soon  afterwards  :  for,  another  meeting  being  held  on 
the  same  subject,  and  he  and  his  supporters  being  seated  on 
one  side  of  a  great  room,  and  their  opponents  on  the  other, 
he  rose  and  said,  "  To  Christ  himself,  as  Judge,  do  I  commit 
this  cause  !  "  Immediately  on  these  words  being  spoken, 
the  floor  where  the  opposite  party  sat  gave  way,  and  some 
were  killed  and  many  wounded.  You  may  be  pretty  sure 
that  it  had  been  weakened  under  Dunstan's  direction  and 
that  it  fell  at  Dunstan's  signal.  His  part  of  the  floor  did  not 
go  down.     No,  no.     He  was  too  good  a  workman  for  that. 

When  he  died,  the  monks  settled  that  he  was  a  saint,  and 
called  him  Saint  Dunstan  ever  afterward.  They  might  just 
as  well  have  settled  that  he  was  a  coach-horse,  and  could  just 
as  easily  have  called  him  one. 

Ethelred  the  Unready  was  glad  enough,  I  dare  say,  to  be 
rid  of  his  holy  saint ;  but,  left  to  himself,  he  was  a  poor 
weak  king,  and  his  reign  was  a  reign  of  defeat  and  shame. 
The  restless  Danes,  led  by  Sweyn,  a  son  of  the  King  of  Den- 
mark who  had  quarreled  with  his  father  and  had  been  ban- 
ished from  home,  again  came  into  England,  and,  year  after 
year,  attacked  and  despoiled  large  towns.  To  coax  these 
sea-kings  away,  the  weak  Ethelred  paid  them  money  ;  but, 
the  more  money  he  paid,  the  more  money  the  Danes  wanted. 
At  first,  he  gave  them  ten  thousand  pounds  ;  on  their  next 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  33 

invasion,  sixteen  thousand  pounds  ;  on  their  next  invasion, 
four  and  twenty  thousand  pounds  ;  to  pay  which  large  sums, 
the  unfortunate  English  people  were  heavily  taxed.  But,  as 
the  Danes  still  came  back  and  wanted  more,  he  thought  it 
would  be  a  good  plan  to  marry  into  some  powerful  foreign 
family  that  would  help  him  with  soldiers.  So  in  the  year 
one  thousand  and  two,  he  courted  and  married  Emma,  the 
sister  of  Richard  Duke  of  Normandy  ;  a  lady  who  was  called 
the  Flower  of  Normandy. 

And  now  a  terrible  deed  was  done  in  England,  the  like  of 
which  was  never  done  on  English  ground  before  or  since. 
On  the  thirteenth  of  November,  in  pursuance  of  secret  in- 
structions sent  by  the  King  over  the  whole  country,  the  in- 
habitants of  every  town  and  city  armed,  and  murdered  all 
the  Danes  who  were  their  neighbors.  Young  and  old,  babies 
and  soldiers,  men  and  women,  every  Dane  was  killed.  No 
doubt  there  were  among  them  many  ferocious  men  who  had 
done  the  English  great  wrong,  and  whose  pride  and  inso- 
lence, in  swaggering  in  the  houses  of  the  English  and  insult- 
ing their  wives  and  daughters,  had  become  unbearable  ;  but 
no  doubt  there  were  also  among  them  many  peaceful  Chris- 
tian Danes  who  had  married  English  women  and  become 
like  English  men.  They  were  all  slain,  even  to  Gunhilda, 
the  sister  of  the  King  of  Denmark,  married  to  an  English 
lord  ;  who  was  first  obliged  to  see  the  murder  of  her  husband 
and  her  child,  and  then  was  killed  herself. 

When  the  King  of  the  sea-kings  heard  of  this  deed  of 
blood,  he  swore  that  he  would  have  a  great  revenge.  He 
raised  an  army,  and  a  mightier  fleet  of  ships  than  ever  yet 
had  sailed  to  England  ;  and  in  all  his  army  there  was  not  a 
slave  or  an  old  man,  but  every  soldier  was  a  free  man,  and 
the  son  of  a  free  man,  and  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  sworn  to 
be  revenged  upon  the  English  nation,  for  the  massacre  of 
that  dread  thirteenth  of  November,  when  his  countrymen 
and  countrywomen,  and  the  little  children  whom  they  loved, 
were  killed  with  fire  and  sword.  And  so,  the  sea-kings  came 
to  England  in  many  great  ships,  each  bearing  the  flag  of  its 
own  commander.  Golden  eagles,  ravens,  dragons,  dolphins, 
beasts  of  prey,  threatened  England  from  the  prows  of  those 
ships,  as  they  came  onward  through  the  water  ;  and  were 
reflected  in  the  shining  shields  that  hung  upon  their  sides. 
The  ship  that  bore  the  standard  of  the  King  ef  the  sea-kings 
was  carved  and  painted  like  a  miphty  serpent  ;  and  the  king 


34  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

in  his  anger  prayed  that  the  gods  in  whom  he  trusted  might 
all  desert  him,  if  his  serpent  did  not  strike  his  fangs  into  En- 
gland's heart. 

And  indeed  it  did.  For,  the  great  army  landing  from  the 
great  fleet,  near  Exeter,  went  forward,  laying  England  waste, 
and  striking  their  lances  in  the  earth  as  they  advanced,  or 
throwing  them  into  rivers,  in  token  of  their  making  all  the 
islands  theirs.  In  remembrance  of  the  black  November  night 
when  the  Danes  were  murdered,  wheresoever  the  invaders 
came,  they  made  the  Saxons  prepare  and  spread  for  them 
great  feasts  ;  and  when  they  had  eaten  those  feasts,  and  had 
drunk  a  curse  to  England  with  wild  rejoicings,  they  drew 
their  swords  and  killed  their  Saxon  entertainers,  and  marched 
on.  For  six  long  years  they  carried  on  this  war  ;  burning 
the  crops,  farmhouses,  barns,  mills,  granaries ;  killing  the 
laborers  in  the  fields  ;  preventing  the  seed  from  being  sown 
in  the  ground  ;  causing  famine  and  starvation  ;  leaving  only 
heaps  of  ruin  and  smoking  ashes,  where  they  had  found 
rich  towns.  To  crown  this  misery,  English  officers  and 
men  deserted,  and  even  the  favorites  of  Ethelred  the  Un- 
ready, becoming  traitors,  seized  many  of  the  English  ships, 
turned  pirates  against  their  own  country,  and  aided  by 
a  storm,  occasioned  the  loss  of  nearly  the  whole  English 
navy. 

There  was  but  one  man  of  note,  at  this  miserable  pass, 
who  was  true  to  his  country  and  the  feeble  King.  He  was  a 
priest,  and  a  brave  one.  For  twenty  days  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  defended  that  city  against  its  Danish  besieg- 
ers ;  and  when  a  traitor  in  the  town  threw  the  gates  open  and 
admitted  them,  he  said,  in  chains,  "  I  will  not  buy  my  life 
with  money  that  must  be  extorted  from  the  suffering  people. 
Do  with  me  what  you  please  !  "  Again  and  again,  he  steadily 
refused  to  purchase  his  release  with  gold  wrung  from  the 
poor. 

At  last,  the  Danes  being  tired  of  this,  and  being  assem- 
bled at  a  drunken  merry-making,  had  him  brought  into  the 
f easting-hall. 

"  Now,  bishop,"  they  said,  "  we  want  gold  !  " 

He  looked  round  on  the  crowd  of  angry  faces  :  from  the 
shaggy  beards  close  to  him, 'to  the  shaggy  beards  against  the 
walls,  where  men  were  mounted  on  tables  and  forms  to  see 
him  over  the  heads  of  others  :  and  he  knew  that  his  time 
was  come. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  35 

H  I  have  no  gold,"  said  he. 

81  Get  it,  bishop  !  "  they  all  thundered. 

11  That,  I  have  often  told  you  I  will  not,"  said  he. 

They  gathered  closer  round  him,  threatening,  but  he  stood 
unmoved.  Then,  one  Inan  struck  him  ;  then,  another  ;  then, 
a  cursing  soldier  picked  up  from  a  heap  in  a  corner  of  the 
hall,  where  fragments  had  been  rudely  thrown  at  dinner, 
a  great  ox-bone,  and  cast  it  at  his  face,  from  which  the 
blood  came  spurting  forth  ;  then,  others  ran  to  the  same 
heap,  and  knocked  him  down  with  other  bones,  and  bruised 
and  battered  him  ;  until  one  soldier  whom  he  had  baptized 
(willing  as  I  hope  for  the  sake  of  that  soldier's  soul,  to 
shorten  the  sufferings  of  the  good  man)  struck  him  dead 
with  his  battle-ax. 

If  Ethelred  had  had  the  heart  to  emulate  the  courage 
of  this  noble  archbishop,  he  might  have  done  something  yet. 
But  he  paid  the  Danes  forty-eight  thousand  pounds,  instead, 
and  gained  so  little  by  the  cowardly  act,  that  Sweyn  soon 
afterwards  came  over  to  subdue  all  England.  So  broken  was 
the  attachment  of  the  English  people,  at  this  time,  to  their 
incapable  King  and  their  forlorn  country  which  could  not 
protect  them,  that  they  welcomed  Sweyn  on  all  sides,  as  a 
deliverer.  London  faithfully  stood  out,  as  long  as  the  King 
was  within  its  walls  ;  but  when  he  sneaked  away,  it  also  wel- 
'comed  the  Dane.  Then,  all  was  over  ;  and  the  King  took 
:refuge  abroad  with  the  Duke  of  Normandy,  who  had  already 
given  shelter  to  the  King's  wife,  once  the  Flower  of  that 
country,  and  to  her  children. 

Still,  the  English  people,  in  spite  of  their  sad  sufferings, 
could  not  quite  forget  the  great  King  Alfred  and  the  Saxon 
race.  When  Sweyn  died  suddenly,  in  little  more  than  a 
month  after  he  had  been  proclaimed  King  of  England,  they 
generously  sent  to  Ethelred,  to  say  that  they  would  have  him 
for  their  King  again,  "  if  he  would  only  govern  them  better 
than  he  had  governed  them  before."  The  Unready,  instead 
of  coming  himself,  sent  Edward,  one  of  his  sons,  to  make 
promises  for  him.  At  last,  he  followed,  and  the  English 
declared  him  King.  The  Danes  declared  Canute,  the  son  of 
Sweyn,  King.  Thus,  direful  war  began  again,  and  lasted  foi 
three  years,  when  the  Unready  died.  And  I  know  of  noth* 
ing  better  that  he  did  in  all  his  reign  of  eight  and  thirty 
years. 

Was  Canute  to  be  King  now  ?     Not  over  the  Saxons,  they 


36  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

said  ;  they  must  have  Edmund,  one  of  the  sons  of  the  Un- 
ready, who  was  surnamed  Ironside,  because  of  his  strength 
and  stature.  Edmund  and  Canute  thereupon  fell  to,  and 
fought  five  battles — O  unhappy  England,  what  a  fighting 
ground  it  was  ! — and  then  Ironside,  who  was  a  big  man, 
proposed  to  Canute,  who  was  a  little  man,  that  they  two 
should  fight  it  out  in  single  combat.  If  Canute  had  been  the 
big  man,  he  would  probably  have  said  yes,  but,  being  the 
little  man,  he  decidedly  said  no.  However,  he  declared  that 
he  was  willing  to  divide  the  kingdom — to  take  all  that  lay 
north  of  Watling  Street,  as  the  old  Roman  military  road  from 
Dover  to  Chester  was  called,  and  to  give  Ironside  all  that  lay 
south  of  it.  Most  men  being  weary  of  so  much  bloodshed, 
this  was  done.  But  Canute  soon  became  sole  King  of 
England  ;  for  Ironside  died  suddenly  within  two  months. 
Some  think  that  he  was  killed,  and  killed  by  Canute's  orders, 
No  one  knows. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  CANUTE  THE  DANE. 

Canute  reigned  eighteen  years.  He  was  a  merciless  King  at 
first.  After  he  had  clasped  the  hands  of  the  Saxon  Chiefs, 
in  token  of  the  sincerity  with  which  he  swore  to  be  just  and 
good  to  them  in  return  for  their  acknowledging  him,  he  de- 
nounced and  slew  many  of  them,  as  well  as  many  relations 
of  the  late  King.  "  He  who  brings  me  the  head  of  one  of 
my  enemies,"  he  used  to  say,  "  shall  be  dearer  to  me  than  a 
brother."  And  he  was  so  severe  in  hunting  down  his  ene- 
mies, that  he  must  have  got  together  a  pretty  large  family  of 
these  dear  brothers.  He  was  strongly  inclined  to  kill  Ed- 
mund and  Edward,  two  children,  sons  of  poor  Ironside  ;  but, 
being  afraid  to  do  so  in  England,  he  sent  them  over  to  the 
King  of  Sweden,  with  a  request  that  the  King  would  be  so 
good  as  "  dispose  of  them."  If  the  King  of  Sweden  had 
been  like  many,  many  other  men  of  that  day,  he  would  have 
had  their  innocent  throats  cut  ;  but  he  was  a  kind  man,  and 
brought  them  up  tenderly. 

Normandy  ran  much  in  Canute's  mind.  In  Normandy 
were  the  two  children  of  the  late  King — Edward  and  Alfred 
by  name  ;  and  their  uncle  the  Duke  might  one  day  claim  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  37 

• 
crown  for  them.  But  the  Duke  showed  so  little  inclination 
to  do  so  now,  that  he  proposed  to  Canute  to  marry  his  sister, 
the  widow  of  the  Unready  ;  who  being  but  a  showy  flower, 
and  caring  for  nothing  so  much  as  becoming  a  queen  again, 
left  her  children  and  was  wedded  to  him. 

Successful  and  triumphant,  assisted  by  the  valor  of  the 
English  in  his  foreign  wars,  and  with  little  strife  to  trouble 
him  at  home,  Canute  had  a  prosperous  reign,  and  made 
many  improvements.  He  was  a  poet  and  a  musician.  He 
grew  sorry  as  he  grew  older,  for  the  blood  he  had  shed  at 
first ;  and  went  to  Rome  in  a  pilgrim's  dress,  by  way  of 
washing  it  out.  He  gave  a  great  deal  of  money  to  foreign- 
ers on  his  journey  ;  but  he  took  it  from  the  English  before 
he  started.  On  the  whole,  however,  he  certainly  became 
a  far  better  man  when  he  had  no  opposition  to  contend 
with,  and  was  as  great  a  King  as  England  had  known  for 
some  time. 

The  old  writers  of  history  relate  how  that  Canute  was  one 
day  disgusted  with  his  courtiers  for  their  flattery,  and  how 
he  caused  his  chair  to  be  set  on  the  sea-shore,  and  feigned  to 
command  the  tide  as  it  came  up  not  to  wet  the  edge  of  his 
robe,  for  the  land  was  his  ;  how  the  tide  came  up,  of  course, 
without  regarding  him  ;  and  how  he  then  turned  to  his  flat- 
terers, and  rebuked  them,  saying,  what  was  the  might  of  any 
earthly  king,  to  the  might  of  the  Creator,  who  could  say 
unto  the  sea,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  further  ! "  We 
may  learn  from  this,  I  think,  that  a  little  sense  will  go  a  long 
way  in  a  king  ;  and  that  courtiers  are  not  easily  cured  of 
flattery,  nor  kings  of  a  liking  for  it.  If  the  courtiers  of 
Canute  had  not  known  long  before,  that  the  King  was  fond 
of  flattery,  they  would  have  known  better  than  to  offer  it  in 
such  large  doses.  And  if  they  had  t\ot  known  that  he  was 
vain  of  this  speech  (any  thing  but  a  wonderful  speech,  it 
seems  to  me,  if  a  good  child  had  made  it),  they  would  not 
have  been  at  such  great  pains  to  repeat  it.  I  fancy  I  see 
them  all  on  the  sea-shore  together  ;  the  King's  chair  sinking 
in  the  sand  ;  the  King  in  a  mighty  good  humor  with  his  own 
wisdom  ;  and  the  courtiers  pretending  to  be  quite  stunned 
by  it  ! 

It  is  not  the  sea  alone  that  is  bidden  to  go  "  thus  far,  and 
no  further."  The  great  command  goes  forth  to  all  the  kings 
upon  the  earth,  and  went  to  Canute  in  the  year  one  thousand 
and  thirty-five,  and  stretched  him  dead  upon  his  bed.    Beside 


8  A  CHILD'S  HTSTOAY  OF  ENGLAND. 


it,  stood  his  Norman  wife.  Perhaps,  as  the  king  looked 
his  last  upon  her,  he,  who  had  so  often  thought  distrustfully 
of  Normandy,  long  ago,  thought  once  more  of  the  two 
exiled  Princes  in  their  uncle's  court  ;  and  of  the  little  favor 
they  could  feel  for  either  Danes  or  Saxons,  and  of  a  rising 
cloud  in  Normandy  that  slowly  moved  toward  England. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ENGLAND     UNDER    HAROLD    HAREFOOT,  HARDICANUTE,  AND 
EDWARD    THE    CONFESSOR. 

Canute  left  three  sons,  by  name  Sweyn,  Harold,  and 
Hardicanute  ;  but  his  Queen,  Emma,  once  the  Flower  of 
Normandy,  was  the  mother  of  only  Hardicanute.  Canute 
had  wished  his  dominions  to  be  divided  between  the  three, 
and  had  wished  Harold  to  have  England  ;  but  the  Saxon 
people  in  the  South  of  England,  headed  by  a  nobleman  with 
great  possessions,  called  the  powerful  Earl  Godwin  (who  is 
said  to  have  been  originally  a  poor  cow-boy),  opposed  this, 
and  desired  to  have,  instead,  either  Hardicanute,  or  one  of. 
the  two  exiled  Princes  who  were  over  in  Normandy.  It 
seemed  so  certain  that  there  would  be  more  bloodshed  to 
settle  this  dispute,  that  many  people  left  their  homes,  and 
took  refuge  in  the  woods  and  swamps.  Happily,  however, 
it  was  agreed  to  refer  the  whole  question  to  a  great  meeting 
at  Oxford,  which  decided  that  Harold  should  have  all  the 
country  north  of  the  Thames,  with  London  for  his  capital 
city,  and  that  Hardicanute  should  have  all  the  south.  The 
quarrel  was  so  arranged  ;  and,  as  Hardicanute  was  in  Den- 
mark troubling  himself  very  little  about  any  thing  but  eating 
and  getting  drunk,  his  mother  and  Earl  Godwin  governed 
the  south  for  him. 

They  had  hardly  begun  to  do  so,  and  the  trembling  people 
who  had  hidden  themselves  were  scarcely  at  home  again, 
when  Edward,  the  elder  of  the  two  exiled  Princes,  came  over 
from  Normandy  with  a  few  followers,  to  claim  the  English 
crown.  His  mother  Emma,  however,  who  only  cared  for 
her  last  son  Hardicanute,  instead  of  assisting  him,  as  he  ex- 
pected, opposed  him  so  strongly  with  all  her  influence  that 
he  was  very  soon  glad  to  get  safely  back.  His  brother  Alfred 
was  not  so  fortunate.     Believing  in  an  affectionate  letter, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


39 


written  some  time  afterward  to  him  and  his  brother,  in  his 
mother's  name  (but  whether  really  with  or  without  his 
mother's  knowledge  is  now  uncertain),  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  tempted  over  to  England,  with  a  good  force  of  soldiers, 
and  landing  on  the  Kentish  coast,  and  being  met  and  wel- 
comed by  Earl  Godwin,  proceeded  into  Surrey,  as  far  as  the 
town  of  Guildford.  Here,  he  and  his  men  halted  in  the 
evening  to  rest,  having  still  the  Earl  in  their  company  ;  who 
had  ordered  lodgings  and  good  cheer  for  them.  But,  in  the 
dead  of  the  night,  when  they  were  off  their  guard,  being 
divided  into  small  parties  sleeping  soundly  after  a  long  march 
and  a  plentiful  supper  in  different  houses,  they  were  set  upon 
by  the  King's  troops,  and  taken  prisoners.  NexJ:  morning 
they  were  drawn  out  in  a  line,  to  the  number  of  six  hundred 
men,  and  were  barbarously  tortured  and  killed,  with  the 
exception  of  every  tenth  man,  who  was  sold  into  slavery. 
As  to  the  wretched  Prince  Alfred,  he  was  stripped  naked, 
tied  to  a  horse  and  sent  away  into  the  Isle  of  Ely,  where  his 
eyes  were  torn  out  of  his  head,  and  where  in  a  few  days  he 
miserably  died.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  Earl  had  willfully 
entrapped  him,  but  I  suspect  it  strongly. 

Harold  was  now  King  all  over  England,  though  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  (the  greater  part 
of  the  priests  were  Saxons,  and  not  friendly  to  the  Danes) 
ever  consented  to  crown  him.  Crowned  or  uncrowned, 
with  the  Archbishop's  leave  or  without  it,  he  was  King  for 
four  years  ;  after  which  short  reign  he  died,  and  was  buried  ; 
having  never  done  much  in  life  but  go  a  hunting.  He  was 
such  a  fast  runner  at  this,  his  favorite  sport,  that  the  people 
called  him  Harold  Harefoot. 

Hardicanute  was  then  at  Bruges,  in  Flanders,  plotting  with 
his  mother  (who  had  gone  over  there  after  the  cruel  murder 
of  Prince  Alfred),  for  the  invasion  of  England.  The  Danes 
and  Saxons,  finding  themselves  without  a  King,  and  dreading 
new  disputes,  made  common  cause,  and  joined  in  inviting 
him  to  occupy  the  Throne.  He  consented,  and  soon  troubled 
them  enough  ;  for  he  brought  over  numbers  of  Danes,  and 
taxed  the  people  so  insupportably  to  enrich  those  greedy 
favorites  that  there  were  many  insurrections,  especially  one 
at  Worcester,  where  the  citizens  rose  and  killed  his  tax- 
collectors  ;  in  revenge  for  which  he  burned  their  city.  He 
was  a  brutal  King,  whose  first  public  act  was  to  order  the 
dead  body  of  poor  Harold  Harefoot  to  be  dug  up,  beheaded, 


4o  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

and  thrown  into  the  river.  His  end  was  worthy  of  such  a 
beginning.  He  fell  down  drunk,  with  a  goblet  of  wine  in 
his  hand,  at  a  wedding-feast  at  Lambeth,  given  in  honor  of 
the  marriage  of  his  standard-bearer,  a  Dane,  named  Towed 
the  Proud,  and  he  never  spoke  again. 

Edward,  afterward  called  by  the  monks  '  The  Confessor,' 
succeeded  ;  and  his  first  act  was  to  oblige  his  mother  Emma, 
who  had  favored  him  so  little,  to  retire  into  the  country  ; 
where  she  died  some  ten  years  afterward.  He  was  the  ex- 
iled prince  whose  brother  Alfred  had  been  so  foully  killed. 
He  had  been  invited  over  from  Normandy  by  Hardicanute, 
in  the  course  of  his  short  reign  of  two  years,  and  had  been 
handsomely  treated  at  court.  His  cause  was  now  favored 
by  the  powerful  Earl  Godwin,  and  he  was  soon  made  King. 
This  Earl  had  been  suspected  by  the  people  ever  since  Prince 
Alfred's  cruel  death  ;  he  had  even  been  tried  in  the  last  reign 
for  the  Prince's  murder,  but  had  been  pronounced  not  guilty  ; 
chiefly,  as  it  was  supposed,  because  of  a  present  he  had 
made  to  the  swinish  King,  of  a  gilded  ship  with  a  figure-head 
of  solid  gold,  and  a  crew  of  eighty  splendidly-armed  men.  It 
was  his  interest  to  help  the  new  King  with  his  power,  if  the 
new  King  would  help  him  against  the  popular  distrust  and 
hatred.  So  they  made  a  bargain.  Edward  the  Confessor 
got  the  throne.  The  Earl  got  more  power  and  more  land, 
and  his  daughter  Editha  was  made  queen  ;  for  it  was  a 
part  of  their  compact  that  the  King  should  take  her  for  his 
wife. 

But,  although  she  was  a  gentle  lady,  in  all  things  worthy 
to  be  beloved — good,  beautiful,  sensible,  and  kind — the 
King  from  the  first  neglected  her.  Her  father  and  her  six 
proud  brothers,  resenting  this  cold  treatment,  harassed  the 
King  greatly  by  exerting  all  their  power  to  make  him  un- 
popular. Having  lived  so  long  in  Normandy,  he  preferred 
the  Normans  to  the  English.  He  made  a  Norman  Arch- 
bishop, and  Norman  Bishops  ;  his  great  officers  and  favorites 
were  all  Normans  ;  he  introduced  the  Norman  fashions  and 
the  Norman  language  ;  in  imitation  of  the  state  custom  of 
Normandy,  he  attached  a  great  seal  to  his  state  documents, 
instead  of  merely  marking  them,  as  the  Saxon  Kings  had 
done,  with  the  sign  of  the  cross — just  as  poor  people  who 
have  never  been  taught  to  write,  now  make  the  same  mark 
for  their  names.  All  this,  the  powerful  Earl  Godwin  and 
his  six  proud  sons  represented   to  the  people  as  disfavor 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  41 

shown  toward  the  English ;  and  thus  they  daily  increased  their 
own  power,  and  daily  diminished  the  power  of  the  King. 

They  were  greatly  helped  by  an  event  that  occurred  when 
he  had  reigned  eight  years.    Eustace,  Earl  of  Boulogne,  who 
had  married  the  King's  sister,   came  to  England  on  a  visit. 
After  staying  at  the  court  some  time,  he  set  forth,  with  his 
numerous  train  of  attendants,  to  return  home.  They  were  to 
embark  at  Dover.     Entering  that  peaceful  town  in  armor, 
they  took  possession  of  the  best  houses,  and  noisily  demanded 
to   be   lodged   and  entertained  without  payment.     One  of 
the  bold  men  of  Dover,  who  would  not  endure  to  have  these 
domineering  strangers  jingling  their  heavy  swords   and  iron 
corselets  up  and  down  his  house,  eating  his  meat  and  drink- 
ing his  strong  liquor,  stood  in  his  doorway  and  refused  ad- 
mission to  the  first  armed  man  who  came  there.    The  armed 
man  drew,  and  wounded  him.    The  man  of  Dover  struck  the 
armed  man  dead.    Intelligence  of  what  he  had  done,  spread- 
ing through  the  streets  to  where  the  Count  Eustace  and  his 
men   were  standing  by  their   horses,    bridle  in  hand,  they 
passionately  mounted,  galloped  to  the  house,  surrounded  it, 
forced  their  way  in  (the  doors  and  windows  being  closed 
when  they  came  up),  and  killed  the  man  of  Dover  at  his 
own  fireside.     They  then  clattered  through  the  streets,  cut- 
ting down  and  riding  over  men,  women,  and  children.     This 
did  not  last  long,  you  may  believe.     The  men  of  Dover  set 
upon  them  with  great  fury,  killed  nineteen  of  the  foreigners, 
wounded  many  more,  and,  blockading  the  road  to  the  port 
so  that  they  should  not  embark,  beat  them  out  of  the  town 
by  the  way  they  had  come.     Hereupon  Count  Eustace  rides 
as  hard  as  a  man  can  ride  to  Gloucester,  where   Edward  is, 
surrounded  by  Norman  monks  and  Norman  lords.  "  Justice  ! " 
cries    the   Count,    "  upon  the   men  of  Dover,  who  have  set 
upon  and  slain  my  people  ?  "     The  King  sends  immediately 
for  the  powerful  Earl  Godwin,  who  happens  to  be  near  ;  re- 
minds him  that  Dover  is  under  his  government  ;  and  orders 
him  to  repair  to  Dover  and  do  military  execution  on  the  in- 
habitants.    "  It  does  not  become  you,"  says  the  proud  Earl 
in  reply,  "  to  condemn  without  a  hearing  those  whom  you 
have  sworn  to  protect.     I  will  not  do  it." 

The  King,  therefore,  summoned  the  Earl,  on  pain  of  ban- 
ishment and  loss  of  his  titles  and  property,  to  appear  before 
the  court  to  answer  this  disobedience.  The  Earl  refused  to 
appear.     He,  his  eldest   son  Harold,  and   his   second  son 


42  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Sweyn,  hastily  raised  as  many  fighting  men  as  their  utmost 
power  could  collect,  and  demanded  to  have  Count  Eustace 
and  his  followers  surrendered  to  the  justice  of  the  country. 
The  King,  in  his  turn,  refused  to  give  them  up,  and  raised  a 
strong  force.  After  some  treaty  and  delay,  the  troops  of  the 
great  Earl  and  his  sons  began  to  fall  off.  The  Earl,  with  a 
part  of  his  family  and  abundance  of  treasure,  sailed  to  Flan- 
ders ;  Harold  escaped  to  Ireland  ;  and  the  power  of  the  great 
family  was  for  that  time  gone  in  England.  But,  the  people 
did  not  forget  them. 

Then,  Edward  the  Confessor,  with  the  true  meanness  of  a 
mean  spirit,  visited  his  dislike  of  the  once  powerful  father  and 
sons  upon  the  helpless  daughter  and  sister,  his  unoffending 
wife,  whom  all  who  saw  her  (her  husband  and  his  monks  ex- 
cepted) loved.  He  seized  rapaciously  upon  her  fortune  and 
her  jewels,  and  allowing  her  only  one  attendant,  confined  her 
in  a  gloomy  convent,  of  which  a  sister  of  his — no  doubt  an 
unpleasant  lady  after  his  own  heart — was  abbess  or  jailer. 

Having  got  Earl  Godwin  and  his  six  sons  well  out  of  his 
way,  the  King  favored  the  Normans  more  than  ever.  He 
invited  over  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  the  son  of  that 
Duke  who  had  received  him  and  his  murdered  brother  long 
ago,  and  of  a  peasant  girl,  a  tanner's  daughter,  with  whom 
that  Duke  had  fallen  in  love  for  her  beauty,  as  he  saw  her 
washing  clothes  in  a  brook.  William,  who  was  a  great  war- 
rior, with  a  passion  for  fine  horses,  dogs  and  arms,  accepted 
the  invitation  ;  and  the  Normans  in  England,  finding  them- 
selves more  numerous  than  ever  when  he  arrived  with  his 
retinue,  and  held  in  still  greater  honor  at  court  than  before, 
became  more  and  more  haughty  towards  the  people,  and 
were  more  and  more  disliked  by  them. 

The  old  Earl  Godwin,  though  he  was  abroad,  knew  well 
how  the  people  felt ;  for,  with  part  of  the  treasure  he  had 
carried  away  with  him,  he  kept  spies  and  agents  in  his  pay 
all  over  England.  Accordingly,  he  thought  the  time  was 
come  for  fitting  out  a  great  expedition  against  the  Norman- 
loving  King.  With  it,  he  sailed  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where 
he  was  joined  by  his  son  Harold,  the  most  gallant  and  brave 
of  all  his  family.  And  so  the  father  and  son  came  sailing  up 
the  Thames  to  Southwark  ;  great  numbers  of  the  people  de- 
claring for  them  and  shouting  for  the  English  Earl  and  the 
English  Harold,  against  the  Norman  favorites  ! 

The  King  was  at  first  as  blind  and  stubborn  as  kings  usual- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  43 

1/  have  been  whensoever  they  have  been  in  the  hands  of 
monks.  But  the  people  rallied  so  thickly  round  the  old  Earl 
and  his  son,  and  the  old  Earl  was  so  steady  in  demanding 
without  bloodshed  the  restoration  of  himself  and  his  family 
to  their  rights,  that  at  last  the  court  took  the  alarm.  The 
Norman  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  the  Norman  Bishop 
of  London,  surrounded  by  their  retainers,  fought  their  way 
out  of  London,  and  escaped  from  Essex  to  France  in  a  fish- 
ing-boat. The  other  Norman  favorites  dispersed  in  all  di- 
rections. The  old  Earl  and  his  sons  (except  Sweyn,  who 
had  committed  crimes  against  the  law)  were  restored  to  their 
possessions  and  dignities.  Editha,  the  virtuous  and  lovely 
Queen  of  the  insensible  King,  was  triumphantly  released 
from  her  prison,  the  convent,  and  once  more  sat  in  her  chair 
of  state,  arrayed  in  the  jewels  of  which,  when  she  had  no 
champion  to  support  her  rights,  her  cold-blooded  husband 
had  deprived  her. 

The  old  Earl  Godwin  did  not  long  enjoy  his  restored  for- 
tune. He  fell  down  in  a  fit  at  the  King's  table,  and  died 
upon  the  third  day  afterward.  Harold  succeeded  to  his 
power,  and  to  a  far  higher  place  in  the  attachment  of  the 
people  than  his  father  had  ever  held.  By  his  valor  he  sub- 
dued the  King's  enemies  in  many  bloody  fights.  FLe  was 
vigorous  against  rebels  in  Scotland — this  is  the  time  when 
Macbeth  slew  Duncan,  upon  which  event  our  English 
Shakespeare,  hundreds  of  years  afterwards,  wrote  his  great 
tragedy  :  and  he  killed  the  restless  Welsh  King  Griffith,  and 
brought  his  head  to  England. 

What  Harold  was  doing  at  sea,  when  he  was  driven  on 
the  French  coast  by  a  tempest,  is  not  at  all  certain  ;  nor 
does  it  at  all  matter.  That  his  ship  was  forced  by  a  storm 
on  that  shore,  and  that  he  was  taken  prisoner,  there  is  no 
doubt.  In  those  barbarous  days,  all  shipwrecked  strangers 
were  taken  prisoners,  and  obliged  to  pay  ransom.  So,  a 
certain  Count  Guy,  who  was  the  Lord  of  Ponthieu  where 
Harold's  disaster  happened,  seized  him,  instead  of  relieving 
him  like  a  hospitable  and  Christian  lord  as  he  ought  to  have 
done,  and  expected  to  make  a  very  good  thing  of  it. 

But  Harold  sent  off  immediately  to  Duke  William  of  Nor- 
mandy, complaining  of  this  treatment  ;  and  the  Duke  no 
sooner  heard  of  it  than  he  ordered  Harold  to  be  escorted  to 
the  ancient  town  of  Rouen,  where  he  then  was,  and  where  he 
received  him  as  an  honored  guest.     Now,  some  writers  tell 


44  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

us  that  Edward  the  Confessor,  who  was  by  this  time  old  and> 
had  no  children,  had  made  a  will,  appointing  Duke  William 
of  Normandy  his  successor,  and  had  informed  the  Duke  of 
his  having  done  so.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  anxious 
about  his  successor,  because  he  had  even  invited  over,  from 
abroad,  Edward  the  Outlaw,  a  son  of  Ironside,  who  had 
come  to  England  with  his  wife  and  three  children,  but  whom 
the  King  had  strangely  refused  to  see  when  he  did  come,  and' 
who  had  died  in  London  suddenly  (princes  were  terribly  liable 
to  sudden  death  in  those  days),  and  had  been  buried  in  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  The  King  might  possibly  have  made  such 
a  will ;  or,  having  always  been  fond  of  the  Normans,  he 
might  have  encouraged  Norman  William  to  aspire  to  the 
English  crown,  by  something  that  he  said  to  him  when  he 
was  staying  at  the  English  court.  But,  certainly  William 
did  not  aspire  to  it ;  and  knowing  that  Harold  would  be  a 
powerful  rival,  he  called  together  a  great  assembly  of  his 
nobles,  offered  Harold  his  daughter  Adele  in  marriage,  in- 
formed him  that  he  meant  on  King  Edward's  death  to  claim 
the  English  crown  as  his  own  inheritance,  and  required  Har- 
old then  and  there  to  swear  to  aid  him.  Harold,  being  in  the 
Duke's  power,  took  this  oath  upon  the  Missal,  or  Prayer-book. 
It  is  a  good  example  of  the  superstitions  of  the  monks,  that 
this  Missal,  instead  of  being  placed  upon  a  table,  was  placed 
upon  a  tub  ;  which,  when  Harold  had  sworn,  was  uncovered, 
and  shown  to  be  full  of  dead  men's  bones — bones,  as  the 
monks  pretended,  of  saints.  This  was  supposed  to  make 
Harold's  oath  a  great  deal  more  impressive  and  binding.  As 
if  the  great  name  of  the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth  could 
be  made  more  solemn  by  a  knuckle-bone,  or  a  double-tooth, 
or  a  finger-nail,  of  Dunstan  ! 

Within  a  week  or  two  after  Harold's  return  to  England,  the 
dreary  old  Confessor  was  found  to  be  dying.  After  wandering 
in  his  mind  like  a  very  weak  old  man,  he  died.  As  he  had 
put  himself  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  monks  when  he  was 
alive,  they  praised  him  lustily  when  he  was  dead.  They  had 
gone  so  far,  already,  as  to  persuade  him  that  he  could  work 
miracles  ;  and  had  brought  people  afflicted  with  a  bad  dis- 
order of  the  skin,  to  him,  to  be  touched  and  cured.  This  was 
called  "  touching  for  the  King's  Evil,"  which  afterward  be- 
came a  royal  custom.  You  know,  however,  Who  really 
touched  the  sick,  and  healed  them  ;  and  you  know  His 
sacred  name  is  not  among  the  dusty  line  of  human  kings. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  45 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    HAROLD    THE    SECOND,    AND   CONQUERED 
BY    THE    NORMANS. 

Harold  was  crowned  King  of  England  on  the  very  day 
of  the  maudlin  Confessor's  funeral.  He  had  good  need 
to  be  quick  about  it.  When  the  news  reached  Norman 
William,  hunting  in  his  park  at  Rouen,  he  dropped  his  bow, 
returned  to  his  palace,  called  his  nobles  to  council,  and  pres- 
ently sent  embassadors  to  Harold,  calling  on  him  to  keep  his 
oath  and  resign  the  Crown.  Harold  would  do  no  such  thing. 
The  barons  of  France  leagued  together  round  Duke  William 
for  the  invasion  of  England.  Duke  William  promised  freely 
to  distribute  English  wealth  and  English  lands  among  them. 
The  Pope  sent  to  Normandy  a  consecrated  banner,  and  a  ring 
containing  a  hair  which  he  warranted  to  have  grown  on  the 
head  of  Saint  Peter.  He  blessed  the  enterprise  ;  and  cursed 
Harold  ;  and  requested  that  the  Normans  would  pay  "  Peter's 
Pence  " — or  a  tax  to  himself  of  a  penny  a  year  on  every 
house — a  little  more  regularly  in  future,  if  they  could  make 
it  convenient. 

King  Harold  had  a  rebel  brother  in  Flanders,  who  was  a 
vassal  of  Harold  Hardrada,  King  of  Norway.  This  brother, 
and  this  Norwegian  King,  joining  their  forces  against 
England  with  Duke  William's  help,  won  a  fight  in  which  the 
English  were  commanded  by  two  nobles  ;  and  then  besieged 
York.  Harold,  who  was  waiting  for  the  Normans  on  the 
coast  of  Hastings,  with  his  army,  marched  to  Stamford  Bridge 
upon  the  river  Derwent  to  give  them  instant  battle. 

He  found  then  drawn  up  in  a  hollow  circle,  marked  out  by 
their  shining  spears.  Riding  round  this  circle  at  a  distance, 
to  survey  it,  he  saw  a  brave  figure  on  horseback,  in  a  blue 
mantle  and  a  bright  helmet,  whose  horse  suddenly  stumbled 
and  threw  him. 

"  Who  is  that  man  who  has  fallen  ? "  Harold  asked  of  one 
of  his  captains. 

"  The  King  of  Norway,"  he  replied. 

"  He  is  a  tall  and  stately  king,"  said  Harold,  "  but  his  end 
is  near." 

He  added,  in  a  little  while,  u  Go  yonder  to  my  brother,  and 


46  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

tell  him  if  he  withdraw  his  troops,  he  shall  be  Earl  of  North- 
umberland, and  rich  and  powerful  in  England." 

The  captain  rode  away  and  gave  the  message. 

"  What  will  he  give  to  my  friend  the  King  of  Norway  ?  " 
asked  the  brother. 

"  Seven  feet  of  earth  for  a  grave,"  replied  the  captain. 

"No  more?"  returned  the  brother,  with  a  smile. 

"  The  King  of  Norway  being  a  tall  man,  perhaps  a  little 
more,"  replied  the  captain. 

"  Ride  back  !  "  said  the  brother,  "and  tell  King  Harold  to 
make  ready  for  the  fight  !  " 

He  did  so,  very  soon.  And  such  a  fight  King  Harold  led 
against  that  force,  that  his  brother,  and  the  Norwegian  King, 
and  every  chief  of  note  in  all  their  host,  except  the  Norwe- 
gian King's  son,  Olave,  to  whom  he  gave  honorable  dismissal, 
were  left  dead  upon  the  field.  The  victorious  army  marched 
to  York.  As  King  Harold  sat  there  at  the  feast,  in  the  midst 
of  all  his  company,  a  stir  was  heard  at  the  doors  ;  and  mes- 
sengers all  covered  with  mire  with  riding  far  and  fast  through 
broken  ground  came  hurrying  in,  to  report  that  the  Normans 
had  landed  in  England. 

1  The  intelligence  was  true.  They  had  been  tossed  about  by 
contrary  winds,  and  some  of  their  ships  had  been  wrecked. 
A  part  of  their  own  shore,  to  which  they  had  been  driven 
back,  was  strewn  with  Norman  bodies.  But  they  had  once 
more  made  sail,  led  by  the  Duke's  own  galley,  a  present  from 
his  wife,  upon  the  prow  whereof  the  figure  of  a  golden  boy 
stood  pointing  towards  England.  By  day,  the  banner  of  the 
three  Lions  of  Normandy,  the  diverse  colored  sails,  the  gilded 
vanes,  the  many  decorations  of  this  gorgeous  ship,  had  glit- 
tered in  the  sun  and  sunny  water ;  by  night,  a  light  had 
sparkled  like  a  star  at  her  mast-head.  And  now,  encamped 
near  Hastings,  with  their  leader  lying  in  the  old  Roman  castle 
of  Pevensey,  the  English  retiring  in  all  directions,  the  land 
for  miles  around  scorched  and  smoking,  fired  and  pillaged, 
was  the  whole  Norman  power,  hopeful  and  strong  on  English 
ground. 

Harold  broke  up  the  feast  and  hurried  to  London.  Within 
a  week,  his  army  was  ready.  He  sent  out  spies  to  ascertain 
the  Norman  strength.  William  took  them,  caused  them  to 
be  led  through  his  whole  camp,  and  then  dismissed.  "  The 
Normans,"  said  these  spies  to  Harold,  "  are  not  bearded  on 
the  upper  lip  as  we  English  are,  but  are  shorn.     They  are 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  47 

priests."  "  My  men,"  replied  Harold,  with  a  laugh,  "  will 
find  those  priests  good  soldiers  !  " 

"  The  Saxons,"  reported  Duke  William's  outposts  of  Nor- 
man soldiers,  who  were  instructed  to  retire  as  King  Harold's 
army  advanced,  "  rush  on  us  through  their  pillaged  country 
with  the  fury  of  madmen." 

"  Let  them  come,  and  come  soon  !  "  said  Duke  William. 

Some  proposals  for  a  reconciliation  were  made,  but  were 
soon  abandoned.  In  the  middle  of  the  month  of  October,  in 
the  year  one  thousand  and  sixty-six,  the  Normans  and  the 
English  came  front  to  front.  All  night  the  armies  lay  en- 
camped before  each  other,  in  a  part  of  the  country  then  called 
Senlac,  now  called  (in  remembrance  of  them)  Battle.  With 
the  first  dawn  of  day,  they  arose.  There,  in  the  faint  light, 
were  the  English  on  a  hill  ;  a  wood  behind  them  ;  in  their 
midst,  the  Royal  banner,  representing  a  fighting  warrior, 
woven  in  gold  thread,  adorned  with  precious  stones  ;  beneath 
the  banner  as  it  rustled  in  the  wind,  stood  King  Harold  on 
foot,  with  two  of  his  remaining  brothers  by  his  side  ;  around 
them,  still  and  silent  as  the  dead,  clustered  the  whole  English 
army — every  soldier  covered  by  his  shield,  and  bearing  in 
his  hand  his  dreaded  English  battle-ax. 

On  an  opposite  hill,  in  three  lines,  archers,  foot-soldiers, 
horsemen,  was  the  Norman  force.  Of  a  sudden,  a  great 
battle-cry,  "  God  help  us  ! "  burst  from  the  Norman  lines. 
The  English  answered  with  their  own  battle-cry,  "  God's 
Rood  !  Holy  Rood  !  "  The  Normans  then  came  sweeping 
down  the  hill  to  attack  the  English. 

There  was  one  tall  Norman  knight  who  rode  before  the 
Norman  army  on  a  prancing  horse,  throwing  up  his  heavy 
sword  and  catching  it,  and  singing  of  the  bravery  of  his 
countrymen.  An  English  knight,  who  rode  out  from  the 
English  force  to  meet  him,  fell  by  this  knight's  hand.  An- 
other English  knight  rode  out,  and  he  fell  too.  But  then  a 
third  rode  out,  and  killed  the  Norman.  This  was  in  the  first 
beginning  of  the  fight.     It  soon  raged  every  where. 

The  English  keeping  side  by  side  in  a  great  mass,  cared 
no  more  for  the  showers  of  Norman  arrows  than  if  they  had 
been  showers  of  Norman  rain.  When  the  Norman  horsemen 
rode  against  them,  with  their  battle-axes  they  cut  men  and 
horses  down.  The  Normans  gave  way.  The  English  pressed 
forward.  A  cry  went  forth  among  the  Norman  troops  that 
D*ke  William  was  killed.     Duke  William  took  off  his  helmet, 


48  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

• 
in  order  that  his  face  might  be  distinctly  seen,  and  rode 
along  the  line  before  his  men.  This  gave  them  courage. 
As  they  turned  again  to  face  the  English,  some  of  their  Nor- 
man horse  divided  the  pursuing  body  of  the  English  from  the 
rest,  and  thus  all  that  foremost  portion  of  the  English  army 
fell,  fighting  bravely.  The  main  body  still  remaining  firm, 
heedless  of  the  Norman  arrows,  and  with  their  battle-axes 
cutting  down  the  crowds  of  horsemen  when  they  rode  up,  like 
forests  of  young  trees,  Duke  William  pretended  to  retreat. 
The  eager  English  followed.  The  Norman  army  closed 
again,  and  fell  upon  them  with  great  slaughter. 

"  Still,"  said  Duke  William,  '  there  are  thousands  of  the 
English,  firm  as  rocks  around  their  King.  Shoot  upward, 
Norman  archers,  that  your  arrows  may  fall  down  upon  their 
faces  !  " 

The  sun  rose  high,  and  sank,  and  the  battle  still  raged. 
Through  all  the  wild  October  day,  the  clash  and  din  re- 
sounded in  the  air.  In  the  red  sunset,  and  in  the  white 
moonlight,  heaps  upon  heaps  of  dead  men  lay  strewn,  a 
dreadful  spectacle,  all  over  the  ground.  King  Harold, 
wounded  with  an  arrow  in  the  eye,  was  nearly  blind.  His 
brothers  were  already  killed.  Twenty  Norman  knights, 
whose  battered  armor  had  flashed  fiery  and  golden  in  the 
sunshine  all  day  long,  and  now  looked  silvery  in  the  moon- 
light, dashed  forward  to  receive  the  Royal  banner  from  the 
English  knights  and  soldiers,  still  faithfully  collected  round 
their  blinded  King.  The  King  received  a  mortal  wound,  and 
dropped.  The  English  broke  and  fled.  The  Normans 
rallied,  and  the  day  was  lost. 

O  what  a  sight  beneath  the  moon  and  stars,  when  lights 
were  shining  in  the  tent  of  the  victorious  Duke  William, 
which  was  pitched  near  the  spot  where  Harold  fell — and  he 
and  his  knights  were  carousing,  within — and  soldiers  with 
torches,  going  slowly  to  and  fro,  without,  sought  for  the 
corpse  of  Harold  among  piles  of  dead  —  and  the  warrior, 
worked  in  golden  thread  and  precious  stones,  lay  low,  all 
torn  and  soiled  with  blood — and  the  three  Norman  Lions 
kept  watch  over  the  field  1 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  49 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENGLAND   UNDER    WILLIAM    THE    FIRST,    THE    NORMAN 
CONQUEROR. 

Upon  the  ground  where  the  brave  Harold  fell,  William 
the  Norman  afterward  founded  an  abbey,  which,  under  the 
name  of  Battle  Abbey,  was  a  rich  and  splendid  place  through 
many  a  troubled  year,  though  now  it  is  a  gray  ruin  over- 
grown with  ivy.  But  the  first  work  he  had  to  do,  was  to 
conquer  the  English  thoroughly  ;  and  that,  as  you  know  by 
this  time,  was  hard  work  for  any  man. 

He  ravaged  several  counties  ;  he  burned  and  plundered 
many  towns  ;  he  laid  waste  scores  upon  scores  of  miles  of 
pleasant  country  ;  he  destroyed  innumerable  lives.  At  length 
Stigand,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  with  other  representa- 
tives of  the  clergy  and  the  people,  went  to  his  camp,  and 
submitted  to  him.  Edgar,  the  insignificant  son  of  Edmund 
Ironside,  was  proclaimed  King  by  others,  but  nothing  came 
of  it.  He  fled  to  Scotland  afterward,  where  his  sister,  who 
was  young  and  beautiful,  married  the  Scottish  King.  Edgar 
himself  was  not  important  enough  for  any  body  to  care 
much  about  him. 

On  Christmas  Day,  William  was  crowned  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  under  the  title  of  William  the  First  ;  but  he  is  best 
known  as  William  the  Conqueror.  It  was  a  strange  coro- 
nation. One  of  the  bishops  who  performed  the  ceremony 
asked  the  Normans,  in  French,  if  they  would  have  Duke 
William  for  their  king  ?  They  answered  Yes.  Another  of 
the  bishops  put  the  same  question  to  the  Saxons,  in  English. 
They  too  answered  Yes,  with  a  loud  shout.  The  noise  being 
heard  by  a  guard  of  Norman  horse-soldiers  outside,  was  mis- 
taken for  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  English.  The  guard 
instantly  set  fire  to  the  neighboring  houses,  and  a  tumult 
ensued  ;  in  the  midst  of  which  the  King,  being  left  alone  in 
the  Abbey,  with  a  few  priests  (and  they  all  being  in  a  terrible 
fright  together),  was  hurriedly  crowned.  When  the  crown 
was  placed  upon  his  head,  he  swore  to  govern  the  English 
as  well  as  the  best  of  their  own  monarchs.  I  dare  say  you 
think,  as  I  do,  that  if  we  except  the  Great  Alfred,  he  might 
pretty  easily  have  done  that. 

Numbers  of  the  English  nobles  had  been  killed  in  the  last 


50         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

disastrous  battle.  Their  estates,  and  the  estates  of  all  the 
nobles  who  had  fought  against  him  there,  King  William 
seized  upon,  and  gave  to  his  own  Norman  knights  and 
nobles.  Many  great  English  families  of  the  present  time 
acquired  their  English  lands  in  this  way,  and  are  very  proud 
of  it. 

But  what  is  got  by  force  must  be  maintained  by  force. 
These  nobles  were  obliged  to  build  castles  all  over  England, 
to  defend  their  new  property  ;  and,  do  what  he  would,  the 
King  could  neither  soothe  nor  quell  the  nation  as  he  wished. 
He  gradually  introduced  the  Norman  language  and  the  Nor- 
man customs  ;  yet,  for  a  long  time  the  great  body  of  the 
English  remained  sullen  and  revengeful.  On  his  going  over 
to  Normandy,  to  visit  his  subjects  there,  the  oppressions  of 
his  half-brother  Odo,  whom  he  left  in  charge  of  his  English 
kingdom,  drove  the  people  mad.  The  men  of  Kent  even 
invited  over,  to  take  possession  of  Dover,  their  old  enemy 
Count  Eustace  of  Boulogne,  who  had  led  the  fray  when  the 
Dover  man  was  slain  at  his  own  fireside.  The  men  of  Here- 
ford, aided  by  the  Welsh,  and  commanded  by  a  chief  named 
Edric  the  Wild,  drove  the  Normans  out  of  their  country. 
Some  of  those  who  had  been  dispossessed  of  their  lands, 
banded  together  in  the  North  of  England  ;  some,  in  Scot- 
land ;  some,  in  the  thick  woods  and  marches  ;  and  whenso- 
ever they  could  fall  upon  the  Normans,  or  upon  the  English 
who  had  submitted  to  the  Normans,  they  fought,  despoiled, 
and  murdered,  like  the  desperate  outlaws  that  they  were. 
Conspiracies  were  set  on  foot  for  a  general  massacre  of  the 
Normans,  like  the  old  massacre  of  the  Danes.  In  short,  the 
English  were  in  a  murderous  mood  all  through  the  kingdom. 

King  William,  fearing  he  might  lose  his  conquest,  came 
back,  and  tried  to  pacify  the  London  people  by  soft  words. 
He  then  set  forth  to  repress  the  country  people  by  stern 
deeds.  Among  the  towns  which  he  besieged,  and  where  he 
killed  and  maimed  the  inhabitants  without  any  distinc- 
tion, sparing  none,  young  or  old,  armed  or  unarmed,  were 
Oxford,  Warwick,  Leicester,  Nottingham,  Derby,  Lincoln, 
York.  In  all  these  places,  and  in  many  others,  fire  and 
sword  worked  their  utmost  horrors,  and  made  the  land 
dreadful  to  behold.  The  streams  and  rivers  were  discolored 
with  blood  ;  the  sky  was  blackened  with  smoke  ;  the  fields 
were  wastes  of  ashes ;  the  waysides  were  heaped  up  with 
dead.     Such  are  the  fatal  results  of  conquest  and  ambition  J 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  51 

Although  William  was  a  harsh  and  angry  man,  I  do  not  sup- 
pose that  he  deliberately  meant  to  work  this  shocking  ruin, 
when  he  invaded  England.  But  what  he  had  got  by  the 
strong  hand,  he  could  only  keep  by  the  strong  hand,  and  in 
so  doing  he  made  England  a  great  grave. 

Two  sons  of  Harold,  by  name  Edmund  and  Godwin,  came 
over  from  Ireland,  with  some  ships,  against  the  Normans, 
but  were  defeated.  This  was  scarcely  done,  when  the  out- 
laws in  the  woods  so  harassed  York,  that  the  Governor  sent 
to  the  King  for  help.  The  King  despatched  a  general  and  a 
large  force  to  occupy  the  town  of  Durham.  The  Bishop  of 
that  place  met  the  general  outside  the  town,  and  warned  him 
not  to  enter,  as  he  would  be  in  danger  there.  The  general 
cared  nothing  for  the  warning,  and  went  in  with  all  his  men. 
That  night,  on  every  hill  within  sight  of  Durham,  signal  fires 
were  seen  to  blaze.  When  the  morning  dawned,  the  English, 
who  had  assembled  in  great  strength,  forced  the  gates,  rushed 
into  the  town,  and  slew  the  Normans  every  one.  The  En- 
glish afterward  besought  the  Danes  to  come  and  help  them. 
The  Danes  came,  with  two  hundred  and  forty  ships.  The 
outlawed  nobles  joined  them ;  they  captured  York,  and 
drove  the  Normans  out  of  that  city.  Then,  William  bribed 
the  Danes  to  go  away  ;  and  took  such  vengeance  on  the 
English,  that  all  the  former  fire  and  sword,  smoke  and  ashes, 
death  and  ruin,  were  nothing  compared  with  it.  In  melan- 
choly songs,  and  doleful  stories,  it  was  still  sung  and  told  by 
cottage  fires  on  winter  evenings,  a  hundred  years  afterward, 
how,  in  those  dreadful  days  of  the  Normans,  there  was  not, 
from  the  River  H umber  to  the  River  Tyne,  one  inhabited 
village  left,  nor  one  cultivated  field — how  there  was  nothing 
but  a  dismal  ruin,  where  the  human  creatures^  and  the  beasts 
lay  dead  together. 

The  outlaws  had,  at  this  time,  what  they  called  a  Camp  of 
Refuge,  in  the  midst  of  the  fens  of  Cambridgeshire.  Pro- 
tected by  those  marshy  grounds  which  were  difficult  of  ap- 
proach, they  lay  among  the  reeds  and  rushes,  and  were  hidden 
by  the  mists  that  rose  up  from  the  watery  earth.  Now,  there 
also  was,  at  that  time,  over  the  sea  in  Flanders,  an  English- 
man named  Hereward,  whose  father  had  died  in  his  absence, 
and  whose  property  had  been  given  to  a  Norman.  When  he 
heard  of  this  wrong  that  had  been  done  him  (from  such  of  the 
exiled  English  as  chanced  to  wander  into  that  country),  he 
longed  for  revenge  ;  and  joining  the  outlaws  in  their  camp  of 


52  A  .CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

refuge,  became  their  commander.  He  was  so  good  a  soldier, 
that  the  Normans  supposed  him  to  be  aided  by  enchantment. 
William,  even  after  he  had  made  a  road  three  miles  in  length 
across  the  Cambridgeshire  marshes,  on  purpose  to  attack  this 
supposed  enchanter,  thought  it  necessary  to  engage  an  old 
lady,  who  pretended  to  be  a  sorceress,  to  come  and  do  a  little 
enchantment  in  the  royal  cause.  For  this  purpose  she  was 
pushed  on  before  the  troops  in  a  wooden  tower  ;  but  Here- 
ward  very  soon  disposed  of  this  unfortunate  sorceress,  by 
burning  her,  tower  and  all.  The  monks  of  the  convent  of  Ely 
near  at  hand,  however,  who  were  fond  of  good  living,  and 
who  found  it  very  uncomfortable  to  have  the  country  block- 
aded and  their  supplies  of  meat  and  drink  cut  off,  showed 
the  King  a  secret  way  of  surprising  the  camp.  So  Here- 
ward  was  soon  defeated.  Whether  he  afterward  died 
quietly,  or  whether  he  was  killed  after  killing  sixteen  of  the 
men  who  attacked  him  (as  some  old  rhymes  relate  that  he 
did),  I  cannot  say.  His  defeat  put  an  end  to  the  Camp  of 
Refuge  ;  and,  very  soon  afterward,  the  King,  victorious 
both  in  Scotland  and  in  England,  quelled  the  last  rebellious 
English  noble.  He  then  surrounded  himself  with  Norman 
lords,  enriched  by  the  property  of  English  nobles  ;  had  a 
great  survey  made  of  all  the  land  in  England,  which  was 
entered  as  the  property  of  its  new  owners,  on  a  roll  called 
Doomsday  Book  ;  obliged  the  people  to  put  out  their  fires 
and  candles  at  a  certain  hour  every  night,  on  the  ringing  of 
a  bell  which  was  called  The  Curfew  ;  introduced  the  Nor- 
man dresses  and  manners  ;  made  the  Normans  masters 
every-where,  and  the  English,  servants ;  turned  out  the 
English  bishops,  and  put  Normans  in  their  places  ;  and 
showed  himself  to  be  the  Conqueror  indeed. 

But,  even  with  his  own  Normans,  he  had  a  restless  life. 
They  were  always  hungering  and  thirsting  for  the  riches  of 
the  English  ;  and  the  more  he  gave,  the  more  they  wanted. 
His  priests  were  as  greedy  as  his  soldiers.  We  know  of 
only  one  Norman  who  plainly  told  his  master,  the  King, 
that  he  had  come  with  him  to  England  to  do  his  duty  as  a 
faithful  servant,  and  that  property  taken  by  force  from  other 
men  had  no  charms  for  him.  His  name  was  Guilbert.  We 
should  not  forget  his  name,  for  it  is  good  to  remember  and 
to  honor  honest  men. 

Besides  all  these  troubles,  William  the  Conqueror  was 
troubled  by  quarrels  among  his  sons.     He  had  three  living. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  53 

Robert,  called  Curthose,  because  of  his  short  legs  ;  William, 
called  Rufus  or  the  Red,  from  the  color  of  his  hair  ;  and 
Henry,  fond  of  learning,  and  called,  in  the  Norman  language 
Beauclerc,  or  Fine-Scholar.  When  Robert  grew  up,  he  ask- 
ed of  his  father  the  government  of  Normandy,  which  he  had 
nominally  possessed,  as  a  child,  under  his  mother,  Matilda. 
The  King  refusing  to  grant  it,  Robert  became  jealous  and 
discontented  ;  and  happening  one  day,  while  in  this  temper, 
to  be  ridiculed  by  his  brothers,  who  threw  water  on  him 
from  a  balcony  as  he  was  walking  before  the  door,  he  drew 
his  sword,  rushed  up  stairs,  and  was  only  prevented  by  the 
King  himself  from  putting  them  to  death.  That  same  night, 
he  hotly  departed  with  some  followers  from  his  father's 
court,  and  endeavored  to  take  the  Castle  of  Rouen  by  sur- 
prise. Failing  in  this,  he  shut  himself  up  in  another  castle 
in  Normandy,  which  the  King  besieged,  and  where  Robert 
one  day  unhorsed  and  nearly  killed  him  without  knowing 
who  he  was.  His  submission  when  he  discovered  his  father, 
and  the  intercession  of  the  queen  and  others,  reconciled 
them  ;  but  not  soundly  ;  for  Robert  soon  strayed  abroad, 
and  went  from  court  to  court  with  his  complaints.  He  was 
a  gay,  careless,  thoughtless  fellow,  spending  all  he  got  on 
musicians  and  dancers ;  but  his  mother  loved  him,  and 
often,  against  the  King's  command,  supplied  him  with  money 
through  a  messenger  named  Samson.  At  length  the  in- 
censed King  swore  he  would  tear  out  Samson's  eyes  ;  and 
Samson,  thinking  that  his  only  hope  of  safety  was  in  be- 
coming a  monk,  became  one,  went  on  such  errands  no  more, 
and  kept  his  eyes  in  his  head. 

All  this  time,  from  the  tuibulent  day  of  his  strange  corona- 
tion, the  Conqueror  had  been  struggling,  you  see,  at  any 
cost  of  cruelty  and  bloodshed,  to  maintain  what  he  had 
seized.  All  his  reign,  he  struggled  still,  with  the  same  ob- 
ject ever  before  him.  He  was  a  stern  bold  man,  and  he  suc- 
ceeded in  it. 

He  loved  money,  and  was  particular  in  his  eating,  but  he 
had  only  leisure  to  indulge  one  other  passion,  and  that  was 
his  love  of  hunting.  He  carried  it  to  such  a  height  that  he 
ordered  whole  villages  and  towns  to  be  swept  away  to  make 
forests  for  the  deer.  Not  satisfied  with  sixty-eight  Royal 
Forests,  he  laid  waste  an  immense  district,  to  form  another 
in  Hampshire,  called  the  New  Forest.  The  many  thousands 
of  miserable  peasants  who   saw   their  little   houses   pulled 


54         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

down,  and  themselves  and  children  turned  into  the  open 
country  without  a  shelter,  detested  him  for  his  merciless  ad- 
dition to  their  many  sufferings  ;  and  when,  in  the  twenty- 
first  year  of  his  reign  (which  proved  to  be  the  last),  he  went 
over  to  Rouen,  England  was  as  full  of  hatred  against  him  as 
if  every  leaf  on  every  tree  in  all  his  Royal  Forests  had  been 
a  curse  upon  his  head.  In  the  New  Forest,  his  son  Richard 
(for  he  had  four  sons)  had  been  gored  to  death  by  a  stag  ; 
and  the  people  said  that  this  so  cruelly-made  forest  would 
yet  be  fatal  to  others  of  the  Conqueror's  race. 

He  was  engaged  in  a  dispute  with  the  King  of  France 
about  some  territory.  While  he  staid  at  Rouen,  negotiat- 
ing with  that  King,  he  kept  his  bed  and  took  medicines  : 
being  advised  by  his  physicians  to  do  so,  on  account  of  hav- 
ing grown  to  an  unwieldy  size.  Word  being  brought  to  him 
that  the  King  of  France  made  light  of  this,  and  joked  about 
it,  he  swore  in  a  great  rage  that  he  should  rue  his  jests.  He 
assembled  his  army,  marched  into  the  disputed  territory, 
burnt — his  old  way  ! — the  vines,  the  crops,  and  fruit,  and 
set  the  town  of  Mantes  on  fire.  But,  in  an  evil  hour  ;  for, 
as  he  rode  over  the  hot  ruins,  his  horse,  setting  his  hoofs  up- 
on some  burning  embers,  started,  threw  him  forward  against 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  gave  him  a  mortal  hurt.  For 
six  weeks  he  lay  dying  in  a  monastery  near  Rouen,  and  then 
made  his  will,  giving  England  to  William,  Normandy  to 
Robert,  and  five  thousand  pounds  to  Henry.  And  now  his 
violent  deeds  lay  heavy  on  his  mind.  He  ordered  money  to 
be  given  to  many  English  churches  and  monasteries,  and — 
which  was  much  better  repentance — released  his  prisoners 
of  state,  some  of  whom  had  been  confined  in  his  dungeons 
twenty  years. 

It  was  a  September  morning,  and  the  sun  was  rising,  when 
the  King  was  awakened  from  slumber  by  the  sound  of  a 
church  bell.  "  What  bell  is  that  !  "  he  faintly  asked.  They 
told  him  it  was  the  bell  of  the  chapel  of  Saint  Mary.  "  I 
commend  my  soul,"  said  he,  "  to  Mary  !  "  and  died. 

Think  of  his  name,  The  Conqueror,  and  then  consider  how 
he  lay  in  death  !  The  moment  he  was  dead,  his  physicians, 
priests,  and  nobles,  not  knowing  what  contest  for  the  throne 
might  now  take  place,  or  what  might  happen  in  it,  hastened 
away,  each  man  for  himself  and  his  own  property  ;  the  mer- 
cenary servants  of  the  court  began  to  rob  and  plunder  ;  the 
body  of  the  King,  in  the  indecent  strife,  was  rolled  from  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  55 

ted,  and  lay  alone,  for  hours,  upon  the  ground.  O  Con- 
queror, of  whom  so  many  great  names  are  proud  now,  of 
whom  so  many  great  names  thought  nothing  then,  it  were 
better  to  have  conquered  one  true  heart,  than  England  ! 

By-and-by,  the  priests  came  creeping  in  with  prayers  and 
candles ;  and  a  good  knight,  named  Herluin,  undertook 
(which  no  one  else  would  do)  to  convey  the  body  to  Caen, 
in  Normandy,  in  order  that  it  might  be  buried  in  St.  Ste- 
phen's church  there,  which  the  Conqueror  had  founded.  But 
fire,  of  which  he  had  made  such  bad  use  in  his  life,  seemed 
to  follow  him  of  itself  in  death.  A  great  conflagration  broke 
out  in  the  town  when  the  body  was  placed  in  the  church  ; 
and  those  present  running  out  to  extinguish  the  flames,  it 
was  once  again  left  alone. 

It  was  not  even  buried  in  peace.  It  was  about  to  be  let 
down,  in  its  royal  robes,  into  a  tomb  near  the  high  altar,  in 
presence  of  a  great  concourse  of  people,  when  a  loud  voice  in 
the  crowd  cried  out,  "  This  ground  is  mine  !  Upon  it,  stood 
my  father's  house.  This  King  despoiled  me  of  both  ground 
and  house  to  build  this  church.  In  the  great  name  of  God, 
I  here  forbid  his  body  to  be  covered  with  the  earth  that  is 
my  right  !  "  The  priests  and  bishops  present,  knowing  the 
speaker's  right,  and  knowing  that  the  King  had  often  denied 
him  justice,  paid  him  down  sixty  shillings  for  the  grave. 
Even  then,  the  corpse  was  not  at  rest.  The  tomb  was  too 
small,  and  they  tried  to  force  it  in.  It  broke,  a  dreadful 
smell  arose,  the  people  hurried  out  into  the  air,  and,  for  the 
third  time,  it  was  left  alone. 

Where  were  the  Conqueror's  three  sons,  that  they  were  not 
at  their  father's  burial  ?  Robert  was  lounging  among  min- 
strels, dancers,  and  gamesters,  in  France  or  Germany.  Hen- 
ry was  carrying  his  five  thousand  pounds  safely  away  in  a 
convenient  chest  he  had  got  made.  William  the  Red  was 
hurrying  to  England,  to  lay  hands  upon  the  royal  treasure 
and  the  crown. 


56         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 
CHAPTER  IX. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  WILLIAM  THE  SECOND,  CALLED  RUFUS. 

William  the  Red,  in  breathless  haste  secured  the  three 
great  forts  of  Dover,  Pevensey,  and  Hastings,  and  made 
with  hot  speed  for  Winchester,  where  the  royal  treasure  was 
kept.  The  treasurer  delivering  him  the  keys,  he  found  that 
it  amounted  to  sixty  thousand  pounds  in  silver,  besides  gold 
and  jewels.  Possessed  of  this  wealth,  he  soon  persuaded  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  crown  him,  and  became  Wil- 
liam the  Second,  King  of  England. 

Rufus  was  no  sooner  on  the  throne,  than  he  ordered  into 
prison  again  the  unhappy  state  captives  whom  his  father  had 
set  free,  and  directed  a  goldsmith  to  ornament  his  father's 
tomb  profusely  with  gold  and  silver.  It  would  have  been 
more  dutiful  in  him  to  have  attended  the  sick  Conqueror 
when  he  was  dying  ;  but  England,  itself,  like  this  Red  King, 
who  once  governed  it,  has  sometimes  made  expensive  tombs 
for  dead  men  whom  it  treated  shabbily  when  they  were 
alive. 

The  King's  brother,  Robert  of  Normandy,  seeming  quite 
content  to  be  only  Duke  of  that  country  ;  and  the  King's 
other  brother,  Fine-Scholar,  being  quiet  enough  with  his  five 
thousand  pounds  in  a  chest  ;  the  King  flattered  himself,  we 
may  suppose,  with  the  hope  of  an  easy  reign.  But  easy  reigns 
were  difficult  to  have  in  those  days.  The  turbulent  Bishop 
Odo  (who  had  blessed  the  Norman  army  at  the  Battle  of 
Hastings,  and  who,  I  dare  say,  took  all  the  credit  of  the  vic- 
tory to  himself)  soon  began,  in  concert  with  some  powerful 
Norman  nobles,  to  trouble  the  Red  King. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that  this  bishop  and  his  friends,  who 
had  lands  in  England  and  lands  in  Normandy,  wished  to 
hold  both  under  one  sovereign  ;  and  greatly  preferred  a 
thoughtless  good-natured  person,  such  as  Robert  was,  to 
Rufus  ;  who,  though  far  from  being  an  amiable  man  in  any 
respect,  was  keen,  and  not  to  be  imposed  upon.  They  de- 
clared in  Robert's  favor,  and  retired  to  their  castles  (those 
castles  were  very  troublesome  to  kings)  in  a  sullen  humor. 
The  Red  King,  seeing  the  Normans  thus  falling  from  him, 
revenged  himself  upon  them  by  appealing  to  the  English  ;  to 
whom  he  made  a  variety  of  promises,  which  he  never  meant 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  57 

to  perform — in  particular,  promises  to  soften  the  cruelty  of 
the  Forest  Laws  ;  and  who,  in  return,  so  aided  him  with 
their  valor,  that  Odo  was  besieged  in  the  Castle  of  Roches- 
ter, and  forced  to  abandon  it,  and  to  depart  from  England 
forever  ;  whereupon  the  other  rebellious  Norman  nobles 
were  soon  reduced  and  scattered. 

Then,  the  Red  King  went  over  to  Normandy,  where  the 
people  suffered  greatly  under  the  loose  rule  of  Duke  Robert. 
The  King's  object  was  to  seize  upon  the  Duke's  dominions. 
This,  the  Duke,  of  course,  prepared  to  resist  ;  and  miserable 
war  between  the  two  brothers  seemed  inevitable,  when  the 
powerful  nobles  on  both  sides,  who  had  seen  so  much  of  war, 
interfered  to  prevent  it.  A  treaty  was  made.  Each  of  the 
two  brothers  agreed  to  give  up  something  of  his  claims,  and 
that  the  longer-liver  of  the  two  should  inherit  all  the  domin- 
ions of  the  other.  When  they  had  come  to  this  loving  under- 
standing, they  embraced  and  joined  their  forces  against  Fine- 
Scholar  ;  who  had  bought  some  territory  of  Robert  with  a 
part  of  his  five  thousand  pounds,  and  was  considered  a  dan- 
gerous individual  in  consequence. 

St.  Michael's  Mount,  in  Normandy  (there  is  another  St. 
Michael's  Mount,  in  Cornwall,  wonderfully  like  it),  was  then, 
as  it  is  now,  a  strong  place  perched  upon  the  top  of  a  high 
rock,  around  which,  when  the  tide  is  in,  the  sea  flows,  leaving 
no  road  to  the  mainland.  In  this  place,  Fine-Scholar  shut 
himself  up  with  his  soldiers,  and  here  he  was  closely  besieged 
by  his  two  brothers.  At  one  time,  when  he  was  reduced  to 
great  distress  for  want  of  water,  the  generous  Robert  not  only 
permitted  his  men  to  get  water,  but  sent  Fine-Scholar  wine 
from  his  own  table  ;  and,  on  being  remonstrated  with  by  the 
Red  King,  said,  "  What  !  shall  we  let  our  own  brother  die 
of  thirst  ?  Where  shall  we  get  another,  when  he  is  gone  ?  " 
At  another  time,  the  Red  King  riding  alone  on  the  shore  of 
the  bay,  looking  up  at  the  Castle,  was  taken  by  two  of  Fine- 
Scholar's  men,  one  of  whom  was  about  to  kill  him,  when  he 
cried  out,  "  Hold,  knave,  I  am  the  King  of  England  !  "  The 
story  says  that  the  soldier  raised  him  from  the  ground  res- 
pectfully and  humbly,  and  that  the  King  took  him  into  his 
service.  The  story  may  or  may  not  be  true  ;  but  at  any 
rate  it  is  true  that  Fine-Scholar  could  not  hold  out  against 
his  united  brothers,  and  that  he  abandoned  Mount  St. 
Michael,  and  wandered  about — as  poor  and  forlorn  as  otliQr 
scholars  have  been  sometimes  known  to  be. 


58  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

The  Scotch  became  unquiet  in  the  Red  King's  time,  and 
were  twice  defeated — the  second  time,  with  the  loss  of  their 
King,  Malcolm,  and  his  son.  The  Welsh  became  unquiet  too. 
Against  them,  Rufus  was  less  successful ;  for  they  fought 
among  their  native  mountains,  and  did  great  execution  on 
the  King's  troops.  Robert  of  Normandy  became  unquiet 
too  ;  and  complaining  that  his  brother  the  King  did  not  faith- 
fully perform  his  part  of  their  agreement,  took  up  arms,  and 
obtained  assistance  from  the  King  of  France,  whom  Rufus, 
in  the  end,  bought  off  with  vast  sums  of  money.  England 
became  unquiet  too.  Lord  Mowbray,  the  powerful  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  headed  a  great  conspiracy  to  depose  the 
King,  and  to  place  upon  the  throne,  Stephen,  the  Conqueror's 
near  relative.  The  plot  was  discovered  ;  all  the  chief  con- 
spirators were  seized  ;  some  were  fined,  some  were  put  in 
prison,  some  were  put  to  death.  The  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land himself  was  shut  up  in  a  dungeon  beneath  Windsor 
Castle,  where  he  died,  an  old  man,  thirty  long  years  after- 
ward. The  priests  in  England  were  more  unquiet  than 
any  other  class  or  power  ;  for  the  Red  King  treated  them 
with  such  small  ceremony  that  he  refused  to  appoint  new 
bishops  or  archbishops  when  the  old  ones  died,  but  kept  all 
the  wealth  belonging  to  those  offices  in  his  own  hands.  In 
return  for  this,  the  priests  wrote  his  life  when  he  was  dead, 
and  abused  him  well.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  myself,  that 
there  was  little  to  choose  between  the  priests  and  the  Red 
King  ;  that  both  sides  were  greedy  and  designing  ;  and  that 
they  were  fairly  matched. 

The  Red  King  was  false  of  heart,  selfish,  covetous,  and 
mean.  He  had  a  worthy  minister  in  his  favorite,  Ralph, 
nicknamed — for  almost  every  famous  person  had  a  nickname 
in  those  rough  days — Flambard,  or  the  Firebrand.  Once, 
the  King  being  ill,  became  penitent,  and  made  Anselm,  a 
foreign  priest  and  a  good  man,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
But  he  no  sooner  got  well  again  than  he  repented  of  his  re- 
pentance, and  persisted  in  wrongfully  keeping  to  himself 
some  of  the  wealth  belonging  to  the  archbishopric.  This 
led  to  violent  disputes,  which  were  aggravated  by  there 
being  in  Rome  at  that  time  two  rival  Popes  ;  each  of  whom 
declared  he  was  the  only  real  original  infallible  Pope,  who 
couldn't  make  a  mistake.  At  last,  Anselm,  knowing  the 
Red  King's  character,  and  not  feeling  himself  safe  in  En- 
(and,  asked  leave  to  return  abroad.     The  Red  King  gladly 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  59 

gave  it  ;  for  he  knew  that  as  soon  as  Anselm  was  gone,  he 
could  begin  to  store  up  all  the  Canterbury  money  again,  for 
his  own  use. 

By  such  means,  and  by  taxing  and  oppressing  the  English 
people  in  every  possible  way,  the  Red  King  became  very 
rich.  When  he  wanted  money  for  any  purpose,  he  raised  it 
by  some  means  or  other,  and  cared  nothing  for  the  injustice 
he  did,  or  the  misery  he  caused.  Having  the  opportunity  of 
buying  from  Robert  the  whole  duchy  of  Normandy  for  five 
years,  he  taxed  the  English  people  more  than  ever,  and  made 
the  very  convents  sell  their  plate  and  valuables  to  supply 
him  with  the  means  to  make  the  purchase.  But  he  was  as 
quick  and  eager  in  putting  down  revolt  as  he  was  in  rais- 
ing money  ;  for,  a  part  of  the  Norman  people  objecting 
— very  naturally,  I  think — to  being  sold  in  this  way,  he 
headed  an  army  against  them  with  all  the  speed  and  energy 
of  his  father.  He  was  so  impatient,  that  he  embarked  for 
Normandy  in  a  great  gale  of  wind.  And  when  the  sailors 
told  him  it  was  dangerous  to  go  to  sea  in  such  angry  weather, 
he  replied,  "  Hoist  sail  and  away  !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
king  who  was  drowned  ? " 

You  will  wonder  how  it  was  that  even  the  careless  Robert 
came  to  sell  his  dominions.  It  happened  thus.  It  had  long 
been  the  custom  for  many  English  people  to  make  journeys 
to  Jerusalem,  which  were  called  pilgrimages,  in  order  that 
they  might  pray  beside  the  tomb  of  Our  Saviour  there. 
Jerusalem  belonging  to  the  Turks,  and  the  Turks  hating 
Christianity,  these  Christian  travelers  were  often  insulted 
and  ill-used.  The  pilgrims  bore  it  patiently  for  some  time, 
but  at  length  a  remarkable  man,  of  great  earnestness  and 
eloquence,  called  Peter  the  Hermit,  began  to  preach  in 
various  places  against  the  Turks,  and  to  declare  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  good  Christians  to  drive  away  those  unbelievers 
from  the  tomb  of  Our  Saviour,  and  to  take  possession  of  it, 
and  protect  it.  An  excitement  such  as  the  world  had  never 
known  before  was  created.  Thousands  and  thousands  of 
men  of  all  ranks  and  conditions  departed  for  Jerusalem  to 
make  war  against  the  Turks.  The  war  is  called  in  history 
the  first  Crusade  ;  and  every  Crusader  wore  a  cross  marked 
on  his  right  shoulder. 

All  the  crusaders  were  not  zealous  Christians.  Among 
them  were  vast  numbers  of  the  restless,  idle,  profligate,  and 
adventurous  spirits  of  the  time.     Some  became  crusaders  for 


60  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  love  of  change  ;  some,  in  the  hope  of  plunder ;  some, 
because  they  had  nothing  to  do  at  home  ;  some,  because 
they  did  what  the  priests  told  them  ;  some,  because  they 
liked  to  see  foreign  countries  ;  some,  because  they  were 
fond  of  knocking  men  about,  and  would  as  soon  knock  a 
Turk  about  as  a  Christian.  Robert  of  Normandy  may  have 
been  influenced  by  all  these  motives  ;  and  by  a  kind  desire, 
besides,  to  save  the  Christian  pilgrims  from  bad  treatment 
in  future.  He  wanted  to  raise  a  number  of  armed  men,  and 
to  go  to  the  Crusade.  He  could  not  do  so  without  money. 
He  had  no  money ;  and  he  sold  his  dominions  to  his 
brother,  the  Red  King,  for  five  years.  With  the  large  sum 
he  thus  obtained,  he  fitted  out  his  crusaders  gallantly,  and 
went  away  to  Jerusalem  in  martial  state.  The  Red  King, 
who  made  money  out  of  every  thing,  staid  at  home,  busily 
squeezing  more  money  out  of  Normans  and  English. 

After  three  years  of  great  hardship  and  suffering — from 
shipwreck  at  sea ;  from  travel  in  strange  lands ;  from 
hunger,  thirst,  and  fever,  upon  the  burning  sands  of  the 
desert  ;  and  from  the  fury  of  the  Turks — the  valiant  crusa- 
ders got  possession  of  Our  Saviour's  tomb.  The  Turks  were 
still  resisting  and  fighting  bravely,  but  this  success  increased 
the  general  desire  in  Europe  to  join  the  Crusade.  Another 
great  French  Duke  was  proposing  to  sell  his  dominions  for  a 
term  to  the  rich  Red  King,  when  the  Red  King's  reign  came 
to  a  sudden  and  violent  end. 

You  have  not  forgotten  the  New  Forest  which  the  Con- 
queror made,  and  which  the  miserable  people  whose  homes 
he  had  laid  waste,  so  hated.  The  cruelty  of  the  Forest  Laws, 
and  the  torture  and  death  they  brought  upon  the  peasantry, 
increased  this  hatred.  The  poor  persecuted  country  people 
believed  that  the  New  Forest  was  enchanted.  They  said 
that  in  thunder-storms,  and  on  dark  nights,  demons  ap- 
peared, moving  beneath  the  branches  of  the  gloomy  trees. 
They  said  that  a  terrible  specter  had  foretold  to  Norman 
hunters  that  the  Red  King  should  be  punished  there.  And 
now,  in  the  pleasant  season  of  May,  when  the  Red  King  had 
reigned  almost  thirteen  years  ;  and  a  second  Prince  of  the 
Conqueror's  blood — another  Richard,  the  son  of  Duke 
Robert — was  killed  by  an  arrow  in  this  dreaded  forest  ;  the 
people  said  the  second  time  was  not  the  last,  and  that  there 
was  another  death  to  come. 

It  was  a  lonely  forest,  accursed  in  the  people's  hearts  for 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  61 

the  wicked  deeds  that  had  been  done  to  make  it  ;  and  no 
man  save  the  King  and  his  courtiers  and  huntsmen,  liked  to 
stray  there.  But,  in  reality,  it  was  like  any  other  forest.  In 
the  spring,  the  green  leaves  broke  out  of  the  buds ;  in  the 
summer,  flourished  heartily,  and  made  deep  shades  ;  in  the 
winter,  shriveled  and  blew  down,  and  lay  in  brown  heaps  on 
the  moss.  Some  trees  were  stately,  and  grew  high  and 
strong  ;  some  had  fallen  of  themselves  ;  some  were  felled 
by  the  forester's  ax  ;  some  were  hollow,  and  the  rab- 
bits burrowed  at  their  roots  ;  some  few  were  struck  by 
lightning,  and  stood  white  and  bare.  There  were  hill-sides 
covered  with  rich  fern,  on  which  the  morning  dew  so  beau- 
tifully sparkled  ;  there  were  brooks,  where  the  deer  went 
down  to  drink,  or  over  which  the  whole  herd  bounded,  fly- 
ing from  the  arrows  of  the  huntsmen  ;  there  were  sunny 
glades,  and  solemn  places  where  but  little  light  came  through 
the  rustling  leaves.  The  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  New 
Forest  were  pleasanter  to  hear  than  the  shouts  of  fighting 
men  outside  ;  and  even  when  the  Red  King  and  his  court 
came  hunting  through  its  solitudes,  cursing  loud  and  riding 
hard,  with  a  jingling  of  stirrups  and  bridles  and  knives  and 
daggers,  they  did  much  less  harm  there  than  among  the 
English  or  Normans,  and  the  stags  died  (as  they  lived)  far 
easier  than  the  people. 

Upon  a  day  in  August,  the  Red  King,  now  reconciled  to 
his  brother,  Fine-Scholar,  came  with  a  great  train  to  hunt  in 
the  New  Forest.  Fine-Scholar  was  of  the  party.  They  were 
a  merry  party,  and  had  lain  all  night  at  Malwood-Keep,  a 
hunting-lodge  in  the  forest,  where  they  had  made  good  cheer, 
both  at  supper  and  breakfast,  and  had  drunk  a  deal  of  wine. 
The  party  dispersed  in  various  directions,  as  the  custom  of 
hunters  then  was.  The  King  took  with  him  only  Sir  Walter 
Tyrrel,  who  was  a  famous  sportsman,  and  to  whom  he 
had  given,  before  they  mounted  horse  that  morning,  two  fine 
arrows. 

The  last  time  the  King  was  ever  seen  alive,  he  was  riding 
with  Sir  Walter  Tyrrel,  and  their  dogs  were  hunting  to- 
gether. 

It  was  almost  night  when  a  poor  charcoal-burner,  passing 
through  the  forest  with  his  cart,  came  upon  the  solitary  body 
of  a  dead  man,  shot  with  an  arrow  in  the  breast,  and  still 
bleeding.  He  got  it  into  his  cart.  It  was  the  body  of  the 
King.     Shaken  and  tumbled,,  with  its  red  beard  all  whitened 


62  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

with  lime  and  clotted  with  blood,  it  was  driven  in  the"  cart 
by  the  charcoal-burner  next  day  to  Winchester  Cathedral, 
where  it  was  received  and  buried. 

Sir  Walter  Tyrrel,  who  escaped  to  Normandy,  and  claimed 
the  protection  of  the  King  of  France,  swore  in  France  that 
the  Red  King  was  suddenly  shot  dead  by  an  arrow  from  an 
unseen  hand,  while  they  were  hunting  together  ;  that  he 
was  fearful  of  being  suspected  as  the  King's  murderer  ;  and 
that  he  instantly  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  fled  to  the  sea- 
shore. Others  declared  that  the  King  and  Sir  WTalter  Tyr- 
rel were  hunting  in  company,  a  little  before  sunset,  standing 
in  bushes  opposite  one  another,  when  a  stag  came  between 
them.  That  the  King  drew  his  bow  and  took  aim,  but  the 
string  broke.  That  the  King  then  cried,  "  Shoot,  Walter, 
in  the  Devil's  name  !  "  That  Sir  Walter  shot.  That  the  ar- 
row glanced  against  a  tree,  was  turned  aside  from  the  stag, 
and  struck  the  King  from  his  horse,  dead. 

By  whose  hand  the  Red  King  really  fell,  and  whether 
that  hand  despatched  the  arrow  to  his  breast  by  accident  or 
by  design,  is  only  known  to  God.  Some  think  his  brother 
may  have  caused  him  to  be  killed  ;  but  the  Red  King  had 
made  so  many  enemies,  both  among  priests  and  people,  that 
suspicion  may  reasonably  rest  upon  a  less  unnatural  mur- 
derer. Men  know  no  more  than  that  he  was  found  dead  in 
the  New  Forest,  which  the  suffering  people  had  regarded  as 
a  doomed  ground  for  his  race. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  HENRY  THE  FIRST,  CALLED  FINE-SCHOLAR.. 

Fine-Scholar,  on  hearing  of  the  Red  King's  death,  hur- 
ried to  Winchester,  with  as  much  speed  as  Rufus  himself 
had  made,  to  seize  the  Royal  treasure,  But  the  keeper  of 
the  treasure,  who  had  been  one  of  the  hunting-party  in  the 
forest,  made  haste  to  Winchester,  too,  and,  arriving  there 
about  the  same  time,  refused  to  yield  it  up.  Upon  this, 
Fine-Scholar  drew  his  sword,  and  threatened  to  kill  the 
treasurer  ;  who  might  have  paid  for  his  fidelity  with  his  life, 
but  that  he  knew  longer  resistance  to  be  useless  when  he 
found  the  Prince  supported  by  a  company  of  powerful  bar- 
ons, who  declared  they  were  determined  to  make  him  King. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  63 

The  treasurer,  therefore,  gave  up  the  money  and  jewels  of 
the  Crown  ;  and  on  the  third  day  after  the  death  of  the  Red 
King,  being  a  Sunday,  Fine-Scholar  stood  before  the  high 
altar  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  made  a  solemn  declaration 
that  he  would  resign  the  Church  property  which  his  brother 
had  seized  ;  that  he  would  dp  no  wrong  to  the  nobles  ;  and 
that  he  would  restore  to  the  people  the  laws  of  Edward  the 
Confessor,  with  all  the  improvements  of  William  the  Con- 
queror.    So  began  the  reign  of  King  Henry  the  First. 

The  people  were  attached  to  their  new  King,  both  be- 
cause he  had  known  distresses,  and  because  he  was  an  En- 
glishman by  birth  and  not  a  Norman.  To  strengthen  this 
last  hold  upon  them,  the  King  wished  to  marry  an  English 
lady  ;  and  could  think  of  no  other  wife  than  Maud  the 
Good,  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  Scotland.  Although 
this  good  Princess  did  not  love  the  King,  she  was  so  affect- 
ed by  the  representations  the  nobles  made  to  her  of  the 
great  charity  it  would  be  in  her  to  unite  the  Norman  and 
Saxon  races,  and  prevent  hatred  and  bloodshed  between 
them  for  the  future,  that  she  consented  to  become  his  wife. 
After  some  disputing  among  the  priests,  who  said  that  as 
she  had  been  in  a  convent  in  her  youth,  and  had  worn  the 
veil  of  a  nun,  she  could  not  lawfully  be  married — against 
which  the  Princess  stated  that  her  aunt,  with  whom  she  had 
lived  in  her  youth,  had  indeed  sometimes  thrown  a  piece  of 
black  stuff  over  her,  but  for  no  other  reason  than  because 
the  nun's  veil  was  the  only  dress  the  conquering  Normans 
respected  in  girl  or  woman,  and  not  because  she  had 
taken  the  vows  of  a  nun,  which  she  never  had — she  was  de- 
clared free  to  marry,  and  was  made  King  Henry's  Queen. 
A  good  Queen  she  was  ;  beautiful,  kind-hearted,  and  worthy 
of  a  better  husband  than  the  King. 

For  he  was  a  cunning  and  unscrupulous  man,  though  firm 
and  clever.  He  cared  very  little  for  his  word,  and  took  any 
means  to  gain  his  ends.  All  this  is  shown  in  his  treatment 
of  his  brother  Robert — Robert,  who  had  suffered  him  to  be 
refreshed  with  water,  and  who  had  sent  him  the  wine  from 
his  own  table,  when  he  was  shut  up,  with  the  crows  flying 
below  him,  parched  with  thirst,  in  the  castle  on  the  top  of 
St.  Michael's  Mount,  where  his  Red  brother  would  have  let 
him  die. 

Before  the  King  began  to  deal  with  Robert,  he  removed 
and  disgraced  all  the  favorites  of  the  late  King  ;    who  were 


64         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

for  the  most  part  base  characters,  much  detested  by  the 
people.  Flambard,  or  Firebrand,  whom  the  late  King  had 
made  Bishop  of  Durham,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  Henry 
imprisoned  in  the  Tower  ;  but  Firebrand  was  a  great  joker 
and  a  jolly  companion,  and  made  himself  so  popular  with 
his  guards  that  they  pretended  to  know  nothing  about  a 
long  rope  that  was  sent  into  his  prison  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep  flagon  of  wine.  The  guards  took  the  wine,  and  Fire- 
brand took  the  rope  ;  with  which,  when  they  were  fast 
asleep,  he  let  himself  down  from  a  window  in  the  night,  and 
so  got  cleverly  aboard  ship  and  away  to  Normandy. 

Now  Robert,  when  his  brother  Fine-Scholar  came  to  the 
throne,  was  still  absent  in  the  Holy  Land,  Henry  pretended 
that  Robert  had  been  made  sovereign  of  that  country  ;  and 
he  had  been  away  so  long  that  the  ignorant  people  believed 
it.  But,  behold,  when  Henry  had  been  some  time  King  ol 
England,  Robert  came  home  to  Normandy  ;  having  leisurely 
returned  from  Jerusalem  through  Italy,  in  which  beauti- 
ful country  he  had  enjoyed  himself  very  much,  and  had  mar- 
ried a  lady  as  beautiful  as  itself  !  In  Normandy  he  found 
Firebrand  waiting  to  urge  him  to  assert  his  claim  to  the  En- 
glish crown,  and  declare  war  against  King  Henry.  This,  af- 
ter great  loss  of  time  in  feasting  and  dancing  with  his  beau- 
tiful Italian  wife  among  his  Norman  friends,  he  at  last  did. 

The  English  in  general  were  on  King  Henry's  side,  though 
many  of  the  Normans  were  on  Robert's.  But  the  English 
sailors  deserted  the  King,  and  took  a  great  part  of  the  En- 
glish fleet  over  to  Normandy  ;  so  that  Robert  came  to  invade 
this  country  in  no  foreign  vessels,  but  in  English  ships.  The 
virtuous  Anselm,  however,  whom  Henry  had  invited  back 
from  abroad,  and  made  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was 
steadfast  in  the  King's  cause  ;  and  it  was  so  well  supported 
that  the  two  armies,  instead  of  fighting,  made  a  peace. 
Poor  Robert,  who  trusted  any  body  and  every  body,  readily 
trusted  his  brother,  the  King  ;  and  agreed  to  go  home  and 
receive  a  pension  from  England,  on  condition  that  all  his 
followers  were  fully  pardoned.  This  the  King  very  faith- 
fully promised,  but  Robert  was  no  sooner  gone  than  he  be- 
gan to  punish  them. 

Among  them  was  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  who,  on  being 
summoned  by  the  King  to  answer  to  five-and-forty  accusa- 
tions, rode  away  to  one  of  his  strong  castles,  shut  himself 
up  therein,  called  around  him  his  tenants  and  vassals,  and 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  65 

fought  for  his  liberty,  but  was-  defeated  and  banished. 
Robert,  with  all  his  faults,  was  so  true  to  his  word,  that  when 
he  first  heard  of  this  nobleman  having  risen  against  his 
brother,  he  laid  waste  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury's  estates  in  Nor- 
mandy, to  show  the  King  that  he  would  favor  no  breach  of 
their  treaty.  Finding,  on  better  information,  afterwards, 
that  the  Earl's  only  crime  was  having  been  his  friend,  he 
came  over  to  England,  in  his  old  thoughtless,  warm-hearted 
way,  to  intercede  with  the  King,  and  remind  him  of  the  sol- 
emn promise  to  pardon  all  his  followers. 

This  confidence  might  have  put  the  false  King  to  the 
blush,  but  it  did  not.  Pretending  to  be  very  friendly,  he 
so  surrounded  his  brother  with  spies  and  traps,  that  Robert, 
who  was  quite  in  his  power,  had  nothing  for  it  but  to 
renounce  his  pension  and  escape  while  he  could.  Getting 
home  to  Normandy,  and  understanding  the  King  better  now, 
he  naturally  allied  himself  with  his  old  friend  the  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury,  who  had  sti*;  thirty  castles  in  that  country. 
This  was  exactly  what  Henry  wanted.  He  immediately  de- 
clared that  Robert  had  broken  the  treaty,  and  next  year  in- 
vaded Normandy. 

He  pretended  that  he  came  to  deliver  the  Normans,  at  their 
own  request,  from  his  brother's  misrule.  There  is  reason  to 
fear  that  his  misrule  was  bad  enough  :  for  his  beautiful  wife 
had  died,  leaving  him  with  an  infant  son,  and  his  court  was 
again  so  careless,  dissipated,  and  ill-regulated,  that  it  was 
said  he  sometimes  lay  in  bed  of  a  day  for  want  of  clothes  to 
put  on — his  attendants  having  stolen  all  his  dresses.  But 
he  headed  his  ^rmy  like  a  brave  prince  and  a  gallant  soldier, 
though  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be  taken  prisoner  by  King 
Henry,  with  foi*r  hundred  of  his  knights.  Among  them  was 
poor  harmless  Fdgar  Atheling,  who  loved  Robert  well.  Ed- 
gar was  not  important  enough  to  be  severe  with.  The  King 
afterward  gave  him  a  small  pension,  which  he  lived  upon 
and  died  upon,  in  peace,  among  the  quiet  woods  and  fields  of 
England. 

And  Robert' — poor,  kind,  generous,  wasteful,  heedless 
Robert,  with  so  many  faults,  and  yet  with  virtues  that  might 
have  made  a  better  and  a  happier  man — what  was  the  end 
of  him  ?  If  th(  King  had  had  the  magnanimity  to  say  with  a 
kind  air,  "  Brother,  tell  me,  before  these  noblemen,  that  from 
this  time  you  will  be  my  faithful  follower  and  friend,  and 
never  raise  youi  hand  against  me  or  my  forces  more  !  "  he 


66  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

might  have  trusted  Robert  to  the  death.  But  the  King  was 
not  a  magnanimous  man.  He  sentenced  his  brother  to  be 
confined  for  life  in  one  of  the  royal  castles.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  his  imprisonment,  he  was  allowed  to  ride  out, 
guarded  ;  but  he  one  day  broke  away  from  his  guard  and 
galloped  off.  He  had  the  evil  fortune  to  ride  into  a 
swamp,  where  his  horse  stuck  fast  and  he  was  taken. 
When  the  King  heard  of  it  he  ordered  him  to  be  blinded, 
which  was  done  by  putting  a  red-hot  metal  basin  on  his 
eyes. 

And  so,  in  darkness  and  in  prison,  many  years,  he  thought 
of  all  his  past  life,  of  the  time  he  had  wasted,  of  the  treasure 
he  had  squandered,  of  the  opportunities  he  had  lost,  of  the 
youth  he  had  thrown  away,  of  the  talents  he  had  neglected. 
Sometimes,  on  fine  autumn  mornings,  he  would  sit  and  think 
of  the  old  hunting  parties  in  the  free  forest,  where  he  had 
been  the  foremost  and  the  gayest.  Sometimes,  in  the  still 
nights,  he  would  wake,  and  mourn  for  the  many  nights  that 
had  stolen  past  him  at  the  garcing-table  ;  sometimes,  would 
seem  to  hear,  upon  the  melancholy  wind,  the  old  songs  of 
the  minstrels  ;  sometimes,  would  dream,  in  his  blindness, 
of  the  light  and  glitter  of  the  Norman  Court.  Many  and 
many  a  time,  he  groped  back,  in  his  fancy,  to  Jerusalem, 
where  he  had  fought  so  well ;  or,  at  the  head  of  his  brave 
companions,  bowed  his  feathered  helmet  to  the  shouts  of 
welcome  greeting  him  in  Italy,  and  seemed  again  to  walk 
among  the  sunny  vineyards,  or  on  the  shore  of  the  blue  sea, 
with  his  lovely  wife.  And  then,  thinking  of  her  grave,  and 
of  his  father  2ss  boy,  he  would  stretch  out  his  solitary  arms 
and  weep. 

At  length  one  day  there  lay  in  prison  dead,  with  cruel 
and  disfiguring  scars  upon  his  eyelids,  bandaged  from  his 
jailer's  sight,  but  on  which  the  eternal  heavens  looked  down, 
a  worn  old  man  of  eighty.  He  had  once  been  Robert  of 
Normandy.     Pity  him  ! 

At  the  time  when  Robert  of  Normandy  was  taken  prisoner 
by  his  brother,  Robert's  little  son  was  only  five  years  old. 
This  child  was  taken,  too,  and  carried  before  the  King,  sob- 
bing and  crying  ;  for,  young  as  he  was,  he  knew  he  had  good 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  his  royal  uncle.  The  King  was  not 
much  accustomed  to  pity  those  who  were  in  his  power,  but 
his  cold  heart  seemed  for  the  moment  to  soften  toward  the 
boy.    He  was  observed  to  make  a  great  effort  as  if  to  prevent 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  6? 

himself  from  being  cruel,  and  ordered  the  child  to  be  taken 
away  ;  whereupon  a  certain  Baron,  who  had  married  a  daugh- 
ter of  Duke  Robert's  (by  name,  Helie  of  Saint  Saen),  took 
charge  of  him,  tenderly.  The  King's  gentleness  did  not 
last  long.  Before  two  years  were  over,  he  sent  messengers 
to  this  lord's  castle  to  seize  the  child  and  bring  him  away. 
The  Baron  was  not  there  at  the  time,  but  his  servants  were 
faithful,  and  carried  the  boy  off  in  his  sleep  and  hid  him. 
When  the  Baron  came  home,  and  was  told  what  the  King  had 
done,  he  took  the  child  abroad,  and  leading  him  by  the  hand, 
went  from  king  to  king  and  from  court  to  court,  relating 
how  the  child  had  a  claim  to  the  throne  of  England,  and  how 
his  uncle  the  King,  knowing  that  he  had  that  claim,  would 
have  murdered  him,  perhaps,  but  for  his  escape. 

The  youth  and  innocence  of  the  pretty  little  William  Fitz- 
Robert  (for  that  was  his  name)  made  him  many  friends  at 
that  time.  When  he  became  a  young  man,  the  King  of 
France,  uniting  with  the  French  Counts  of  Anjou  and  Flan- 
ders, supported  his  cause  against  the  King  of  England,  and 
took  many  of  the  King's  towns  and  castles  in  Normandy. 
But,  King  Henry,  artful  and  cunning  always,  bribed  some  of 
William's  friends  with  money,  some  with  promises,  some  with 
power.  He  bought  off  the  Count  of  Anjou,  by  promising  to 
marry  his  eldest  son,  also  named  William,  to  the  Count's 
daughter ;  and  indeed  the  whole  trust  of  this  King's  life  was 
in  such  bargains,  and  he  believed  (as  many  another  King  has 
done  since,  and  as  one  King  o.d  "n  France  a  very  little  time 
ago)  that  every  man's  truth  an. .  h  - 1  or  can  be  bought  at  some 
price.  For  all  this,  he  was  so  fr,  A  of  William  Fitz-Robert 
and  his  friends,  that,  for  a  long  time,  he  believed  his  life  to 
be  in  danger ;  and  never  lay  down  to  sleep,  even  in  his  pal- 
ace surrounded  by  his  guards,  without  having  a  sword  and 
buckler  at  his  bedside. 

To  strengthen  his  power,  the  King  with  great  ceremony 
betrothed  his  eldest  daughter  Matilda,  then  a  child  only  eight 
years  old,  to  be  the  wife  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  the  Emperor  of 
Germany.  To  raise  her  marriage-portion,  he  taxed  the  En- 
glish people  in  a  most  oppressive  manner  ;  then  treated  them 
to  a  great  procession  to  restore  their  good  humor  ;  and  sent 
Matilda  away,  in  fine  state,  with  the  German  ambassadors, 
to  be  educated  in  the  country  of  her  future  husband. 

And  now  his  Queen,  Maud  the  Good,  unhappily  died.  It 
was  a  sad  thought  for  that  gentle  lady,  that  the  only  hope 


68  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

With  which  she  had  married  a  man  whom  she  had  never  loved 
— the  hope  of  reconciling  the  Norman  and  English  races — 
had  failed.  At  the  very  time  of  her  death,  Normandy  and 
a]l  France  was  in  arms  against  England  ;  for,  so  soon  as  his 
last  danger  was  over,  King  Henry  had  been  false  to  all  the 
French  powers  he  had  promised,  bribed,  and  bought,  and 
they  had  naturally  united  against  him.  After  some  fighting, 
however,  in  which  few  suffered  but  the  unhappy  common 
people  (who  always  suffered,  whatsoever  was  the  matter),  he 
began  to  promise,  bribe  and  buy  again  ;  and  by  those  means, 
and  by  the  help  of  the  Pope,  who  exerted  himself  to  save 
more  bloodshed,  and  by  solemnly  declaring  over  and  over 
again,  that  he  really  was  in  earnest  this  time,  and  would  keep 
his  word,  the  King  made  peace. 

One  of  the  first  consequences  of  this  peace  was,  that  the 
King  went  over  to  Normandy  with  his  son  Prince  William 
and  a  great  retinue,  to  have  the  Prince  acknowledged  as  his 
successor  by  the  Norman  nobles,  and  to  contract  the  prom- 
ised marriage  (this  was  one  of  the  many  promises  the  King 
had  broken)  between  him  and  the  daughter  of  the  Count  of 
Anjou.  Both  these  things  were  triumphantly  done,  with 
great  show  and  rejoicing ;  and  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  No- 
vember, in  the  year  one  thousand  one  hundred  and  twenty, 
the  whole  retinue  prepared  to  embark  at  the  Port  of  Bar- 
fleur,  for  the  voyage  home. 

On  that  day,  and  at  that  place,  there  came  to  the  King, 
Fitz-Stephen,  a  sea-captain,  and  said  : 

"  My  liege,  my  father  served  your  father  all  his  life,  upon 
the  sea.  He  steered  the  ship  with  the  golden  boy  upon  the 
prow,  in  which  your  father  sailed  to  conquer  England.  I 
beseech  you  to  grant  me  the  same  office.  I  have  a  fair  ves- 
sel in  the  harbor  here,  called  the  White  Ship,  manned  by  fifty 
sailors  of  renown.  I  pray  you,  sire,  to  let  your  servant  have 
the  honor  of  steering  you  in  the  White  Ship  to  England." 

"  I  am  sorry,  friend,"  replied  the  King,  "  that  my  vessel  :s 
already  chosen,  and  that  I  cannot  (therefore)  sail  with  the 
son  of  the  man  who  served  my  father.  But  the  Prince  and 
all  his  company  shall.go  along  with  you,  in  the  fair  White 
Ship,  manned  by  the  fifty  sailors  of  renown." 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards,  the  King  set  sail  in  the  vessel 
he  had  chosen,  accompanied  by  other  vessels,  and,  sailing 
all  night  with  a  fair  and  gentle  wind,  arrived  upon  the  coast 
of    England  in   the   morning.     While  it  was  yet  night,  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  69 

people  in  some  of  those  ships  heard  a  faint  wild  cry  come 
over  the  sea  and  wondered  what  it  was. 

Now,  the  Prince  was  a  dissolute,  debauched  young  man 
of  eighteen,  who  bore  no  love  to  the  English,  and  had  de- 
clared that  when  he  came  to  the  throne  he  would  yoke  them 
to  the  plow  like  oxen.  He  went  aboard  the  White  Ship, 
with  one  hundred  and  forty  youthful  nobles  like  himself, 
among  whom  where  eighteen  noble  ladies  of  the  highest 
rank.  All  this  gay  company,  with  their  servants  and  the 
fifty  sailors,  made  three  hundred  souls  aboard  the  fair 
White  Ship. 

"  Give  three  casks  of  wine,  Fitz-Stephen,"  said  the  Prince, 
"to  the  fifty  sailors  of  renown!  My  father  the  King  has 
sailed  out  of  the  harbor.  What  time  is  there  to  make  merry 
here,  and  yet  reach  England  with  the  rest  ?  " 

"Prince,"  said  Fitz-Stephen,  "before  morning  my  fifty 
sailors  and  the  White  Ship  shall  overtake  the  swiftest  vessel  in 
attendance  on  your  father  the  King,  if  we  sail  at  midnight !  " 

Then  the  Prince  commanded  to  make  merry  ;  and  the 
sailors  drank  out  the  three  casks  of  wine  ;  and  the  Prince 
and  all  the  noble  company  danced  in  the  moonlight  on  the 
deck  of  the  White  Ship. 

When,  at  last  she  shot  out  of  the  harbor  of  Barfleur,  there 
was  not  a  sober  seaman  on  board.  But  the  sails  were  all  set, 
and  the  oars  all  going  merrily.  Fitz-Stephen  had  the  helm. 
The  gay  young  nobles  and  the  beautiful  ladies,  wrapped  in 
mantles  of  various  bright  colors  to  protect  them  from  the 
cold,  talked,  laughed  and  sang.  The  Prince  encouraged  the 
fifty  sailors  to  row  harder  yet,  for  the  honor  of  the  White 
Ship. 

Crash!  A  terrific  cry  broke  from  three  hundred  hearts. 
It  was  the  cry  the  people  in  the  distant  vessels  of  the  King 
heard  faintly  on  the  water.  The  White  Ship  had  struck 
upon  a  rock — was  filling — going  down  ! 

Fitz-Stephen  hurried  the  Prince  into  a  boat,  with  some 
few  nobles.  "  Push  off,"  he  whispered ;  "  and  row  to  the 
land.  It  is  not  far,  and  the  sea  is  smooth.  The  rest  of  us 
must  die." 

But,  as  they  rowed  away,  fast,  from  the  sinking  ship,  the 
Prince  heard  the  voice  of  his  sister  Marie,  the  Countess  of 
Perche,  calling  for  help,  He  never  in  his  life  had  been  so 
good  as  he  was  then.  He  cried  in  an  agony,  "  row  back  at 
any  risk  !     I  cannot  bear  to  leave  her  \ " 


70         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

They  rowed  back.  As  the  Prince  held  out  his  arms  to 
catch  his  sister,  such  numbers  leaped  in  that  the  boat  was 
overset.  And  in  the  same  instant  the  White  Ship  went 
down. 

Only  two  men  floated.  They  both  clung  to  the  main 
yard  of  the  ship,  which  had  broken  from  the  mast,  and  now 
supported  them.  One  asked  the  other  who  he  was  ?  He 
said,  "  I  am  a  nobleman,  Godrey,  by  name  the  son  of  Gil- 
bert de  l'Aigle.  And  you  ? "  said  he.  "  I  am  Berold,  a  poor 
butcher  of  Rouen,"  was  the  answer.  Then  they  said  to- 
gether, "  Lord  be  merciful  to  us  both  !  "  and  tried  to  encour- 
age one  another,  as  they  drifted  in  the  cold  benumbing  sea 
on  that  unfortunate  November  night. 

By-and-by,  another  man  came  swimming  towards  them, 
whom  they  knew,  when  he  pushed  aside  his  long  wet  hair,  to 
be  Fitz-Stephen.  "  Where  is  the  Prince  ?  "  said  he.  "  Gone  ! 
Gone ! "  the  two  cried  together.  "  Neither  he,  nor  his 
brother,  nor  his  sister,  nor  the  King's  niece,  nor  her  brother, 
nor  any  one  of  all  the  brave  three  hundred,  noble  or  common- 
er, except  we  three,  has  risen  above  the  water!  "  Fitz-Stephen, 
with  a  ghastly  face,  cried,  "  Woe  !  woe,  to  me  !  "  and  sunk 
to  the  bottom. 

The  other  two  clung  to  the  yard  for  some  hours.  At  length 
the  young  noble  said  faintly,  "  I  am  exhausted,  and  chilled 
with  the  cold,  and  can  hold  no  longer.  Farewell,  good  friend! 
God  preserve  you  !  "  So,  he  dropped  and  sunk  ;  and  of 
all  the  brilliant  crowd,  the  poor  butcher  of  Rouen  alone  was 
saved.  In  the  morning  some  fishermen  saw  him  floating  in 
his  sheep-skin  coat,  and  got  him  into  their  boat — the  sole  re- 
later  of  the  dismal  tale. 

For  three  days  no  one  dared  to  carry  the  intelligence  to 
the  King.  At  length  they  sent  into  his  presence  a  little  boy, 
who,  weeping  bitterly  and  kneeling  at  his  feet,  told  him  that 
the  White  Ship  was  lost  with  all  on  board.  The  King 
fell  to  the  ground  like  a  dead  man,  and  never,  never  after- 
ward was  seen  to  smile. 

But  he  plotted  again  and  promised  again,  and  bribed  and 
bought  again,  in  his  old  deceitful  way.  Having  no  son  to 
succeed  him,  after  all  his  pains  ("  The  Prince  will  never  yoke 
us  to  the  plow,  now  !  "  said  the  English  people),  he  took  a 
second  wife — Adelais  or  Alice,  a  Duke's  daughter,  and  the 
Pope's  niece.  Having  no  more  children,  however,  he  pro- 
posed to  the  barons  to  swear  that  they  would  recognize  as 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  71 

his  successor  his  daughter  Matilda,  whom,  as  she  was  now 
a  widow,  he  married  to  the  eldest  son  of  the  Count  of  Anjou, 
Geoffrey,  surnamed  Plantagenet,  from  a  custom  he  had  of 
wearing  a  sprig  of  flowering  broom  (called  Genet  in  French) 
in  his  cap  for  a  feather.  As  one  false  man  usually  makes 
many,  and  as  a  false  King,  in  particular,  is  pretty  certain  to 
make  a  false  Court,  the  barons  took  the  oath  about  the  suc- 
cession of  Matilda  (and  her  children  after  her),  twice  over, 
without  in  the  least  intending  to  keep  it.  The  King  was  now 
relieved  from  any  remaining  fears  of  William  Fitz-Robert, 
by  his  death  in  the  Monastery  of  St.  Omer,  in  France,  at 
twenty-six  years  old,  of  a  pike-wound  in  the  hand.  And  as 
Matilda  gave  birth  to  three  sons,  he  thought  the  succession 
to  the  throne  secure. 

He  spent  most  of  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  which  was 
troubled  by  family  quarrels,  in  Normandy,  to  be  near  Matil- 
da. When  he  had  reigned  upwards  of  thirty-five  years,  and  was 
sixty-seven  years  old,  he  died  of  an  indigestion  and  fever, 
brought  on  by  eating,  when  he  was  far  from  well,  of  a  fish 
called  lamprey,  against  which  he  had  often  been  cautioned 
by  his  physicians.  His  remains  were  brought  over  to  Read- 
ing Abbey  to  be  buried. 

You  may  perhaps  bear  the  cunning  and  promise-breaking 
of  King  Henry  the  First,  called  "  policy  "  by  some  people, 
and  "  diplomacy  "  by  others.  Neither  of  these  fine  words 
will  in  the  least  mean  that  it  was  true  ;  and  nothing  that  is 
not  true  can  possibly  be  good. 

His  greatest  merit,  that  I  know  of,  was  his  love  of  learning. 
I  should  have  given  him  greater  credit  even  for  that,  if  it 
had  been  strong  enough  to  induce  him  to  spare  the  eyes  of  a 
certain  poet  he  once  took  prisoner,  who  was  a  knight  besides. 
But  he  ordered  the  poet's  eyes  to  be  torn  from  his  head,  be- 
cause he  had  laughed  at  him  in  his  verses  ;  and  the  poet,  in 
the  pain  of  that  torture,  dashed  out  his  own  brains  against 
his  prison  wall.  King  Henry  the  First  was  avaricious, 
revengeful,  and  so  false,  that  I  suppose  a  man  never  lived 
whose  word  was  less  to  be  relied  upon. 


;a  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER   XL 

ENGLAND    UNDER    MATILDA    AND    STEPHEN. 

The  King  was  no  sooner  dead  than  all  the  plans  and 
schemes  he  had  labored  at  so  long,  and  lied  so  much  for, 
crumbled  away  like  a  hollow  heap  of  sand.  Stephen,  whom 
he  had  never  mistrusted  or  suspected,  started  up  to  claim 
the  throne. 

Stephen  was  the  son  of  Adela,  the  Conqueror's  daughter, 
married  to  the  Count  of  Blois.  To  Stephen,  and  to  his 
brother  Henry,  the  late  King  had  been  liberal  ;  making  Hen- 
ry Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  finding  a  good  marriage  for 
Stephen,  and  much  enriching  him.  This  did  not  prevent 
Stephen  from  hastily  producing  a  false  witness,  a  servant  of 
the  late  King,  to  swear  that  the  King  had  named  him  for  his- 
heir  upon  his  death-bed.  On  this  evidence  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  crowned  him.  The  new  King,  so  suddenly 
made.,  lost  not  a  moment  in  seizing  the  royal  treasure,  and 
hiring  foreign  soldiers  with  some  of  it  to  protect  his 
throne. 

If  the  dead  King  had  even  done  as  the  false  witness  said, 
he  would  have  had  small  right  to  will  away  the  English  peo- 
ple, like  so  many  sheep  and  oxen,  without  their  consent. 
But  he  had,  in  fact,  bequeathed  all  his  territory  to  Matilda  ; 
who,  supported  by  Robert,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  soon  began 
to  dispute  the  crown.  Some  of  the  powerful  barons  and 
priests  took  her  side  ;  some  took  Stephen's  ;  all  fortified  their 
castles  ;  and  again  the  miserable  English  people  were  in- 
volved in  war,  from  which  they  could  never  derive  advantage 
whosoever  was  victorious,  and  in  which  all  parties  plundered, 
tortured,  starved,  and  ruined  them. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of  Henry  the  First — 
and  during  those  fiv.  years  there  had  been  two  terrible  inva- 
sions by  the  people  of  Scotland  under  their  King,  David, 
who  was  at  last  defeated  with  all  his  army — when  Matilda, 
attended  by  her  brother  Robert  and  a  large  force,  appeared 
in  England  to  maintain  her  claim.  A  battle  was  fought  be- 
tween her  troops  and  King  Stephen's  at  Lincoln  ;  in  which 
the  King  himsek  was  taken  prisoner,  after  bravely  fighting 
until  his  battle-ax  and  sword  were  broken,  and  was  carried 
into  strict  confinement  at  Gloucester.     Matilda  then  sub- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  73 

mitted  herself  to  the  priests,  and  the  priests  crowned  her 
Queen  of  England. 

She  did  not  long  enjoy  this  dignity.  The  people  of  Lon- 
don had  a  great  affection  for  Stephen  ;  many  of  the  Barons 
considered  it  degrading  to  be  ruled  by  a  woman  ;  and  the 
Queen's  temper  was  so  haughty  that  she  made  innumerable 
enemies.  The  people  of  London  revolted  ;  and,  in  alliance 
with  the  troops  of  Stephen,  besieged  her  at  Winchester, 
where  they  took  her  brother  Robert  prisoner,  whom,  as  her 
best  soldier  and  chief  general,  she  was  glad  to  exchange  for 
Stephen  himself,  who  thus  regained  his  liberty.  Then,  the 
long  war  went  on  afresh.  Once,  she  was  pressed  so  hard  in 
the  Castle  of  Oxford  in  the  winter  weather  when  the  snow 
lay  thick  upon  the  ground,  that  her  only  chance  of  escape 
was  to  dress  herself  all  in  white,  and  accompanied  by  no 
more  than  three  faithful  knights,  dressed  in  like  manner  that 
their  figures  might  not  be  seen  from  Stephen's  camp  as  they 
passed  over  the  snow,  to  steal  away  on  foot,  cross  the  frozen 
Thames,  walk  a  long  distance,  and  at  last  gallop  away  on 
horseback.  All  this  she  did,  but  to  no  great  purpose  then; 
for  her  brother  dying  while  the  struggle  was  yet  going  on, 
she  at  last  withdrew  to  Normandy. 

In  two  or  three  years  after  her  withdrawal  her  cause  ap- 
peared in  England,  afresh,  in  the  person  of  her  son  Henry, 
young  Plantagenet,  who,  at  only  eighteen  years  of  age,  was 
very  powerful  :  not  only  on  account  of  his  mother  having 
resigned  all  Normandy  to  him,  but  also  from  his  having  mar- 
ried Eleanor,  the  divorced  wife  of  the  French  King,  a  bad 
woman,  who  had  great  possessions  in  France.  Louis,  the 
French  King,  not  relishing  this  arrangement,  helped  Eustace, 
King  Stephen's  son,  to  invade  Normandy  ;  but  Henry  drove 
their  united  forces  out  of  that  country,  and  then  returned 
here  to  assist  his  partisans,  whom  the  King  was  then  besieg- 
ing at  Wallingford  upon  the  Thames.  Here,  for  two  days, 
divided  only  by  the  river,  the  two  armies  lay  encamped  op- 
posite to  one  another — on  the  eve,  as  it  seemed  to  all  men, 
of  another  desperate  fight,  when  the  Earl  of  Arundel  took 
heart  and  said  "  that  it  was  not  reasonable  to  prolong  the 
unspeakable  miseries  of  two  kingdoms  to  minister  to  the 
ambition  of  two  princes." 

Many  other  noblemen  repeating  and  supporting  this  when 
it  was  once  uttered,  Stephen  and  young  Plantagenet  went 
down,  each  to  his  own  bank  of  the  river,  and  held  a  conver- 


74  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

sation  across  it,  in  which  they  arranged  a  truce  ;  very  much 
to  the  dissatisfaction  of  Eustace,  who  swaggered  away  with 
some  followers,  and  laid  violent  hands  on  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Edmund's-Bury,  where  he  presently  died  mad.  The  truce 
led  to  a  solemn  council  at  Winchester,  in  which  it  was  agreed 
that  Stephen  should  retain  the  crown,  on  condition  of  his 
declaring  Henry  his  successor  ;  that  William,  another  son  of 
the  King's,  should  inherit  his  father's  rightful  possessions  ; 
and  that  all  the  crown  lands  which  Stephen  had  given  away 
should  be  recalled,  and  the  castles  he  had  permitted  to  be 
built  demolished.  Thus  terminated  the  bitter  war,  which 
had  now  lasted  fifteen  years,  and  had  again  laid  England 
waste.  In  the  next  year  Stephen  died,  after  a  troubled 
reign  of  nineteen  years. 

Although  King  Stephen  was,  for  the  time  in  which  he  lived, 
a  humane  and  moderate  man,  with  many  excellent  qualities  ; 
and  although  nothing  worse  is  known  of  him  than  his  usur- 
pation of  the  crown,  which  he  probably  excused  to  himself 
by  the  consideration  that  King  Henry  the  First  was  an  usur- 
per too — which  was  no  excuse  at  all  ;  the  people  of  England 
suffered  more  in  these  dreaded  nineteen  years,  than  at  any 
former  period  even  of  their  suffering  history.  In  the  divis- 
ion of  the  nobility  between  the  two  rival  claimants  of  the 
crown,  and  in  the  growth  of  what  is  called  the  Feudal  System 
(which  made  the  peasants  the  born  vassals  and  mere  slaves 
of  the  barons),  every  noble  had  his  strong  castle,  where  he 
reigned  the  cruel  king  of  all  the  neighboring  people.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  perpetrated  whatever  cruelties  he  chose. 
And  never  were  worse  cruelties  committeed  upon  the  earth 
than  in  wretched  England  in  those  nineteen  years. 

The  writers  who  were  living  then  described  them  fearfully. 
They  say  that  the  castles  were  filled  with  devils  rather  than 
with  men  ;  that  the  peasants,  men  and  women,  were  putinto 
dungeons  for  their  gold  and  silver,  were  tortured  with  fire 
and  smoke,  were  hung  up  by  the  thumbs,  were  hung  up  by 
the  heels  with  great  weights  to  their  heads,  were  torn  with 
jagged  irons,  killed  with  hunger,  broken  to  death  in  narrow 
chests  filled  with  sharp-pointed  stones,  murdered  in  countless 
fiendish  ways.  In  England  there  was  no  corn,  no  meat,  no 
cheese,  no  butter,  there  were  no  tilled  lands,  no  harvests. 
Ashes  of  burned  towns  and  dreary  wastes  were  all  that  the 
traveler,  fearful  of  the  robbers  who  prowled  abroad  at  all 
hours,  would  see  in  a  long  day's  journey  ;  and  from  sunrise 
until  night,  he  would  not  come  upon  a  home. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  75 

The  clergy  sometimes  suffered,  and  heavily  too,  from  pil- 
lage, but  many  of  them  had  castles  of  their  own,  and  fought 
in  helmet  and  armor  like  the  barons,  and  drew  lots  with  other 
fighting  men  for  their  share  of  booty.  The  Pope  (or  Bishop 
of  Rome),  on  King  Stephen's  resisting  his  ambition,  laid 
England  under  an  interdict  at  one  period  of  this  reign  ; 
which  means  that  he  allowed  no  service  to  be  performed  in 
the  churches,  no  couples  to  be  married,  no  bells  to  be  rung, 
no  dead  bodies  to  be  buried.  Any  man  having  the  power  to 
refuse  these  things,  no  matter  whether  he  were  called  a  pope 
or  a  poulterer,  would,  of  course,  have  the  power  of  afflicting 
numbers  of  innocent  people.  That  nothing  might  be  want- 
ing to  the  miseries  of  King  Stephen's  time,  the  pope  threw 
in  this  contribution  to  the  public  store — not  very  like  the 
widow's  contribution  as  I  think,  when  our  Saviour  sat  in 
Jerusalem  over-against  the  treasury,  "  and  she  threw  in  two 
mites,  which  make  a  farthing." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    HENRY    THE   SECOND. 
PART    THE    FIRST. 

Henry  Plantagenet,  when  he  was  but  twenty-one  years  old, 
quietly  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  England,  according  to 
his  agreement  made  with  the  late  King  at  Winchester.  Six 
weeks  after  Stephen's  death,  he  and  his  Queen,  Eleanor, 
were  crowned  in  that  city  ;  into  which  they  rode  on  horse- 
back in  great  state,  side  by  side,  amid  much  shouting  and 
rejoicing,  and  clashing  of  music,  and  strewing  of  flowers. 

The  reign  of  King  Henry  the  Second  began  well.  The 
King  had  great  possessions,  and  (what  with  his  own  rights, 
and  what  with  those  of  his  wife)  was  lord  of  one-third  part 
of  France.  He  was  a  young  man  of  vigor,  ability,  and  reso- 
lution, and  immediately  applied  himself  to  remove  some  of 
the  evils  which  had  arisen  in  the  last  unhappy  reign.  He 
revoked  all  the  grants  of  land  that  had  been  hastily  made, 
on  either  side,  during  the  late  struggles  ;  he  obliged  numbers 
of  disorderly  soldiers  to  depart  from  England  ;  he  reclaimed 
all  the  castles  belonging  to  the  crown  ;  and  he  forced  the 
wicked  nobles  to  pull  down  their  own  castles,  to  the  number 


76         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

of  eleven  hundred,  in  which  such  dismal  cruelties  had  been 
inflicted  on  the  people.  The  King's  brother,  Geoffrey,  rose 
against  him  in  France,  while  he  was  so  well  employed,  and 
rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  repair  to  that  country  ; 
where,  after  he  had  subdued  and  made  a  friendly  arrange- 
ment with  his  brother  (who  did  not  live  long),  his  ambition 
to  increase  his  possessions  involved  him  in  a  war  with  the 
French  King,  with  whom  he  had  been  on  such  friendly  terms 
just  before,  that  to  the  French  King's  infant  daughter,  then 
a  baby  in  the  cradle,  he  had  promised  one  of  his  little  sons 
in  marriage,  who  was  a  child  of  five  years  old.  However, 
the  war  came  to  nothing  at  last,  and  the  Pope  made  the  two 
Kings  friends  again.. 

Now,  the  clergy,  in  the  troubles  of  the  last  reign,  had  gone 
on  very  ill  indeed.  There  were  all  kinds  of  criminals  among 
them — murderers,  thieves,  and  vagabonds  ;  and  the  worst 
of  the  matter  was,  that  the  good  priests  would  not  give  up 
the  bad  priests  to  justice,  when  they  committed  crimes,  but 
persisted  in  sheltering  and  defending  them.  The  King,  well 
knowing  that  there  could  be  no  peace  or  rest  in  England 
while  such  things  lasted,  resolved  to  reduce  the  power  of  the 
clergy  ;  and,  when  he  had  reigned  seven  years,  found,  (as  he 
considered)  a  good  opportunity  for  doing  so,  in  the  death  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  "  I  will  have  for  the  new 
Archbishop,"  thought  the  King,  "  a  friend  in  whom  I  can 
trust,  who  will  help  me  to  humble  these  rebellious  priests. 
and  to  have  them  dealt  with,  when  they  do  wrong,  as  other 
men  who  do  wrong  are  dealt  with."  So,  he  resolved  to  make 
his  favorite,  the  new  Archbishop  :  and  this  favorite  was  so 
extraordinary  a  man,  and  his  story  is  so  curious,  that  I  must 
tell  you  all  about  him. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  worthy  merchant  of  London,  named 
Gilbert  a  Becket,  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and 
was  taken  prisoner  by  a  Saracen  lord.  This  lord,  who  treated 
him  kindly  and  not  like  a  slave,  had  one  fair  daughter,  who 
fell  in  love  with  the  merchant  ;  and  who  told  him  that  she 
wanted  to  become  a  Christian,  and  was  willing  to  marry  him 
if  they  could  fly  to  a  Christian  country.  The  merchant  re- 
turned her  love,  until  he  found  an  opportunity  to  escape, 
when  he  did  not  trouble  himself  about  the  Saracen  lady,  but 
escaped  with  his  servant  Richard,  who  had  been  taken  pris- 
oner along  with  him,  and  arrived  in  England  and  forgot  her. 
The  Saracen  lady,  who  was  more  loving  than  the  merchat^ 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  77 

left  her  father's  house  in  disguise  to  follow  him,  and  made 
her  way,  under  many  hardships,  to  the  sea-shore.  The  mer- 
chant had  taught  her  only  two  English  words  (for  I  suppose 
he  must  have  learned  the  Saracen  tongue  himself,  and  made 
love  in  that  language),  of  which  London  was  one,  and  his 
own  name,  Gilbert,  the  other.  She  went  among  the  ships, 
saying,  "  London  !  London  !  "  over  and  over  again,  until  the 
sailors  understood  that  she  wanted  to  find  an  English  vessel 
that  would  carry  her  there  ;  so  they  showed  her  such  a  ship, 
and  she  paid  for  her  passage  with  some  of  her  jewels,  and 
sailed  away.  Well !  The  merchant  was  sitting  in  his  count- 
ing-house in  London  one  day,  when  he  heard  a  great  noise 
in  the  street  ;  and  presently  Richard  came  running  in  from 
the  warehouse,  with  his  eyes  wide  open  and  his  breath  almost 
gone,  saying,  "  Master,  master,  here  is  the  Saracen  lady  !  " 
The  merchant  thought  Richard  was  mad  ;  but  Richard  said, 
"  No,  master  !  As  I  live,  the  Saracen  lady  is  going  up  and 
down  the  city,  calling  Gilbert  !  Gilbert  !  "  Then,  he  took 
the  merchant  by  the  sleeve,  and  pointed  out  at;  window  ; 
and  there  they  saw  her  among  the  gables  and  water-spouts 
of  the  dark  dirty  street,  in  her  foreign  dress,  so  forlorn,  sur- 
rounded by  a  wondering  crowd,  and  passing  slowly  along, 
calling  Gilbert,  Gilbert  !  When  the  merchant  saw  her,  and 
thought  of  the  tenderness  she  had  shown  him  in  his  captivity, 
and  of  her  constancy,  his  heart  was  moved,  and  he  ran  down 
into  the  street  ;  and  she  saw  him  coming,  and  with  a  great 
cry  fainted  in  his  arms.  They  were  married  without  loss  of 
time,  and  Richard  (who  was  an  excellent  man)  danced  with 
joy  the  whole  day  of  the  wedding  ;  and  they  all  lived  happy 
ever  afterward. 

This  merchant  and  this  Saracen  lady  had  one  son,  Thomas 
a  Becket.  He  it  was  who  became  the  favorite  of  King 
Henry  the  Second. 

He  had  become  Chancellor,  when  the  King  thought  of 
making  him  Archbishop.  He  was  clever,  gay,  well  educated, 
brave  ;  had  fought  in  several  battles  in  France  ;  had  de- 
feated a  French  knight  in  single  combat,  and  brought  his 
horse  away  as  a  token  of  the  victory.  He  lived  in  a  noble 
palace,  he  was  the  tutor  of  the  young  Prince  Henry,  he  was 
served  by  one  hundred  and  forty  knights,  his  riches  were 
immense.  The  King  once  sent  him  as  his  ambassador  to 
France  ;  and  the  French  people,  beholding  in  what  state  he 
traveled,  cried  out  in  the  streets,  "  How  splendid  must  the 


78  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

King  of  England  be,  when  this  is  only  the  Chancellor  !  " 
They  had  good  reason  to  wonder  at  the  magnificence  of 
Thomas  a  Becket,  for,  when  he  entered  a  French  town,  his 
procession  was  headed  by  two  hundred  and  fifty  singing 
boys  ;  then,  came  his  hounds  in  couples  ;  then,  eight  wagons, 
each  drawn  by  five  horses  driven  by  five  drivers  ;  two  of  the 
wagons  filled  with  strong  ale  to  be  given  away  to  the  people  ; 
four,  with  his  gold  and  silver  plate  and  stately  clothes  ;  two, 
with  the  dresses  of  his  numerous  servants.  Then,  came 
twelve  horses,  each  with  a  monkey  on  his  back ;  then  a 
train  of  people  bearing  shields  and  leading  fine  war-horses 
splendidly  equipped  ;  then,  falconers  with  hawks  upon  their 
wrists  ;  then,  a  host  of  knights,  and  gentlemen  and  priests ; 
then,  the  Chancellor  with  his  brilliant  garments  flashing  in 
the  sun,  and  all  the  people  capering  and  shouting  with  de- 
light. 

The  King  was  well  pleased  with  all  this,  thinking  that  it 
only  made  himself  the  more  magnificent  to  have  so  magnifi- 
cent a  favorite  ;  but  he  sometimes  jested  with  the  Chancel- 
lor upon  his  splendor  too.  Once,  when  they  were  riding 
together  through  the  streets  of  London  in  hard  winter  wea- 
ther, they  saw  a  shivering  old  man  in  rags.  "  Look  at  the 
poor  object  !  "  said  the  King.  "  Would  it  not  be  a  chari- 
table act  to  give  that  aged  man  a  comfortable  warm  cloak  ?  " 
"  Undoubtedly  it  would,"  said  Thomas  a  Becket,  "  and  you 
do  well,  sir,  to  think  of  such  Christian  duties."  "  Come  !  " 
cried  the  King,  "  then  give  him  your  cloak  !  "  It  was  made 
of  rich  crimson  trimmed  with  ermine.  The  King  tried  to 
pull  it  off,  the  Chancellor  tried  to  keep  it  on,  both  were  near 
rolling  from  their  saddles  to  the  mud,  when  the  Chancellor 
submitted,  and  the  King  gave  the  cloak  to  the  old  beggar  : 
much  to  the  beggar's  astonishment,  and  much  to  the  merri- 
ment of  all  the  courtiers  in  attendance.  For,  courtiers  are 
not  only  eager  to  laugh  when  the  King  laughs,  but  they 
really  do  enjoy  a  laugh  against  a  favorite. 

"  I  will  make,"  thought  King  Henry  the  Second,  "  this 
Chancellor  of  mine,  Thomas  a  Becket,  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury. He  will  then  be  the  head  of.  the  Church,  and,  being 
devoted  to  me,  will  help  me  to  correct  the  Church.  He  has 
always  upheld  my  power  against  the  power  of  the  clergy,  and 
once  publicly  told  some  bishops  (I  remember),  that  men  of 
the  Church  were  equally  bound  to  me  with  men  of  the 
sword.     Thomas  a  Becket   is  the  man,  of  all  other  men  in 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  79 

England,  to  help  me  in  my  great  design."  So  the  King,  re- 
gardless of  all  objection,  either  that  he  was  a  fighting  man, 
or  a  lavish  man,  or  a  courtly  man,  or  a  man  of  pleasure,  or 
any  thing  but  a  likely  man  for  the  office,  made  him  Arch- 
bishop accordingly. 

Now,  Thomas  a  Becket  was  proud  and  loved  to  be  famous. 
He  was  already  famous  for  the  pomp  of  his  life,  for  his 
riches,  his  gold  and  silver  plate,  his  wagons,  horses,  and  at- 
tendants. He  could  do  no  more  in  that  way  than  he  had 
done  ;  and  being  tired  of  that  kind  of  fame  (which  is  a  very 
poor  one),  he  longed  to  have  his  name  celebrated  for  some- 
thing else.  Nothing,  he  knew,  would  render  him  so  famous 
in  the  world,  as  the  setting  of  his  utmost  power  and  ability 
against  the  utmost  power  and  ability  of  the  King.  He  re- 
solved with  the  whole  strength  of  his  mind  to  do  it. 

He  may  have  had  some  secret  grudge  against  the  King 
besides.  The  King  may  have  offended  his  proud  humor  at 
some  time  or  other,  for  any  thing  I  know.  I  think  it  likely, 
because  it  is  a  common  thing  for  kings,  princes,  and  other 
great  people,  to  try  the  tempers  of  their  favorites  rather 
severely.  Even  the  little  affair  of  the  crimson  cloak  must 
have  been  any  thing  but  a  pleasant  one  to  a  haughty  man. 
Thomas  a  Becket  knew  better  than  any  one  in  England  what 
the  King  expected  of  him.  In  all  his  sumptuous  life,  he  had 
never  yet  been  in  a  position  to  disappoint  the  King.  He 
could  take  up  that  proud  stand  now,  as  head  of  the  Church; 
and  he  determined  that  it  should  be  written  in  history, 
either  that  he  subdued  the  King,  or  that  the  King  subdued 
him. 

So,  of  a  sudden,  he  completely  altered  the  whole  manner 
of  his  life.  He  turned  off  all  his  brilliant  followers,  ate 
coarse  food,  drank  bitter  water,  wore  next  his  skin  sackcloth 
covered  with  dirt  and  vermin  (for  it  was  then  thought  very 
religious  to  be  very  dirty),  flogged  his  back  to  punish  him- 
self, lived  chiefly  in  a  little  cell,  washed  the  feet  of  thirteen 
poor  people  every  day,  and  looked  as  miserable  as  he  possi- 
bly could.  If  he  had  put  twelve  hundred  monkeys  on  horse- 
back instead  ^  -  twelve,  and  had  gone  in  procession  with 
eight  thousand  wagons  instead  of  eight,  he  could  not  have 
half  astonished  the  people  so  much  as  by  this  great  change. 
It  soon  caused  him  to  be  more  talked  about  as  an  Arch- 
bishop than  he  had  been  as  a  Chancellor. 

The  King  was  very  angry  ;    and  was  made  still  more  so, 


80  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

when  the  new  Archbishop,  claiming  various  estates  from  the 
nobles  as  being  rightfully  Church  property,  required  the 
King  himself,  for  the  same  reason,  to  give  up  Rochester 
Castle,  and  Rochester  City  too.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  he 
declared  that  no  power  but  himself  should  appoint  a  priest 
to  any  church  in  the  part  of  England  over  which  he  was 
Archbishop  ;  and  when  a  certain  gentleman  of  Kent  made 
such  an  appointment,  as  he  claimed  to  have  the  right  to 
do,  Thomas  a  Becket  excommunicated  him. 

Excommunication  was,  next  to  the  Interdict  I  told  you  of 
at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  the  great  weapon  of  the 
clergy.  It  consisted  in  declaring  the  person  who  was  excom- 
municated, an  outcast  from  the  Church  and  from  all  religious 
offices  ;  and  in  cursing  him  all  over,  from  the  top  of  his 
head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  whether  he  was  standing  up, 
lying  down,  sitting,  kneeling,  walking,  running,  hopping, 
jumping,  gaping,  coughing,  sneezing,  or  whatever  else  he 
was  doing.  This  unchristian  nonsense  would  of  course  have 
made  no  sort  of  difference  to  the  person  cursed — who  could 
say  his  prayers  at  home  if  he  were  shut  out  of  church,  and 
whom  none  but  God  could  judge — but  for  the  fears  and 
superstitions  of  the  people,  who  avoided  excommunicated 
persons,  and  made  their  lives  unhappy.  So,  the  King  said 
to  the  new  Archbishop,  "  Take  off  this  excommunication 
from  this  gentleman  of  Kent."  To  which  the  Archbishop 
replied,  "  I  shall  do  no  such  thing." 

The  quarrel  went  on.  A  priest  in  Worcestershire  com- 
mitted a  most  dreadful  murder,  that  aroused  the  horror  of 
the  whole  nation.  The  King  demanded  to  have  this  wretch 
delivered  up,  to  be  tried  in  the  same  court  and  in  the  same 
way  as  any  other  murderer.  The  Archbishop  refused,  and 
kept  him  in  the  Bishop's  prison.  The  King,  holding  a 
solemn  assembly  in  Westminster  Hall,  demanded  that  in 
future  all  priests  found  guilty  before  their  bishops  of  crimes 
against  the  law  of  the  land  should  be  considered  priests  no 
longer,  and  should  be  delivered  over  to  the  law  of  the  land 
for  punishment.  The  Archbishop  again  refused.  The 
King  required  to  know  whether  the  clergy  would  obey  the 
ancient  customs  of  the  country  ?  Every  priest  there,  but  one, 
said,  after  Thomas  a  Becket,  "  Saving  my  order."  This 
really  meant  that  they  would  only  obey  those  customs  when 
they  did  not  interfere  with  their  own  claims  ;  and  the  King 
went  out  of  the  Hall  in  great  wrath. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  81 

Some  of  the  clergy  began  to  be  afraid,  now,  that  they  were 
going  too  far.  Though  Thomas  a  Becket  was  otherwise  as 
unmoved  as  Westminster  Hall,  they  prevailed  upon  him,  for 
the  sake  of  their  fears,  to  go  to  the  King  at  Woodstock,  and 
promise  to  observe  the  ancient  customs  of  the  country,  with- 
out saying  any  thing  about  his  order.  The  King  received 
this  submission  favorably,  and  summoned  a  great  council  of 
the  clergy  to  meet  at  the  Castle  of  Clarendon,  by  Salisbury. 
But  when  the  council  met,  the  Archbishop  again  insisted  on 
the  words  "saving  my  order;"  and  he  still  insisted,  though 
lords  entreated  him,  and  priests  wept  before  him  and  kneeled 
to  him,  and  an  adjoining  room  was  thrown  open,  filled  with 
armed  soldiers  of  the  King,  to  threaten  him.  At  length  he 
gave  way,  for  that  time,  and  the  ancient  customs  (which  in- 
cluded what  the  King  had  demanded  in  vain)  were  stated  in 
writing,  and  were  signed  and  sealed  by  the  chief  of  the  clergy, 
and  were  called  the  Constitutions  of  Clarendon. 

The  quarrel  went  on  for  all  that.  The  Archbishop  tried 
to  see  the  King.  The  King  would  not  see  him.  The  Arch- 
bishop tried  to  escape  from  England.  The  sailors  on  the 
coast  would  launch  no  boat  to  take  him  away.  Then,  he 
again  resolved  to  do  his  worst  in  opposition  to  the  King,  and 
began  openly  to  set  the  ancient  customs  at  defiance. 

The  King  summoned  him  before  a  great  council  at  North- 
ampton where  he  accused  him  of  high  treason,  and  made  a 
claim  against  him,  which  was  not  a  just  one,  for  an  enor- 
mous sum  of  money.  Thomas  a  Becket  was  alone  against 
the  whole  assembly,  and  the  very  bishops  advised  him  to 
resign  his  office  and  abandon  his  contest  with  the  King. 
His  great  anxiety  and  agitation  stretched  him  on  a  sick-bed 
for  two  days,  but  he  was  still  undaunted.  He  went  to  the 
adjourned  council,  carrying  a  great  cross  in  his  right  hand, 
and  sat  down  holding  it  erect  before  him.  The  King  angrily 
retired  into  an  inner  room.  The  whole  assembly  angrily 
retired  and  left  him  there.  But  there  he  sat.  The  bishops 
came  out  again  in  a  body,  and  renounced  him  as  a  traitor. 
He  only  said,  "  I  hear  !  "  and  sat  there  still.  They  retired 
again  into  the  inner  room,  and  his  trial  proceeded  without 
him.  By-and-by,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  heading  the  barons, 
came  out  to  read  his  sentence.  He  refused  to  hear  it,  denied 
the  power  of  the  court,  and  said  he  would  refer  his  cause  to 
the  Pope.  As  he  walked  out  of  the  hall,  with  the  cross  in 
his  hand,  some  of  those  present  picked  up  rushes — rushes 


82  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

were  strewn  upon  the  floors  in  those  days  by  way  of  carpet — 
and  threw  them  at  him.  He  proudly  turned  his  head,  and 
said  that  were  he  not  Archbishop,  he  would  chastise  those 
cowards  with  the  sword  he  had  known  how  to  use  in  bygone 
days.  He  then  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away,  cheered 
and  surrounded  by  the  common  people,  to  whom  he  threw 
open  his  house  that  night  and  gave  a  supper,  supping  with 
them  himself.  That  same  night  he  secretly  departed  from 
the  town  ;  and  so,  traveling  by  night  and  hiding  by  day, 
and  calling  himself  "  Brother  Dearman,"  got  away  not  with- 
out difficulty,  to  Flanders. 

The  struggle  still  went  on.  The  angry  King  took  posses- 
sion of  the  revenues  of  the  archbishopric,  and  banished  all 
the  relations  and  servants  of  Thomas  a  Becket,  to  the  num- 
ber of  four  hundred.  The  Pope  and  the  French  King  both 
protected  him,  and  an  abbey  was  assigned  for  his  residence. 
Stimulated  by  this  support  Thomas  a  Becket,  on  a  great  fes- 
tival day,  formally  proceeded  to  a  great  church  crowded 
with  people,  and  going  up  into  the  pulpit  publicly  cursed 
and  excommunicated  all  who  had  supported  the  Constitu- 
tions of  Clarendon  ;  mentioning  many  English  noblemen  by 
name,  and  not  distantly  hinting  at  the  King  of  England 
himself. 

When  intelligence  of  this  new  affront  was  carried  to  the 
King  in  his  chamber,  his  passion  was  so  furious  that  he  tore 
his  clothes,  and  rolled  like  a  madman  on  his  bed  of  straw 
and  rushes.  But  he  was  soon  up  and  doing.  He  ordered 
all  the  ports  and  coasts  of  England  to  be  narrowly  watched, 
that  no  letters  of  Interdict  might  be  brought  into  the  king- 
dom ;  and  sent  messengers  and  bribes  to  the  Pope's  palace 
at  Rome.  Meanwhile,  Thomas  a  Becket,  for  his  part,  was 
not  idle  at  Rome,  but  constantly  employed  his  utmost  arts 
in  his  own  behalf.  Thus  the  contest  stood,  until  there  was 
peace  between  France  and  England  (which  had  been  for 
some  time  at  war),  and  until  the  two  children  of  the  two 
Kings  were  married  in  celebration  of  it.  Then,  the  French 
King  brought  about  a  meeting  between  Henry  and  his  old 
favorite  so  long  his  enemy. 

Even  then,  though  Thomas  a  Becket  kneeled  before  the 
King,  he  was  obstinate  and  immovable  as  to  those  words 
about  his  order.  King  Louis  of  France  was  weak  enough  in 
his  veneration  for  Thomas  a  Becket  and  such  men,  but  this 
was  a  little  too   much  for  him.      He  said  that  a  Becket 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  S3 

"  wanted  to  be  greater  than  all  the  saints  and  better  than  St. 
Peter,"  and  rode  away  from  him  with  the  King  of  England. 
His  poor  French  Majesty  asked  a  Becket's  pardon  for  so  doing, 
however,  soon  afterwards,  and  cut  a  very  pitiful  figure. 

At  last,  and  after  a  world  of  trouble,  it  came  to  this. 
There  was  another  meeting  on  French  ground  between  King 
Henry  and  Thomas  a  Becket,  and  it  was  agreed  that  Thomas 
a  Becket  should  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  according  to 
the  customs  of  former  archbishops,  and  that  the  King 
should  put  him  in  possession  of  the  revenues  of  that  post. 
And  now,  indeed,  you  might  suppose  the  struggle  at  an  end, 
and  Thomas  a  Becket  at  rest.  No,  not  even  yet.  For 
Thomas  a  Becket  hearing,  by  some  means,  that  King  Henry, 
when  he  was  in  dread  of  his  kingdom  being  placed  under  an 
interdict,  had  had  his  eldest  son  Prince  Henry  secretly 
crowned,  not  only  persuaded  the  Pope  to  suspend  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York  who  had  performed  that  ceremony,  and  to 
excommunicate  the  Bishops  who  had  assisted  at  it,  but  sent 
a  messenger  of  his  own  into  England,  in  spite  of  all  the 
King's  precautions  along  the  coast,  who  delivered  the  letters 
of  excommunication  into  the  bishops'  own  hands.  Thomas 
a  Becket  then  came  over  to  England  himself,  after  an 
absence  of  seven  years.  He  was  privately  warned  that  it 
was  dangerous  to  come,  and  that  an  ireful  knight  named 
Ranulf  de  Broc,  had  threatened  that  he  should  not  live  to 
eat  a  loaf  of  bread  in  England  ;  but  he  came. 

The  common  people  received  him  well,  and  marched  about 
with  him  in  a  soldierly  way,  armed  with  such  rustic  weapons 
as  they  could  get.  He  tried  to  see  the  young  prince  who 
tad  once  been  his  pupil,  but  was  prevented.  He  hoped  for 
>ome  little  support  among  the  nobles  and  priests,  but  found 
<ione.  He  made  the  most  of  the  peasants  who  attended 
nim,  and  feasted  them,  and  went  from  Canterbury  to  Harrow- 
on-the-Hill,  and  from  Harrow-on-the-Hill  back  to  Canter- 
bury, and  on  Christmas  Day  preached  in  the  Cathedral 
there,  and  told  the  people  in  his  sermon  that  he  had  come  to 
die  among  them,  and  that  it  was  likely  he  would  be  murdered. 
He  had  no  fear,  however — or,  if  he  had  any,  he  had  much 
more  obstinacy — for  he,  then  and  there,  excommunicated 
three  of  his  enemies,  of  whom  Ranulf  de  Broc  the  ireful 
knight  was  one. 

As  men  in  general  had  no  fancy  for  being  cursed,  in  their 
sitting  and  walking,  and  gaping  and  sneezing,  and  all  the  rest 


84  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

of  it,  it  was  very  natural  in  the  persons  so  freely  excommu- 
nicated to  complain  to  the  King.  It  was  equally  natural 
in  the  King,  who  had  hoped  that  this  troublesome  opponent 
was  at  last  quieted,  to  fall  into  a  mighty  rage  when  he  heard 
of  these  new  affronts  ;  and,  on  the  Archbishop  of  York 
telling  him  that  he  never  could  hope  for  rest  while  Thomas 
a  Becket  lived,  to  cry  out  hastily  before  his  court,  "  Have  I 
no  one  here  who  will  deliver  me  from  this  man  ? "  There 
were  four  knights  present,  who,  hearing  the  King's  words, 
looked  at  one  another,  and  went  out. 

The  names  of  these  knights  were  Reginald  Fitzurse, 
William  Tracy,  Hugh  de  Morville,  and  Richard  Brito  ; 
three  of  whom  had  been  in  the  train  of  Thomas  a  Becket  in 
the  old  days  of  his  splendor.  They  rode  away  on  horse- 
back in  a  very  secret  manner,  and  on  the  third  day  after 
Christmas  Day  arrived  at  Saltwood  House,  not  far  from 
Canterbury,  winch  belonged  to  the  family  of  Ranulf  de  Broc. 
They  quietly  collected  some  followers  here,  in  case  they 
should  need  any;  and  proceeding  to  Canterbury,  suddenly 
appeared  (the  four  knights  and  twelve  men)  before  the 
Archbishop,  in  his  own  house,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. They  neither  bowed  nor  spoke,  but  sat  down  on  the 
floor  in  silence,  staring  at  the  Archbishop. 

Thomas  a.  Becket  said  at  length,  "  What  do  you  want  ? " 

"  We  want,"  said  Reginald  Fitzurse,  "  the  excommunica- 
tion taken  from  the  bishops,  and  you  to  answer  for  your 
offenses  to  the  King." 

Thomas  a  Becket  defiantly  replied,  that  the  power  of  the 
clergy  was  above  the  power  of  the  King.  That  it  was  ot 
for  such  men  as  they  were,  to  threaten  him.  That  if  he  w  re 
threatened  by  all  the  swords  in  England,  he  would  ne  er 
yield. 

"  Then  we  will  do  more  than  threaten  !  "  said  the  knights. 
And  they  went  out  with  the  twelve  men,  and  put  on  their 
armor,  and  drew  their  shining  swords,  and  came  back. 

His  servants,  in  the  meantime,  had  shut  up  and  barred 
the  great  gate  of  the  palace.  At  first,  the  knights  tried  to 
shatter  it  with  their  battle-axes ;  but,  being  shown  a  window 
by  which  they  could  enter,  they  let  the  gate  alone,  and  climbed 
in  that  way.  While  they  were  battering  at  the  door,  the 
attendants  of  Thomas  a  Becket  had  implored  him  to  take 
refuge  in  the  Cathedral  ;  in  which,  as  a  sanctuary  or  sacred 
place,  they  thought  the  knights  would  dare  to  do  no  violent 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  $5 

deed.  He  told  them,  again  and  again,  that  he  would  not 
stir.  Hearing  the  distant  voices  of  the  monks  singing  the 
evening  service,  however,  he  said  it  was  now  his  duty  to 
attend,  and  therefore,  and  for  no  other  reason,  he  would  go. 

There  was  a  near  way  between  his  palace  and  the  Cathe- 
dral, by  some  beautiful  old  cloisters  which  you  may  yet  see. 
He  went  into  the  Cathedral,  without  any  hurry,  and  having 
the  cross  carried  before  him  as  usual.  When  he  was  safely 
there,  his  servants  would  have  fastened  the  door,  but  he  said 
No  !  it  was  the  house  of  God  and  not  a  fortress. 

As  he  spoke,  the  shadow  of  Reginald  Fitzurse  appeared 
in  the  Cathedral  doorway,  darkening  the  little  light  there 
was  outside,  on  the  dark  winter  evening.  This  knight  said, 
in  a  strong  voice,  "  Follow  me,  loyal  servants  of  the  King  !  " 
The  rattle  of  the  armor  of  the  other  knights  echoed  through 
the  Cathedral,  as  they  came  clashing  in. 

It  was  so  dark,  in  the  lofty  aisles  and  among  the  stately 
pillars  of  the  church,  and  there  were  so  many  hiding-places 
in  the  crypt  below  and  in  the  narrow  passages  above,  that 
Thomas  a  Becket  might  even  at  that  pass  have  saved  him- 
self if  he  would.  But  he  would  not.  He  told  the  monks 
resolutely  that  he  would  not.  And  though  they  all  dispersed 
and  left  him  there  with  no  other  follower  than  Edward 
Gryme,  his  faithful  cross-bearer,  he  was  as  firm  then  as  ever 
he  had  been  in  his  life. 

The  knights  came  on,  through  the  darkness,  making  a 
terrible  noise  with  their  armed  tread  upon  the  stone  pavement 
of  the  church.  "  Where  is  the  traitor  ? "  they  cried  out. 
He  made  no  answer.  But  when  they  cried,  "  Where  is  the 
Archbishop  ?  "  he  said  proudly,  "  I  am  here  !  "  and  came 
out  of  the  shade  and  stood  before  them. 

The  knights  had  no  desire  to  kill  him,  if  they  could  rid  the 
King  and  themselves  of  him  by  any  other  means.  They  told 
him  he  must  either  fly  or  go  with  them.  He  said  he  would 
do  neither  ;  and  he  threw  William  Tracy  off  with  such  force 
when  he  took  hold  of  his  sleeve,  that  Tracy  reeled  again. 
By  his  reproaches  and  his  steadiness,  he  so  incensed  them, 
and  exasperated  their  fierce  humor,  that  Reginald  Fitzurse, 
whom  he  called  by  an  ill  name,  said,  "  Then  die  !  "  and  struck 
at  his  head.  But  the  faithful  Edward  Gryme  put  out  his 
arm,  and  there  received  the  main  force  of  the  blow,  so  that 
it  only  made  his  master  bleed.  Another  voice  from  among 
the  knights  again  called  to  Thomas  a  Becket  to  fly  ;  but,  with 


86         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

his  blood  running  down  his  face,  and  his  hands  clasped,  and 
his  head  bent,  he  commended  himself  to  God,  and  stood 
firm.  Then  they  cruelly  killed  him  close  to  the  altar  of  St. 
Bennet ;  and  his  body  fell  upon  the  pavement,  which  was 
dirtied  with  his  blood  and  brains. 

It  is  an  awful  thing  to  think  of  the  murdered  mortal,  who 
had  so  showered  his  curses  about,  lying,  all  disfigured,  in  the 
church,  where  a  few  lamps  here  and  there  were  but  red 
specks  on  a  pall  of  darkness  ;  and  to  think  of  the  guilty 
knights  riding  away  on  horseback,  looking  over  their  shoul- 
ders at  the  dim  Cathedral,  and  remembering  what  they  had 
left  inside. 

PART    THE   SECOND. 

When  the  King  heard  how  Thomas  a.  Becket  had  lost  his 
life  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  through  the  ferocity  of  the  four 
knights,  he  was  filled  with  dismay.  Some  have  supposed 
that  when  the  King  spoke  those  hasty  words,  "  Have  I  no 
one  here  who  will  deliver  me  from  this  man  ?  "  he  wished, 
and  meant  a  Becket  to  be  slain.  But  few  things  are  more 
unlikely;  for,  besides  that  the  King  was  not  naturally  cruel 
(though  very  passionate),  he  was  wise  and  must  have  known 
full  well  what  any  stupid  man  in  his  dominions  must  have 
known,  namely  that  such  a  murder  would  rouse  the  Pope 
and  the  whole  Church  against  him. 

He  sent  respectful  messages  to  the  Pope,  to  represent  his 
innocence  (except  in  having  uttered  the  hasty  words);  and 
he  swore  solemnly  and  publicly  to  his  innocence,  and  con- 
trived in  time  to  make  his  peace.  As  to  the  four  guilty 
knights,  who  fled  into  Yorkshire,  and  never  again  dared  to 
show  themselves  at  Court,  the  Pope  excommunicated  them; 
and  they  lived  miserably  for  some  time,  shunned  by  all  their 
countrymen.  At  last  they  went  humbly  to  Jerusalem  as  a 
penance,  and  there  died  and  were  buried. 

It  happened,  fortunately  for  the  pacifying  of  the  Pope,  that 
an  opportunity  arose  very  soon  after  the  murder  of  a  Becket, 
for  the  King  to  declare  his  power  in  Ireland — which  was  an 
acceptable  undertaking  to  the  Pope,  as  the  Irish,  who  had 
been  converted  to  Christianity  by  one  Patricius  (otherwise 
St.  Patrick)  long  ago,  before  any  Pope  existed,  considered 
that  the  Pope  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  them,  or  they 
with  the  Pope,  and  accordingly  refused  to  pay  him  Peter's 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  87 

Pence,  or  the  tax  of  a  penny  a  house  which  I  have  elsewhere 
mentioned.     The  King's  opportunity  arose  in  this  way. 

The  Irish  were,  at  that  time,  as  barbarous  a  people  as  you 
can  well  imagine.  They  were  continually  quarreling  and 
fighting,  cutting  one  another's  throats,  slicing  one  another's 
noses,  burning  one  another's  houses,  carrying  away  one 
another's  wives,  and  committing  all  sorts  of  violence.  The 
country  was  divided  into  five  kingdoms — Desmond,  Thorn- 
ond,  Connaught,  Ulster,  and  Leinster — each  governed  by  a 
separate  King,  of  whom  one  claimed  to  be  the  chief  of  the 
rest.  Now,  one  of  these  Kings,  named  Dermond  MacMur- 
rough(a  wTild  kind  of  name,  spelled  in  more  than  one  wild  kind 
of  way),  had  carried  off  the  wife  of  a  friend  of  his,  and  con- 
cealed her  on  an  island  in  a  bog.  The  friend  resenting  this 
(though  it  was  quite  the  custom  of  the  country),  complained 
to  the  chief  King,  and,  with  the  chief  King's  help,  drove 
Dermond  MacMurrough  out  of  his  dominions.  Dermond 
came  over  to  England  for  revenge;  and  offered  to  hold  his 
realm  as  a  vassal  of  King  Henry,  if  King  Henry  would  help 
him  to  regain  it.  The  King  consented  to  these  terms;  but 
only  assisted  him,  then,  with  what  were  called  Letters  Patent, 
authorizing  any  English  subjects  who  were  so  disposed,  to 
enter  into  his  service,  and  aid  his  cause. 

There  was,  at  Bristol,  a  certain  Earl  Richard  de  Clare, 
called  Strongbow  ;  of  no  very  good  character  ;  needy  and 
desperate,  and  ready  for  any  thing  that  offered  him  a  chance 
of  improving  his  fortunes.  There  were,  in  South  Wales,  two 
other  broken  knights  of  the  same  good-for-nothing  sort, 
called  Robert  Fitz-Stephen  and  Maurice  Fitz-Gerald. 
These  three,  each  with  a  small  band  of  followers,  took  up 
Dermond's  cause  ;  and  it  was  agreed  that  if  it  proved  suc- 
cessful, Strongbow  should  marry  Dermond's  daughter  Eva, 
and  be  declared  his  heir. 

The  trained  English  followers  of  these  knights  were  so 
superior  in  all  the  discipline  of  battle  to  the  Irish,  that  they 
beat  them  against  immense  superiority  of  numbers.  In  one 
fight,  early  in  the  war,  they  cut  off  three  hundred  heads,  and 
laid  them  before  MacMurrough  ;  who  turned  them  every 
one  up  with  his  hands,  rejoicing,  and,  coming  to  one  which 
was  the  head  of  a  man  whom  he  had  much  disliked,  he 
grasped  it  by  the  hair  and  ears,  and  tore  off  the  nose  and 
lips  with  his  teeth.  You  may  judge  from  this,  what  kind  of 
a  gentleman  an  Irish  King  in  those  times  was.  The  captive^ 


88         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

all  through  this  war,  were  horribly  treated  ;  the  victorious 
party  making  nothing  of  breaking  their  limbs,  and  casting 
them  into  the  sea  from  the  tops  of  high  rocks.  It  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  miseries  and  cruelties  attendant  on  the  tak- 
ing of  Waterford,  where  the  dead  lay  piled  in  the  streets  and 
the  filthy  gutters  ran  with  blood,  that  Strongbow  married 
Eva.  An  odious  marriage-company  those  mounds  of  corpses 
must  have  made,  I  think,  and  one  quite  worthy  of  the  young 
lady's  father. 

He  died,  after  Waterford  and  Dublin  had  been  taken,  and 
various  successes  achieved  ;  and  Strongbow  became  King  of 
Leinster.  Now  came  King  Henry's  opportunity.  To  re- 
strain the  growing  power  of  Strongbow,  he  himself  repaired 
to  Dublin,  as  Strongbow's  Royal  Master,  and  deprived  him 
of  his  kingdom,  but  confirmed  him  in  the  enjoyment  of  great 
possessions.  The  King,  then,  holding  state  in  Dublin,  re- 
ceived the  homage  of  nearly  all  the  Irish  Kings  and  Chiefs, 
and  so  came  home  again  with  a  great  addition  to  his  reputa- 
tion as  Lord  of  Ireland,  and  with  a  new  claim  on  the  favor  of 
the  Pope.  And  now,  their  reconciliation  was  completed — 
more  easily  and  mildly  by  the  Pope  than  the  King  might 
have  expected,  I  think. 

At  this  period  of  his  reign,  when  his  troubles  seemed  so 
few  and  his  prospects  so  bright,  those  domestic  miseries  be- 
gan which  gradually  made  the  King  the  most  unhappy  of 
men,  reduced  his  great  spirit,  wore  away  his  health,  and 
broke  his  heart. 

He  had  four  sons.  Henry,  now  aged  eighteen — his  secret 
crowning  of  whom  had  given  such  offense  to  Thomas  a 
Becket ;  Richard,  aged  sixteen  ;  Geoffrey,  fifteen  ;  and  John, 
his  favorite,  a  young  boy  whom  the  courtiers  named  Lack- 
land, because  he  had  no  inheritance,  but  to  whom  the  King 
meant  to  give  the  Lordship  of  Ireland.  All  these  misguided 
boys  in  their  turn,  were  unnatural  sons  to  him,  and  unnat- 
ural brothers  to  each  other.  Prince  Henry,  stimulated  by 
the  French  King,  and  by  his  bad  mother,  Queen  Eleanor, 
began  the  undutiful  history. 

First,  he  demanded  that  his  young  wife,  Margaret,  the 
French  King's  daughter,  should  be  crowned  as  well  as  he. 
His  father,  the  King,  consented,  and  it  was  done.  It  was  no 
sooner  done  than  he  demanded  to  have  a  part  of  his  father's 
dominions  during  his  father's  life.  This  being  refused,  he 
made  off  from  his  father  in  the  night,  with  his  bad  heart  full 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  89 

of  bitterness,  and  took  refuge  at  the  French  King's  Court. 
Within  a  day  or  two,  his  brothers  Richard  and  Geoffrey  fol- 
lowed. Their  mother  tried  to  join  them — escaping  in  man's 
clothes — but  she  was  seized  by  King  Henry's  men,  and  im- 
mured in  prison,  where  she  lay,  deservedly,  for  sixteen  years. 
Every  day,  however,  some  grasping  English  nobleman,  to 
whom  the  King's  protection  of  his  people  from  their  avarice 
and  oppression  had  given  offense,  deserted  him  and  joined 
the  Princes.  Every  day  he  heard  some  fresh  intelligence  of 
the  Princes  levying  armies  against  him  ;  of  Prince  Henry's 
wearing  a  crown  before  his  own  ambassadors  at  the  French 
Court,  and  being  called  the  Junior  King  of  England  ;  of  all 
the  Princes  swearing  never  to  make  peace  with  him,  their 
father,  without  the  consent  and  approval  of  the  barons  of 
France.  But,  with  his  fortitude  and  energy  unshaken,  King 
Henry  met  the  shock  of  these  disasters  with  a  resolved  and 
cheerful  face.  He  called  upon  all  royal  fathers  who  had 
sons,  to  help  him,  for  his  cause  was  theirs  ;  he  hired,  out  of 
his  riches,  twenty  thousand  men  to  fight  the  false  French 
King,  who  stirred  his  own  blood  against  him  ;  and  he  carried 
on  the  war  with  such  vigor,  that  Louis  soon  proposed  a  con- 
ference to  treat  for  peace. 

The  conference  was  held  beneath  an  old  wide-spreading 
green  elm-tree,  upon  a  plain  in  France.  It  led  to  nothing 
The  war  recommenced.  Prince  Richard  began  his  fighting 
career,  by  leading  an  army  against  his  father  ;  but  his  father 
beat  him  and  his  army  back  ;  and  thousands  of  his  men  would 
have  rued  the  day  in  which  they  fought  in  such  a  wicked 
cause,  had  not  the  King  received  news  of  an  invasion  of 
England  by  the  Scots,  and  promptly  come  home  through  a 
great  storm  to  repress  it.  And  whether  he  really  began  to 
fear  that  he  suffered  these  troubles  because  a  Becket  had 
been  murdered  ;  or  whether  he  wished  to  rise  in  the  favor 
of  the  Pope,  who  had  now  declared  a  Becket  to  be  a  saint. or 
in  the  favor  of  his  own  people,  of  whom  many  believed  that 
even  a  Becket's  senseless  tomb  could  work  miracles,  I  don't 
know :  but  the  King  no  sooner  landed  in  England  than  he 
went  straight  to  Canterbury  ;  and  when  he  came  within 
sight  of  the  distant  Cathedral,  he  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
took  off  his  shoes,  and  walked  with  bare  and  bleeding  feet 
to  a  Becket's  grave.  There,  he  lay  down  on  the  ground, 
lamenting,  in  the  presence  of  many  people  ;  and  by-and-by 
he  went  into  the  Chapter  House,  and,  removing  his  clothes 


9o  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

from  his  back  and  shoulders,  submitted  himself  to  be  beaten 
wuh  knotted  cords  (not  beaten  very  hard,  I  dare  say  though) 
by  eighty  priests,  one  after  another.  It  chanced  that  on  the 
very  day  when  the  King  made  this  curious  exhibition  of 
himself,  a  complete  victory  was  obtained  over  the  Scots  ; 
which  very  much  delighted  the  priests,  who  said  that  it  was 
won  because  of  his  great  example  of  repentance.  For  the 
priests  in  general  had  found  out,  since  a  Becket's  death,  that 
they  admired  him  of  all  things — though  they  had  hated  him 
very  cordially  when  he  was  alive. 

The  Earl  of  Flanders,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  base 
conspiracy  of  the  King's  undutiful  sons  and  their  foreign 
friends,  took  the  opportunity  of  the  King  being  thus'employed 
at  home,  to  lay  siege  to  Rouen,  the  capital  of  Normandy. 
But  the  King,  who  was  extraordinarily  quick  and  active  in 
all  his  movements,  was  at  Rouen,  too,  before  it  was  supposed 
possible  that  he  could  have  left  England  ;  and  there  he  so 
defeated  the  said  Earl  of  Flanders,  that  the  conspirators  pro- 
posed peace,  and  his  bad  sons  Henry  and  Geoffrey  submit- 
ted. Richard  resisted  for  six  weeks  ;  but,  being  beaten  out 
of  castle  after  castle,  he  at  last  submitted  too,  and  his  father 
forgave  him. 

To  forgive  these  unworthy  princes  was  only  to  afford  them 
breathing-time  for  new  faithlessness.  They  were  so  false, 
disloyal,  and  dishonorable,  that  they  were  no  more  to  be 
trusted  than  common  thieves.  In  the  very  next  year,  Prince 
Henry  rebelled  again,  and  was  again  forgiven.  In  eight 
years  more,  Prince  Richard  rebelled  against  his  elder  brother; 
and  Prince  Geoffrey  infamously  said  that  the  brothers  could 
never  agree  well  together,  unless  they  were  united  against 
their  father.  In  the  very  next  year  after  their  reconciliation 
by  the  King,  Prince  Henry  again  rebelled  against  his  father  ; 
and  again  submitted,  swearing  to  be  true  ;  and  was  again 
Sorgiven  ;  and  again  rebelled  with  Geoffrey. 

But  the  end  of  this  perfidious  Prince  was  come.  He  fell 
sick  at  a  French  town  ;  and  his  conscience  terribly  reproach- 
ing him  with  his  baseness,  he  sent  messengers  to  the  King 
his  father,  imploring  him  to  come  and  see  him,  and  to  forgive 
him  for  the  last  time  on  his  bed  of  death.  The  generous 
King,  who  had  a  royal  and  forgiving  mind  towards  his  chil- 
dren always,  would  have  gone  ;  but  this  Prince  had  been  so 
unnatural,  that  the  noblemen  about  the  King  suspected 
treachery,  and  represented  to  him  that  he  could  not  safely 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  91 

trust  his  life  with  such  a  traitor,  though  his  own  eldest  son. 
Therefore  the  King  sent  him  a  ring  from  off  his  finger  as  a 
token  of  forgiveness  ;  and  when  the  Prince  had  kissed  it, 
with  much  grief  and  many  tears,  and  had  confessed  to  those 
around  him  how  bad,  and  wicked,  and  undutiful  a  son  he 
had  been  ;  he  said  to  the  attendant  priests  :  "  O,  tie  a  rope 
about  my  body,  and  draw  me  out  of  bed,  and  lay  me  down 
upon  a  bed  of  ashes,  that  I  may  die  with  prayers  to  God  in  a 
repentant  manner  !  "  And  so  he  died,  at  twenty-seven  years 
old. 

Three  years  afterward,  Prince  Geoffrey,  being  unhorsed 
at  a  tournament,  had  his  brains  trampled  out  by  a  crowd  of 
horses  passing  over  him.  So,  there  only  remained  Prince 
Richard,  and  Prince  John — who  had  grown  to  be  a  young 
man  now,  and  had  solemnly  sworn  to  be  faithful  to  his 
father.  Richard  soon  rebelled  again,  encouraged  by  his 
friend  the  French  King,  Philip  the  Second  (son  of  Louis, 
who  was  dead);  and  soon  submitted  and  was  again  forgiven, 
swearing  on  the  New  Testament  never  to  rebel  again  ;  and  in 
another  year  or  so,  rebelled  again  ;  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  father,  knelt  down  on  his  knee  before  the  King 
of  France  ;  and  did  the  French  King  homage  ;  and  declared 
that  with  his  aid  he  would  possess  himself,  by  force,  of  all 
his  father's  French  dominions. 

And  yet  this  Richard  called  himself  a  soldier  of  Our  Sav- 
iour !  And  yet  this  Richard  wore  the  Cross,  which  the  Kings 
of  France  and  England  had  both  taken,  in  the  previous  year, 
at  a  brotherly  meeting  underneath  the  old  wide-spreading 
elm-tree  on  the  plain,  when  they  had  sworn  (like  him)  to 
devote  themselves  to  a  new  Crusade,  for  the  love  and  honor 
of  the  Truth  ! 

Sick  at  heart,  wearied  out  by  the  falsehood  of  his  sons, 
and  almost  ready  to  lie  down  and  die,  the  unhappy  King  who 
had  so  long  stood  firm,  began  to  fail.  But  the  Pope,  to  his 
honor,  supported  him  ;  and  obliged  the  French  King  and 
Richard,  though  successful  in  fight,  to  treat  for  peace. 
Richard  wanted  to  be  crowned  King  of  England,  and  pre- 
tended that  he  wanted  to  be  married  (which  he  really  did 
not)  to  the  French  King's  sister,  his  promised  wife,  whom 
King  Henry  detained  in  England.  King  Henry  wanted,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  the  French  King's  sister  should  be  mar- 
ried to  his  favorite  son,  John  :  the  only  one  of  his  sons  (he 
§aid)  who  had  never   rebelled  against   him.     At  last  King 


92  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Henry,  deserted  by  his  nobles  one  by  one,  distressed,  ex- 
hausted, broken-hearted,  consented  to  establish  peace. 

One  final  heavy  sorrow  was  reserved  for  him  even  yet. 
When  they  brought  him  the  proposed  treaty  of  peace,  in 
writing,  as  he  lay  very  ill  in  bed,  they  brought  him  also  the 
list  of  the  deserters  from  their  allegiance,  whom  he  was  re- 
quired to  pardon.  The  first  name  upon  this  list  was  John, 
his  favorite  son,  in  whom  he  had  trusted  to  the  last. 

"O  John  !  child  of  my  heart  !  "  exclaimed  the  King,  in  a 
great  agony  of  mind.  "  O  John,  whom  I  have  loved  the 
best !  O  John,  for  whom  I  have  contended  through  these 
many  troubles  !  Have  you  betrayed  me  too  ! "  And  then 
he  lay  down  with  a  heavy  groan,  and  said,  "  Now  let  the 
world  go  as  it  will.     I  care  for  nothing  more  !  " 

After  a  time,  he  told  his  attendants  to  take  him  to  the 
French  town  of  Shinon — a  town  he  had  been  fond  of,  dur- 
ing many  years.  But  he  was  fond  of  no  place  now  ;  it  was 
too  true  that  he  could  care  for  nothing  more  upon  this  earth. 
He  wildly  cursed  the  hour  when  he  was  born,  and  cursed 
the  children  whom  he  left  behind  him  ;  and  expired. 

As  one  hundred  years  before,  the  servile  followers  of  the 
Court  had  abandoned  the  Conqueror  in  the  hour  of  his  death 
so  they  now  abandoned  his  descendant.  The  very  body  was 
stripped,  in  the  plunder  of  the  royal  chamber  ;  and  it  was 
not  easy  to  find  the  means  of  carrying  it  for  burial  to  the  ab- 
bey church  of  Fontevraud. 

Richard  was  said  in  after  years,  byway  of  flattery,  to  have 
the  heart  of  a  Lion.  It  would  have  been  far  better,  I  think, 
to  have  had  the  heard  of  a  Man.  His  heart,  whatever  it  was, 
had  cause  to  beat  remorsefully  within  his  breast,  wrhen  he 
came — as  he  did — into  the  solemn  abbey,  and  looked  on  his 
dead  father's  uncovered  face.  His  heart  whatever  it  was 
had  been  a  black  and  perjured  heart,  in  all  its  dealings  with 
the  deceased  King,  and  more  deficient  in  a  single  touch  of 
tenderness  than  any  wild  beast's  in  the  forest. 

There  is  a  pretty  story  told  of  this  reign,  called  the  story 
of  Fair  Rosamond.  It  relates  how  the  King  doted  on  Fair 
Rosamond,  who  was  the  loveliest  girl  in  all  the  world  ;  and 
how  he  had  a  beautiful  bower  built  for  her  in  a  park  at 
Woodstock  ;  and  how  it  was  erected  in  a  labyrinth,  and 
could  only  be  found  by  a  clue  of  silk.  How  the  bad  Queen 
Eleanor,  becoming  jealous  of  Fair  Rosamond,  found  out  the 
Secret  of  the  clue,  and  one  day,  appeared  before  her?  with  a 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  93 

dagger  and  a  cup  of  poison,  and  left  her  to  the  choice  be- 
tween those  deaths.  How  Fair  Rosamond,  after  shedding 
many  piteous  tears  and  offering  many  useless  prayers  to  the 
cruel  Queen,  took  the  poison,  and  fell  dead  in  the  midst  of 
the  beautiful  bower,  while  the  unconscious  birds  sang  gaily 
all  around  her. 

Now,  there  was  a  fair  Rosamond,  and  she  was  (I  dare  say) 
the  loveliest  girl  in  all  the  world,  and  the  King  was  certainly 
very  fond  of  her  and  the  bad  Queen  Eleanor  was  certainly 
made  jealous.  But  I  am  afraid — I  say  afraid  because  I  like 
the  story  so  much — that  there  was  no  bower,  no  labyrinth,  no 
silken  clue,  no  dagger,  no  poison.  I  am  afraid  fair  Rosa- 
mond retired  to  a  nunnery  near  Oxford,  and  died  there, 
peaceably  ;  her  sister-nuns  hanging  a  silken  drapery  over 
her  tomb,  and  often  dressing  it  with  flowers,  in  remembrance 
of  the  youth  and  beauty  that  had  enchanted  the  King  when 
he  too  was  young,  and  when  his  life  lay  fair  before  him. 

It  was  dark  and  ended  now ;  faded  and  gone.  Henry 
Plantagenet  lay  quiet  in  the  abbey  church  of  Fontevraud,  in 
the  fifty-seventh  year  of  his  age — never  to  be  completed — ■ 
after  governing  England  well,  for  nearly  thirty-five  years. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    RICHARD    THE    FIRST,    CALLED    THE 
LION-HEART. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  one  hundred  and 
eighty-nine,  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart  succeeded  to  the 
throne  of  King  Henry  the  Second,  whose  paternal  heart  he 
had  done  so  much  to  break.  He  had  been,  as  we  have  seen, 
a  rebel  from  his  boyhood  ;  but  the  moment  he  became  a  king 
against  whom  others  might  rebel,  he  found  out  that  rebellion 
was  a  great  wickedness.  In  the  heat  of  this  pious  discovery, 
he  punished  all  the  leading  people  who  had  befriended  him 
against  his  father.  He  could  scarcely  have  done  any  thing 
that  would  have  been  a  better  instance  of  his  real  nature,  or  a 
better  warning  to  fawners  and  parasites  not  to  trust  in  lion- 
hearted  princes. 

He  likewise  put  his  late  father's  treasurer  in  chains,  and 
locked  him  up  in  a  dungeon  from  which  he  was  not  set  free 
until  he  had  relinquished,  not  only  all  the  Crown  treasure, 
but  all  his  own  money  too.     So,  Richard  certainly  got  the 


94  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Lion's  share  of  the  wealth  of  this  wretched  treasurer,  whether 
he  had  a  Lion's  heart  or  not. 

He  was  crowned  King  of  England  with  great  pomp,  at 
Westminster  ;  walking  to  the  cathedral  under  a  silken  canopy 
stretched  on  the  tops  of  four  lances,  each  carried  by  a  great 
lord.  On  the  day  of  his  coronation,  a  dreadful  murdering  of 
the  Jews  took  place,  which  seems  to  have  given  great  delight 
to  numbers  of  savage  persons  calling  themselves  Christians. 
The  King  had  issued  a  proclamation  forbidding  the  Jews 
(who  were  generally  hated,  though  they  were  the  most  useful 
merchants  in  England)  to  appear  at  the  ceremony  ;  but  as 
they  had  assembled  in  London  from  all  parts,  bringing  pres- 
ents to  show  their  respect  for  the  new  Sovereign,  some  of  them 
ventured  down  to  Westminister  Hall  with  their  gifts  ;  which 
were  very  readily  accepted.  It  is  supposed,  now,  that  some 
noisy  fellow  in  the  crowd,  pretending  to  be  a  very  delicate 
Christian,  set  up  a  howl  at  this,  and  struck  a  Jew  who  was 
trying  to  get  in  at  the  Hall  door  with  his  present.  A  riot 
arose.  The  Jews  who  had  got  into  the  Hall,  were  driven 
forth  ;  and  some  of  the  rabble  cried  out  that  the  new  King  had 
commanded  the  unbelieving  race  to  be  put  to  death.  There- 
upon the  crowd  rushed  through  the  narrow  'streets  of  the 
city,  slaughtering  all  the  Jews  they  met  ;  and  when  they 
could  find  no  more  out  of  doors  (on  account  of  their  having 
fled  to  their  houses,  and  fastened  themselves  in),  they  ran 
madly  about,  breaking  open  all  the  houses  where  the  Jews 
lived,  rushing  in  and  stabbing  or  spearing  them,  sometimes 
even  flinging  old  people  and  children  out  of  windows  into 
blazing  fires  they  had  lighted  up  below.  This  great  cruelty 
lasted  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  only  three  men  were  pun- 
ished for  it.  Even  they  forfeited  their  lives  for  not  murder- 
ing and  robbing  the  Jews,  but  for  burning  the  houses  of 
some  Christians. 

King  Richard,  who  was  a  strong,  restless,  burly  man,  with 
one  idea  always  in  his  head,  and  that  the  very  troublesome 
idea  of  breaking  the  heads  of  other  men,  was  mighty  impa- 
tient to  go  on  a  Crusade  to  the  Holy  Land,  with  a  great 
army.  As  great  armies  could  not  be  raised  to  go  even  to 
the  Holy  Land,  without  a  great  deal  of  money,  he  sold  the 
Crown  domains  and  even  the  high  offices  of  State  ;  reck- 
lessly appointing  noblemen  to  rule  over  his  English  subjects, 
not  because  they  were  fit  to  govern,  but  because  they  could 
pay  high  for  the  privilege.     In  this  way,  end  by  selling  par- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  95 

dons  at  a  dear  rate,  and  by  varieties  of  avarice  and  oppres- 
sion, he  scraped  together  a  large  treasure.  He  then  appointed 
two  bishops  to  take  care  of  his  kingdom  in  his  absence,  and 
gave  great  powers  and  possessions  to  his  brother  John,  to 
secure  his  friendship.  John  would  rather  have  been  made 
Regent  of  England  ;  but  he  was  a  sly  man,  and  friendly  to 
the  expedition  ;  saying  to  himself,  no  doubt,  "  the  more 
fighting  the  more  chance  of  my  brother  being  killed  ;  and 
when  he  is  killed,  then  I  become  King  John  !  " 

Before  the  newly  levied  army  departed  from  England,  the 
recruits  and  the  general  populace  distinguished  themselves  by 
astonishing  cruelties  on  the  unfortunate  Jews  :  whom  in 
many  large  towns  they  murdered  by  hundreds  in  the  most 
horrible  manner. 

At  York,  a  large  body  of  Jews  took  refuge  in  the  Castle, 
in  the  absence  of  its  Governor,  after  the  wives  and  children 
of  many  of  them  had  been  slain  before  their  eyes.  Pres- 
ently came  the  governor,  and  demanded  admission.  "  How 
can  we  give  it  thee,  O  governor  !  "  said  the  Jews  upon  the 
walls,  "  when,  if  we  open  the  gate  by  so  much  as  the  width 
of  a  foot,  the  roaring  crowd  behind  thee  will  press  in  and 
kill  us?" 

Upon  this,  the  unjust  governor  became  angry,  and  told 
the  people  that  he  approved  of  their  killing  those  Jews  ;  and 
a  mischievous  maniac  of  a  friar,  dressed  all  in  white,  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  assault,  and  they  assaulted  the 
Castle  for  three  days. 

Then  said  Jocen,  the  head-Jew  (who  was  a  rabbi  or 
priest),  to  the  rest,  "  Brethren,  there  is  no  hope  for  us  with 
the  Christians  who  are  hammering  at  the  gates  and  wails, 
and  who  must  soon  break  in.  As  we  and  our  wives  and 
children  must  die,  either  by  Christian  hands,  or  by  our  own, 
let  it  be  by  our  own.  Let  us  destroy  by  fire  what  jewels  and 
other  treasure  we  have  here,  then  fire  the  castle,  and  then 
perish  ! " 

A  few  could  not  resolve  to  do  this,  but  the  greater  part 
complied.  They  made  a  blazing  heap  of  all  their  valuables, 
and  when  those  were  consumed,  set  the  castle  in  flames. 
While  the  flames  roared  and  crackled  around  them,  and 
shooting  up  into  the  sky,  turned  it  blood-red,  Jocen  cut  the 
throat  of  his  beloved  wife,  and  stabbed  himself.  All  the 
others  who  had  wives  or  children  did  the  like  dreadful  deed. 
When  the  populace  broke  in,  they  found  (except  the  trem- 


96  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

bling  few,  cowering  in  corners,  whom  they  soon  killed)  only 
heaps  of  greasy  cinders,  with  here  and  there  something  like 
part  of  the  blackened  trunk  of  a  burned  tree,  but  which 
had  lately  been  a  human  creature,  formed  by  the  beneficent 
hand  of  the  Creator  as  they  were. 

After  this  bad  beginning,  Richard  and  his  troops  went  on, 
in  no  very  good  manner,  with  the  Holy  Crusade.  It  was 
undertaken  jointly  by  the  King  of  England  and  his  old  friend 
Philip  of  France.  They  commenced  the  business  by  review- 
ing their  forces,  to  the  number  of  one  hundred  thousand 
men.  Afterward,  they  severally  embarked  their  troops  for 
Messina,  in  Sicily,  which  was  appointed  as  the  next  place  of 
meeting. 

King  Richard's  sister  had  married  the  King  of  this  place, 
but  he  was  dead  :  and  his  uncle  Tancred  had  usurped  the 
crown,  cast  the  royal  widow  into  prison,  and  possessed 
himself  of  her  estates.  Richard  fiercely  demanded  his  sister's 
release,  the  restoration  of  her  lands,  and  (according  to  the 
royal  custom  of  the  Island)  that  she  should  have  a  golden 
chair,  a  golden  table,  four-and-twenty  silver  cups,  and  four- 
and-twenty  silver  dishes.  As  he  was  too  powerful  to  be  suc- 
cessfully resisted,  Tancred  yielded  to  his  demands  ;  and 
then  the  French  King  grew  jealous,  and  complained  that  the 
English  King  wanted  to  be  absolute  in  the  Island  of  Messina 
and  every-where  else.  Richard,  however,  cared  little  or 
nothing  for  this  complaint  ;  and  in  consideration  of  a  present 
of  twenty  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  promised  his  pretty  little 
nephew  Arthur,  then  a  child  of  two  years  old,  in  marriage  to 
Tancred's  daughter.  We  shall  hear  again  of  pretty  little 
Arthur  by-and-by. 

This  Sicilian  affair  arranged  without  anybody's  brains  be* 
ing  knocked  out  (which  must  have  rather  disappointed  him), 
King  Richard  took  his  sister  away,  and  also  a  fair  lady  named 
Berengaria,  with  whom  he  had  fallen  in  love  in  France,  and 
whom  his  mother,  Queen  Eleanor  (so  long  in  prison,  you  re- 
member, but  released  by  Richard  on  his  coming  to  the 
throne),  had  brought  out  there  to  be  his  wife  ;  and  sailed 
with  them  for  Cyprus. 

He  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  fighting  the  King  of  the  Island 
of  Cyprus,  for  allowing  his  subjects  to  pillage  some  of  the 
English  troops  who  were  shipwrecked  on  the  shore  ;  and 
easily  conquering  this  poor  monarch,  he  seized  his  only 
daughter,  to  be  a  companion  to  the  lady  Berengaria,  and  put 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  97 

the  King  himself  into  silver  fetters.  He  then  sailed  away 
again  with  his  mother,  sister,  wife,  and  the  captive  princess  ; 
and  soon  arrived  before  the  town  of  Acre,  which  the  French 
King  with  his  fleet  was  besieging  from  the  sea.  But  the 
French  King  was  in  no  triumphant  condition,  for  his  army 
had  been  thinned  by  the  swords  of  the  Saracens,  and  wasted 
by  the  plague  ;  and  Saladin,  the  brave  Sultan  of  the  Turks, 
at  the  head  of  a  numerous  army,  was  at  that  time  gallantly 
defending  the  place  from  the  hills  that  rise  above  it. 

Wherever  the  united  army  of  Crusaders  went,  they  agreed 
in  few  points  except  in  gaming,  drinking,  and  quarreling,  in 
a  most  unholy  manner  ;  in  debauching  the  people  among 
whom  they  tarried,  whether  they  were  friends  or  foes  ;  and 
in  carrying  disturbance  and  ruin  into  quiet  places.  The 
French  King  was  jealous  of  the  English  King,  and  the  En- 
glish King  was  jealous  of  the  French  King,  and  the  disorderly 
and  violent  soldiers  of  the  two  nations  were  jealous  of  one 
another  ;  consequently,  the  two  kings  could  not  at  first  agree, 
even  upon  a  joint  assault  on  Acre ;  but  when  they  did  make 
up  their  quarrel  for  that  purpose,  the  Saracens  promised  to 
yield  the  town,  to  give  up  to  the  Christians'  the  wood  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  to  set  at  liberty  all  their  Christian  captives,  and 
to  pay  two  hundred  thousand  pieces  of  gold.  All  this  was 
to  be  done  within  forty  days  ;  but,  not  being  done,  King 
Richard  ordered  some  three  thousand  Saracen  prisoners  to 
be  brought  out  in  the  front  of  his  camp,  and  there,  in  full 
view  of  their  own  countrymen,  to  be  butchered. 

The  French  King  had  no  part  in  this  crime ;  for  he  was 
by  that  time  traveling  homeward  with  the  greater  part  of  his 
men  ;  being  offended  by  the  overbearing  conduct  of  the  En* 
glish  King  ;  being  anxious  to  look  after  his  own  dominions  ; 
and  being  ill,  besides,  from  the  unwholesome  air  of  that' hot 
and  sandy  country.  King  Richard  carried  on  the  war  with- 
out him  ;  and  remained  in  the  East,  meeting  with  a  variety 
of  adventures,  nearly  a  year  and  a  half.  Every  night  when 
his  army  was  on  the  march,  and  came  to  a  halt,  the  heralds 
cried  out  three  times,  to  remind  all  the  soldiers  of  the  cause 
in  which  they  were  engaged,  "  Save  the  Holy  Sepulcher  !  " 
and  then  all  the  soldiers  kneeled  and  said  "Amen  !  "  March- 
ing or  encamping,  the  army  had  continually  to  strive  with 
the  hot  air  of  the  glaring  desert,  or  with  the  Saracen  soldiers 
animated  and  directed  by  the  brave  Saladin,  or  with  both 
together.       Sickness  and  death,   battle   and  wounds,  were 


9$  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

always  among  them  ;  but  through  every  difficulty  King  Rich« 
ard  fought  like  a  giant,  and  worked  like  a  common  laborer. 
Long  and  long  after  he  was  quiet  in  his  grave,  his  terrible 
battle-ax,  with  twenty  English  pounds  of  English  steel  in 
its  mighty  head,  was  a  legend  among  the  Saracens  ;  and 
when  all  the  Saracen  and  Christian  hosts  had  been  dust 
for  many  a  year,  if  a  Saracen  horse  started  at  any  object 
by  the  wayside,  his  rider  would  exclaim,  "  What  dost  thou 
fear,  fool  ?     Dost  thou  think  King  Richard  is  behind  it  ?  " 

No  one  admired  this  King's  renown  for  bravery  more  than 
Saladin  himself,  who  was  a  generous  and  gallant  enemy. 
When  Richard  lay  ill  of  a  fever,  Saladin  sent  him  fresh  fruits 
from  Damascus,  and  snow  from  the  mountain-tops.  Courtly 
messages  and  compliments  were  frequently  exchanged  be- 
tween them — and  then  King  Richard  would  mount  his 
horse  and  kill  as  many  Saracens  as  he  could  ;  and  Saladin 
would  mount  his,  and  kill  as  many  Christians  as  he  could. 
In  this  way  King  Richard  fought  to  his  heart's  content  at 
Arsoof  and  at  Jaffa  ;  and  finding  himself  with  nothing  excit- 
ing to  do  at  Ascalon,  except  to  rebuild,  for  his  own  defense, 
some  fortifications  there  which  the  Saracens  had  destroyed, 
he  kicked  his  ally  the  Duke  of  Austria,  for  being  too  proud  to 
work  at  them. 

The  army  at  last  came  within  sight  of  the  Holy  City  of 
Jerusalem  ;  but,  being  then  a  mere  nest  of  jealousy,  and 
quarreling  and  fighting,  soon  retired,  and  agreed  with  the 
Saracens  upon  a  truce  for  three  years,  three  months,  three 
days,  and  three  hours.  Then  the  English  Christians,  pro- 
tected by  the  noble  Saladin  from  Saracen  revenge,  visited 
Our  Saviour's  tomb  ;  and  then  King  Richard  embarked  with 
a  small  force  at  Acre  to  return  home. 

But  he  was  shipwrecked  in  the  Adriatic  Sea,  and  was  fain 
to  pass  through  Germany,  under  an  assumed  name.  Now, 
there  were  many  people  in  Germany  who  had  served  in  the 
Holy  Land  under  that  proud  Duke  of  Austria  who  had  been 
kicked  ;  and  some  of  them,  easily  recognizing  a  man  so 
remarkable  as  King  Richard,  carried  their  intelligence  to  the 
kicked  Duke,  who  straightway  took  him  prisoner  at  a  little 
inn  near  Vienna. 

The  Duke's  master,  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  and  the 
King  of  France,  were  equally  delighted  to  have  so  trouble- 
some a  monarch  in  safe  keeping.  Friendships  which  are 
founded  on  a  partnership  in  doing  wrong,  are  never  true  ; 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  99 

and  the  King  of  France  Was  now  quite  as  heartily  King 
Richard's  foe,  as  he  had  ever  been  his  friend  in  his  unnatural 
conduct  to  his  father.  He  monstrously  pretended  that  King 
Richard  had  designed  to  poison  him  in  the  East  ;  he  charged 
him  with  having  murdered,  there,  a  man  whom  he  had  in 
truth  befriended  ;  he  bribed  the  Emperor  of  Germany  to 
keep  him  close  prisoner ;  and,  finally,  through  the  plotting 
of  these  two  princes,  Richard  was  brought  before  the  Ger- 
man legislature,  charged  with  the  foregoing  crimes,  and 
many  others.  But  he  defended  himself  so  well,  that  many 
of  the  assembly  were  moved  to  tears  by  his  eloquence  and 
earnestness.  It  was  decided  that  he  should  be  treated,  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  his  captivity,  in  a  manner  more  becoming  his 
dignity  than  he  had  been,  and  that  he  should  be  set  free  on 
the  payment  of  a  heavy  ransom.  This  ransom  the  English 
people  willingly  raised.  When  Queen  Eleanor  took  it  over 
to  Germany,  it  was  at  first  evaded  and  refused.  But*  she  ap- 
pealed to  the  honor  of  all  the  princes  of  the  German  Empire 
in  behalf  of  her  son,  and  appealed  so  well  that  it  was  ac- 
cepted, and  the  King  released.  Thereupon,  the  King  of 
France  wrote  to  Prince  John — "  Take  care  of  thyself.  The 
devil  is  unchained  !  " 

Prince  John  had  reason  to  fear  his  brother,  for  he  had 
been  a  traitor  to  him  in  his  captivity.  He  had  secretly  joined 
the  French  King;  had  vowed  to  the  English  nobles  and 
people  that  his  brother  was  dead  ;  and  had  vainly  tried  to 
seize  the  crown.  He  was  now  in  France,  at  a  place  called 
Evreux.  Being  the  meanest  and  basest  of  men,  he  contrived 
a  mean  and  base  expedient  for  making  himself  acceptable  to 
his  brother.  He  invited  the  French  officers  of  the  garrison 
in  that  town  to  dinner,  murdered  them  all,  and  then  took  the 
fortress.  With  this  recommendation  to  the  good  will  of  a 
lion-hearted  monarch,  he  hastened  to  King  Richard,  fell  on 
his  knees  before  him,  and  obtained  the  intercession  of 
Queen  Eleanor.  "I  forgive  him,"  said  the  King,  "and  I 
hope  I  may  forget  the  injury  he  has  done  me,  as  easily  as  I 
know  he  will  forget  my  pardon." 

While  King  Richard  was  in  Sicily,  there  had  been  trouble 
in  his  dominions  at  home  :  one  of  the  bishops  whom  he  had 
left  in  charge  thereof,  arresting  the  other  ;  and  making,  in 
his  pride  and  ambition,  as  great  a  show  as  if  he  were  King 
himself.  But  the  King  hearing  of  it  at  Messina,  and  appoint- 
ing a  new  Regency,  this  Longchamp  (for  that  was  his  name) 


too        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

had  fled  to  France  in  a  woman's  dress,  and  had  there  been 
encouraged  and  supported  by  the  French  King.  With' all 
these  causes  of  offense  against  Philip  in  his  mind,  King 
Richard  had  no  sooner  been  welcomed  home  by  his  enthusi- 
astic subjects  with  great  display  and  splendor,  and  had  no 
sooner  been  crowned  afresh  at  Winchester,  than  he  resolved 
to  show  the  French  King  that  the  Devil  was  unchained  in- 
deed, and  made  war  against  him  with  great  fury. 

There  was  fresh  trouble  at  home  about  this  time,  arising 
out  of  the  discontents  of  the  poor  people,  who  complained 
that  they  were  far  more  heavily  taxed  than  the  rich,  and  who 
found  a  spirited  champion  in  William  Fitz-Osberf  called 
Longbeard.  He  became  the  leader  of  a  secret  society,  com- 
prising fifty  thousand  men  ;  he  was  seized  by  surprise ;  he 
stabbed  the  citizen  who  first  laid  hands  upon  him  ;  and  re- 
treated, bravely  fighting,  to  a  church,  which  he  maintained 
four  days,  until  he  was  dislodged  by  fire  and  run  through  the 
body  as  he  came  out.  He  was  not  killed  though  ;  for  he 
was  dragged,  half  dead,  at  the  tail  of  a  horse  to  Smithfield, 
and  there  hanged.  Death  was  long  a  favorite  remedy  for 
silencing  the  people's  advocates  ;  but  as  we  go  on  with  this 
history,  I  fancy  we  shall  find  them  difficult  to  make  an  end 
of,  for  all  trikt. 

The  French  war,  delayed  occasionally  by  a  truce,  was  still 
in  progress  when  a  certain  lord  named  Vidomar,  Viscount 
of  Limoges,  chanced  to  find  in  his  ground  a  treasure  of  an- 
cient coins.  As  the  King's  vassal,  he  sent  the  King  half  of 
it  ;  but  the  King  claimed  the  whole.  The  lord  refused  to 
yield  the  whole.  The  King  besieged  the  lord  in  his  castle, 
swore  that  he  would  take  the  castle  by  storm,  and  hang 
every  man  of  its  defenders  on  the  battlements. 

There  was  a  strange  old  song  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
to  the  effect  that  in  Limoges  an  arrow  would  be  made  by 
which  King  Richard  would  die.  It  may  be  that  Bertrand  de 
Gourdon,  a  young  man  who  was  one  of  the  defenders  of  the 
castle,  had  often  sung  it  or  heard  it  sung  of  a  winter  night, 
and  remembered  it  when  he  saw,  from  his  post  upon  the 
ramparts,  the  King,  attended  only  by  his  chief  officer  riding 
below  the  walls  surveying  the  place.  He  drew  an  arrow  to 
the  ftead,  took  steady  aim,  said  between  his  teeth,  "  Now  I 
pray  God  speed  thee  well,  arrow  !  "  discharged  it,  and  struck 
the  King  in  the  left  shoulder. 

Although  the  wound  was  not  at  first  considered  dangerous, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  QFt •' ENGLAND.         ici 

it  was  severe  enough  to  cause  the  King  to  retire  to  his  tent, 
and  direct  the  assault  to  be  made  without  him.  The  castle 
was  taken,  and  every  man  of  its  defenders  was  hanged,  as 
the  King  had  sworn  all  should  be,  except  Bertrand  de  Gour- 
don,  who  was  reserved  until  the  royal  pleasure  respecting 
him  should  be  known. 

By  that  time  unskilful  treatment  had  made  the  wound  mor- 
tal, and  the  King  knew  that  he  was  dying.  He  directed 
Bertrand  to  be  brought  into  his  tent.  The  young  man  was 
brought  there  heavily  chained.  King  Richard  looked  at  him 
steadily.     He  looked,  as  steadily,  at  the  King. 

"  Knave  !  "  said  King  Richard.  "  What  have  I  done  to 
thee  that  thou  shouldst  take  my  life  ? " 

"  What  hast  thou  done  to  me  !  "  replied  the  young  man. 
"  With  thine  own  hands  thou  hast  killed  my  father  and  my 
two  brothers.  Myself  thou  wouldst  have  hanged.  Let  me 
die  now,  by  any  torture  that  thou  wilt.  My  comfort  is,  that 
no  torture  can  save  thee.  Thou  too  must  die  ;  and,  through 
me,  the  world  is  quit  of  thee  !  " 

Again  the  King  looked  at  the  young  man  steadily.  Again 
the  young  man  looked  steadily  at  him.  Perhaps  some  re- 
membrance of  his  generous  enemy,  Saladin,  who  was  not  a 
Christian,  came  into  the  mind  of  the  dying  King. 

"  Youth  !  "  he  said,  "  I  forgive  thee.     Go  unhurt  !  " 

Then,  turning  to  the  chief  officer  who  had  been  riding  in 
his  company  when  he  received  the  wound,  King  Richard 
said  : 

"  Take  off  his  chains,  give  him  a  hundred  shillings,  and 
let  him  depart." 

He  sunk  down  on  his  couch,  and  a  dark  mist  seemed  in 
his  weakened  eyes  to  fill  the  tent  wherein  he  had  so  often 
rested,  and  he  died.  His  age  was  forty-two  ;  he  had  reigned 
ten  years.  His  last  command  was  not  obeyed  ;  for  the  chief 
officer  flayed  Bertrand  de  Gourdon  alive,  and  hanged  him. 

There  is  an  old  tune  yet  known — a  sorrowful  air  will  some- 
times outlive  many  generations  of  strong  men,  and  even  last 
longer  than  battle-axes,  with  twenty  pounds  of  steel  in  the 
head — by  which  this  king  is  said  to  have  been  discovered  in 
his  captivity.  Blondel,  a  favorite  minstrel  of  King  Richard 
as  the  story  relates,  faithfully  seeking  his  royal  master,  went 
singing  it  outside  the  gloomy  wall  of  many  foreign  fort- 
resses and  prisons  ;  until  at  last  he  heard  it  echoed  from 
within   a  dungeon,  and  knew  the  voice,  and  cried  out  in 


io2         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ecstasy,  "O  Richard,  O  my  King  !"  You  may  believe  it,  if 
you  like  ;  it  would  be  easy  to  believe  worse  things.  Richard 
was  himself  a  minstrel  and  a  poet.  If  he  had  not  been  a 
Prince  too,  he  might  have  been  a  better  man  perhaps,  and 
might  have  gone  out  of  the  world  with  less  bloodshed  and 
waste  of  life  to  answer  for. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    KING    JOHN,    CALLED    LACKLAND. 

At  two  and  thirty  years  of  age,  John  became  King  of 
England.  His  pretty  little  nephew  Arthur  had  the  best 
claim  to  the  throne  ;  but  John  seized  the  treasure,  and  made 
fine  promises  to  the  nobility,  and  got  himself  crowned  at 
Westminster  within  a  few  weeks  after  his  brother  Richard's 
death.  I  doubt  whether  the  crown  could  possibly  have 
been  put  upon  the  head  of  a  meaner  coward,  or  a  more  de- 
testable villain,  if  England  had  been  searched  from  end  to 
end  to  find  him  out. 

The  French  King,  Philip,  refused  to  acknowledge  the 
right  of  John  to  his  new  dignity,  and  declared  in  favor  of 
Arthur.  You  must  not  suppose  that  he  had  any  generosity 
of  feeling  for  the  fatherless  boy  ;  it  merely  suited  his 
ambitious  schemes  to  oppose  the  King  of  England.  So 
John  and  the  French  King  went  to  war  about  Arthur. 

He  was  a  handsome  boy,  at  that  time  only  twelve  years 
old.  He  was  not  born  when  his  father,  Godfrey,  had  his 
brains  trampled  out  at  the  tournament ;  and,  besides  the 
misfortune  of  never  having  known  a  father's  guidance  and 
protection,  he  had  the  additional  misfortune  to  have  a  fool- 
ish mother  (Constance  by  name),  lately  married  to  her  third 
husband.  She  took  Arthur,  upon  John's  accession,  to  the 
French  King,  who  pretended  to  be  very  much  his  friend, 
and  who  made  him  a  knight,  and  promised  him  his  daughter 
in  marriage  ;  but,  who  cared  so  little  about  him  in  reality, 
that  finding  it  his  interest  to  make  peace  with  King  John  for 
a  time,  he  did  so  without  the  least  consideration  for  the  poor 
little  Prince,  and  heartlessly  sacrificed  all  his  interests. 

Young  Arthur,  for  two  years  afterward,  lived  quietly ; 
and  in  the  course  of  that  time  his  mother  died.  But,  the 
French   King  then  finding  it  his   interest  to   quarrel  with 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         103 

King  John  again,  again  made  Arthur  his  pretense,  and 
invited  the  orphan  boy  to  court.  "  You  know  your  rights, 
Prince,"  said  the  French  King,  "  and  you  would  like  to  be 
King.  Is  it  not  so?"  "Truly,"  said  Prince  Arthur,  "I 
should  greatly  like  to  be  a  King  !"  "Then,"  said  Philip, 
"you  shall  have  two  hundred  gentlemen  who  are  knights  of 
mine,  and  with  them  you  shall  go  to  win  back  the  provinces 
belonging  to  you,  of  which  your  uncle,  the  usurping  King  of 
England,  has  taken  possession.  I  myself,  meanwhile,  will 
head  a  force  against  him  in  Normandy."  Poor  Arthur 
was  so  flattered  and  grateful  that  he  signed  a  treaty  with 
the  crafty  French  King,  agreeing  to  consider  him  his  superior 
lord,  and  that  the  French  King  should  keep  for  himself 
whatever  he  could  take  from  King  John. 

Now  King  John  was  so  bad  in  all  ways,  and  King  Philip 
was  so  perfidious,  that  Arthur,  between  the  two,  might  as 
well  have  been  a  lamb  between  a  fox  and  a  wolf.  But, 
being  so  young,  he  was  ardent  and  flushed  with  hope ;  and, 
when  the  people  of  Brittany  (which  was  his  inheritance) 
sent  him  five  hundred  more  knights  and  five  thousand  foot 
soldiers,  he  believed  his  fortune  was  made.  The  people  of 
Brittany  had  been  fond  of  him  from  his  birth,  and  had 
requested  that  he  might  be  called  Arthur,  in  remembrance 
of  that  dimly-famous  English  Arthur,  of  whom  I  told  you 
early  in  this  book,  whom  they  believed  to  have  been  the 
brave  friend  and  companion  of  an  old  King  of  their  own. 
They  had  tales  among  them  about  a  prophet  called  Merlin 
(of  the  same  old  time),  who  had  foretold  that  their  own 
King  should  be  restored  to  them  after  hundreds  of  years  ; 
and  they  believed  that  the  prophecy  would  be  fulfilled  in 
Arthur  ;  that  the  time  would  come  when  he  would  rule  them 
with  a  crown  of  Brittany  upon  his  head  ;  and  when  neither 
the  King  of  France  nor  King  of  England  would  have  any 
power  over  them.  When  Arthur  found  himself  riding  in  a 
glittering  suit  of  armor  on  a  richly  caparisoned  horse,  at  the 
head  of  his  train  of  knights  and  soldiers,  he  began  to  believe 
this  too,  and  to  consider  old  Merlin  a  very  superior  prophet. 

He  did  not  know — how  could  he,  being  so  innocent  and 
inexperienced  ? — that  his  little  army  was  a  mere  nothing 
against  the  power  of  the  King  of  England.  The  French 
King  knew  it  ;  but  the  poor  boy's  fate  was  little  to  him,  so 
that  the  King  of  England  was  worried  and  distressed. 
Therefore,  King  Philip  went  his  way  into  Normandy,  and 


I04        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Prince  Arthur  went  his  way  towards  Mirebeau,  a  French 
town  near  Poictiers,  both  very  well  pleased. 

Prince  Arthur  went  to  attack  the  town  of  Mirebeau,  be- 
cause his  grandmother  Eleanor,  who  has  so  often  made  her 
appearance  in  this  history  (and  who  had  always  been  his 
mother's  enemy),  was  living  there,  and  because  his  knights 
said,  "  Prince,  if  you  can  take  her  prisoner,  you  will  be  able 
to  bring  the  King  your  uncle  to  terms  !  "  But  she  was  not 
to  be  easily  taken.  She  was  old  enough  by  this  time — eighty 
■ — but  she  was  as  full  of  stratagem  as  she  was  full  of  years 
and  wickedness.  Receiving  intelligence  of  young  Arthur's 
approach,  she  shut  herself  up  in  a  high  tower,  and  encouraged 
her  soldiers  to  defend  it  like  men.  Prince  Arthur  with  his 
little  army  besieged  the  high  tower.  King  John,  hearing 
how  matters  stood,  came  up  to  the  rescue,  with  his  army. 
So  here  was  a  strange  family-party !  The  boy-Prince 
besieging  his  grandmother,  and  his  uncle  besieging  him. 

This  position  of  affairs  did  not  last  long.  One  summer 
night  King  John,  by  treachery,  got  his  men  into  the  town, 
surprised  Prince  Arthur's  force,  took  two  hundred  of  his 
knights,  and  seized  the  Prince  himself  in  his  bed.  The 
knights  were  put  in  heavy  irons,  and  driven  away  in  open 
carts  drawn  by  bullocks,  to  various  dungeons  where  they 
were  most  inhumanly  treated,  and  where  some  of  them  were 
starved  to  death.  Prince  Arthur  was  sent  to  the  castle  of 
Falaise. 

One  day,  while  he  was  in  prison  at  that  castle,  mournfully 
thinking  it  strange  that  one  so  young  should  be  in  so  much 
trouble,  and  looking  out  of  the  small  window  in  the  deep 
dark  wall,  at  the  summer  sky  and  the  birds,  the  door  was 
softly  opened,  and  he  saw  his  uncle  the  King  standing  in 
the  shadow  of  the  archway,  looking  very  grim. 

"Arthur,"  said  the  King,  with  his  wicked  eyes  more  on 
the  stone  floor  than  on  his  nephew,  "will  you  not  trust  to 
the  gentleness,  the  friendship,  and  truthfulness  of  your  lov- 
ing uncle  ?  " 

'  I  will  tell  my  loving  uncle  that,"  replied  the  boy, 
"  when  he  does  me  right.  Let  him  restore  to  me  my  king- 
dom of  England,  and  then  come  to  me  and  ask  the  ques- 
tion." 

The  King  looked  at  him  and  went  out.  "  Keep  that  boy 
close  prisoner,"  said  he  to  the  warden  of  the  castle. 

Then,  the  King  took  secret  counsel  with  the  worst  of  his 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        105 

nobles  how  the  Prince  was  to  be  got  rid  of.  Some  said, 
"  Put  out  his  eyes  and  keep  him  in  prison,  as  Robert  of 
Normandy  was  kept."  Others  said,  "  Have  him  stabbed." 
Others,  "  Have  him  hanged."  Others,  "  Have  him  poisoned." 

King  John,  feeling  that  in  any  case,  whatever  was  done 
afterward,  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  his  mind  to  have 
those  handsome  eyes  burned  out  that  had  looked  at  him  so 
proudly  while  his  own  royal  eyes  were  blinking  at  the  stone 
floor,  sent  certain  ruffians  to  Falaise  to  blind  the  boy  with 
red-hot  irons.  But  Arthur  so  pathetically  entreated  them, 
and  shed  such  piteous  tears,  and  so  appealed  to  Hubert  de 
Bourg  (or  Burgh),  the  warden  of  the  castle,  who  had  a  love 
for  him,  and  was  an  honorable  tender  man,  that  Hubert 
could  not  bear  it.  To  his  eternal  honor  he  prevented  the 
torture  from  being  performed,  and,  at  his  own  risk,  sent  the 
savages  away. 

The  chafed  and  disappointed  King  bethought  himself  of 
the  stabbing  suggestion  next,  and  with  his  shuffling  manner 
and  his  cruel  face,  proposed  it  to  one  William  de  Bray.  "  I 
am  a  gentleman  and  not  an  executioner,"  said  William  de 
Bray,  and  left  the  presence  with  disdain. 

But  it  was  not  difficult  for  a  King  to  hire  a  murderer  in 
those  days.  King  John  found  one  for  his  money,  and  sent 
him  down  to  the  castle  of  Falaise.  "  On  what  errand  dost 
thou  come  ?  "  said  Hubert  to  this  fellow.  "  To  despatch 
young  Arthur,"  he  returned.  "  Go  back  to  him  who  sent 
thee,"  answered  Hubert,  "  and  say  that  I  will  do  it  !  " 

King  John  very  well  knowing  that  Hubert  would  never  do 
it,  but  that  he  courageously  sent  this  reply  to  save  the  Prince 
or  gain  time,  despatched  messengers  to  convey  the  young 
prisoner  to  the  castle  of  Rouen. 

Arthur  was  soon  forced  from  the  good  Hubert — of  whom 
he  had  never  stood  in  greater  need  than  then — carried  away 
by  night,  and  lodged  in  his  new  prison  :  where,  through  his 
grated  window,  he  could  hear  the  deep  waters  of  the  river 
Seine  rippling  against  the  stone  wall  below. 

One  dark  night,  as  he  lay  sleeping,  dreaming  perhaps  of 
rescue  by  those  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  were  obscurely 
suffering  and  dying  in  his  cause,  he  was  roused,  and  bidden 
by  his  jailer  to  come  down  the  staircase  to  the  foot  of  the 
tower.  He  hurriedly  dressed  himself  and  obeyed.  When 
they  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  winding  stairs,  and  the  night 
air  from  the  river  blew  upon  their  faces,  the  jailer  trod  upon 


106        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

his  torch  and  put  it  out.  Then  Arthur,  in  the  darkness,  was 
hurriedly  drawn  into  a  solitary  boat.  And  in  that  boat,  he 
found  his  uncle  and  one  other  man. 

He  knelt  to  them,  and  prayed  them  not  to  murder  him. 
Deaf  to  his  entreaties,  they  stabbed  him  and  sunk  his  body 
in  the  river  with  heavy  stones.  When  the  spring  morning 
broke,  the  tower-door  was  closed,  the  boat  was  gone,  the 
river  sparkled  on  its  way,  and  never  more  was  any  trace  of 
the  poor  boy  beheld  by  mortal  eyes. 

The  news  of  this  atrocious  murder  being  spread  in  England, 
awakened  a  hatred  of  the  King  (already  odious  for  his  many 
vices,  and  for  his  having  stolen  away  and  married  a  noble 
lady  while  his  own  wife  was  living)  that  never  slept  again 
through  his  whole  reign.  In  Brittany,  the  indignation  was 
intense.  Arthur's  own  sister  Eleanor  was  in  the  power  of 
John  and  shut  up  in  a  convent  at  Bristol,  but  his  half-sister 
Alice  was  in  Brittany.  The  people  chose  her,  and  the  mur- 
dered prince's  father-in-law,  the  last  husband  of  Constance, 
to  represent  them  ;  and  carried  their  fiery  complaints  to 
King  Philip.  King  Philip  summoned  King  John  (as  the 
holder  of  territory  in  France)  to  come  before  him  and 
defend  himself.  King  John  refusing  to  appear,  King  Philip 
declared  him  false,  perjured  and  guilty  ;  and  again  made 
war.  In  a  little  time,  by  conquering  the  greater  part  of  his 
French  territory,  King  Philip  deprived  him  of  one-third  of 
his  dominions.  And,  through  all  the  fighting  that  took  place, 
King  John  was  always  found,  either  to  be  eating  and  drink- 
ing, like  a  gluttonous  fool,  when  the  danger  was  at  a  dis- 
tance, or  to  be  running  away,  like  a  beaten  cur,  when  it  was 
near. 

You  might  suppose  that  when  he  was  losing  his  dominions 
at  this  rate,  and  when  his  own  nobles  cared  so  little  for  him 
or  his  cause  that  they  plainly  refused  to  follow  his  banner 
out  of  England,  he  had  enemies  enough.  But  he  made 
another  enemy  of  the  Pope,  which  he  did  in  this  way. 

The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  dying,  and  the  junior 
monks  of  that  place  wishing  to  get  the  start  of  the  senior 
monks  in  the  appointment  of  his  successor,  met  together  at 
midnight,  secretly  elected  a  certain  Reginald,  and  sent  him 
off  to  Rome  to  get  the  Pope's  approval.  The  senior  monks 
and  the  King  soon  finding  this  out,  and  being  very  angry 
about  it,  the  junior  monks  gave  way,  and  all  the  monks 
together  elected  the  Bishop  of  Norwich,  who  was  the  King's 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  Of  ENGLAND.        107 

favorite.  The  Pope,  hearing  the  whole  story,  declared  that 
neither  election  would  do  for  him,  and  that  he  elected 
Stephen  Langton.  The  monks  submitting  to  the  Pope,  the 
King  turned  them  all  out  bodily,  and  banished  them  as 
traitors.  The  Pope  sent  three  bishops  to  the  King  to 
threaten  him  with  an  Interdict.  The  King  told  the  bishops 
that  if  any  Interdict  were  laid  upon  his  kingdom,  he  would 
tear  out  the  eyes  and  cut  off  the  noses  of  all  the  monks  he 
could  lay  hold  of,  and  send  them  over  to  Rome  in  that  un- 
derrated state  as  a  present  for  their  master.  The  bishops, 
nevertheless,  soon  published  the  Interdict,  and  fled. 

After  it  had  lasted  a  year,  the  Pope  proceeded  to  his  next 
step  ;  which  was  Excommunication.  King  John  was  declared 
excommunicated,  with  all  the  usual  ceremonies.  The  King 
was  so  incensed  at  this,  and  was  made  so  desperate  by  the 
disaffection  of  his  barons  and  the  hatred  of  his  people,  that 
it  is  said  he  even  privately  sent  ambassadors  to  the  Turks  in 
Spain,  offering  to  renounce  his  religion  and  hold  his  kingdom 
of  them  if  they  would  help  him.  It  is  related  that  the 
ambassadors  were  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  Turkish 
Emir  through  long  lines  of  Moorish  guards,  and  that  they 
found  the  Emir  with  his  eyes  seriously  fixed  on  the  pages  of 
a  large  book,  from  which  he  never  once  looked  up.  That 
they  gave  him  a  letter  from  the  King  containing  his  propo- 
sals, and  were  gravely  dismissed.  That  presently  the  Emir 
sent  for  one  of  them,  and  conjured  him,  by  his  faith  in  his 
religion,  to  say  what  kind  of  man  the  King  of  England  truly 
was  ?  That  the  ambassador,  thus  pressed,  replied  that  the 
King  of  England  was  a  false  tyrant,  against  whom  his  own 
subjects  would  soon  rise.  And  that  this  was  quite  enough 
for  the  Emir. 

Money  being,  in  his  position,  the  next  best  thing  to  men, 
King  John  spared  no  means  of  getting  it.  He  set  on  foot 
another  oppressing  and  torturing  of  the  unhappy  Jews 
(which  was  quite  in  his  way),  and  invented  a  new  punish- 
ment for  one  wealthy  Jew  of  Bristol.  Until  such  time  as 
that  Jew  should  produce  a  certain  large  sum  of  money,  the 
King  sentenced  him  to  be  imprisoned,  and,  every  day,  to 
have  one  tooth  violently  wrenched  out  of  his  head — begin- 
ning with  the  double  teeth.  For  seven  days,  the  oppressed 
man  bore  the  daily  pain  and  lost  the  daily  tooth  ;  but,  on  the 
eighth,  he  paid  the  money.  With  the  treasure  raised  in  such 
ways,  the  King  made  an  expedition  into  Ireland,  where  some 


10S         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

English  nobles  had  revolted.  It  was  one  of  the  very  few 
places  from  which  he  did  not  run  away ;  because  no  resist- 
ance was  shown.  He  made  another  expedition  into  Wales — 
whence  he  did  run  away  in  the  end  ;  but  not  before  he  had 
got  from  the  Welsh  people,  as  hostages,  twenty-seven  young 
men  of  the  best  families  ;  every  one  of  whom  he  caused  to 
be  slain  in  the  following  year. 

To  Interdict  and  Excommunication,  the  Pope  now  added 
his  last  sentence  ;  Deposition.  He  proclaimed  John  no 
longer  King,  absolved  all  his  subjects  from  their  allegiance, 
and  sent  Stephen  Langton  and  others  to  the  King  of  France 
to  tell  him  that,  if  he  would  invade  England,  he  should  be 
forgiven  all  his  sins — at  least,  should  be  forgiven  them  by 
the  Pope,  if  that  would  do. 

As  there  was  nothing  that  King  Philip  desired  more  than 
to  invade  England,  he  collected  a  great  army  at  Rouen,  and 
a  fleet  of  seventeen  hundred  ships  to  bring  them  over.  But 
the  English  people,  however  bitterly  they  hated  the  King, 
were  not  a  people  to  suffer  invasion  quietly.  They  flocked 
to  Dover,  where  the  English  standard  was,  in  such  great 
numbers  to  enroll  themselves  as  defenders  of  their  native 
land,  that  there  were  not  provisions  for  them,  and  the  King 
could  only  select  and  retain  sixty  thousand.  But,  at  this 
crisis,  the  Pope,  who  had  his  own  reasons  for  objecting  to 
either  King  John  or  King  Philip  being  too  powerful,  inter- 
fered. He  intrusted  a  legate,  whose  name  was  Pandolf, 
with  the  easy  task  of  frightening  King  John.  He  sent  him 
to  the  English  Camp,  from  France,  to  terrify  him  with  exag- 
gerations of  King  Philip's  power,  and  his  own  weakness  in 
the  discontent  of  the  English  barons  and  people.  Pandolf 
discharged  his  commission  so  well,  that  King  John  in  a 
wretched  panic,  consented  to  acknowledge  Stephen  Langton  ; 
to  resign  his  kingdom  "  to  God,  St.  Peter,  and  St.  Paul," — 
which  meant  the  Pope  ;  and  to  hold  it,  ever  afterwards,  by 
the  Pope's  leave,  on  payment  of  an  annual  sum  of  money. 
To  this  shameful  contract  he  publicly  bound  himself  in  the 
church  of  the  Knights  Templars  at  Dover  :  where  he  laid 
at  the  legate's  feet  a  part  of  the  tribute,  which  the  legate 
haughtily  trampled  upon.  But  they  do  say,  that  this  was 
merely  a  genteel  flourish,  and  that  he  was  afterward  seen  to 
pick  it  tip  and  pocket  it. 

There  was  an  unfortunate  prophet  of  the  name  of  Peter, 
who  had  greatly  increased  King  John's  terrors  by  predicting 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        109 

that  he  would  be  unknighted  (which  the  King  supposed  to 
signify  that  he  would  die)  before  the  Feast  of  the  Ascension 
should  be  past.  That  was  the  day  after  this  humiliation. 
When  the  next  morning  came,  and  the  King,  who  had  been 
trembling  all  night,  found  himself  alive  and  safe,  he  ordered 
the  prophet — and  his  son  too — to  be  dragged  through  the 
streets  at  the  tails  of  horses,  and  then  hanged,  for  having 
frightened  him. 

As  King  John  had  now  submitted,  the  Pope,  to  King 
Philip's  great  astonishment,  took  him  under  his  protection, 
and  informed  King  Philip  that  he  found  he  could  not  give 
him  leave  to  invade  England.  The  angry  Philip  resolved  to 
do  it  without  his  leave  ;  but  he  gained  nothing  and  lost 
much  ;  for  the  English,  commanded  by  the  Earl  of  Salis- 
bury, went  over,  in  five  hundred  ships,  to  the  French  coast, 
before  the  French  fleet  had  sailed  away  from  it,  and  utterly 
defeated  the  whole. 

The  Pope  then  took  off  his  three  sentences,  one  after 
another,  and  empowered  Stephen  Langton  publicly  to  re- 
ceive King  John  into  the  favor  of  the  Church  again,  and  to 
ask  him  to  dinner.  The  King,  who  hated  Langton  with  all 
his  might  and  main — and  with  reason  too,  for  he  was  a  great 
and  good  man,  with  whom  such  a  King  could  have  no  sym- 
pathy— pretended  to  cry  and  to  be  very  grateful.  There 
was  a  little  difficulty  about  settling  how  much  the  King 
should  pay  as  a  recompense  to  the  clergy  for  the  losses  he 
had  caused  them  ;  but,  the  end  of  it  was,  that  the  superior 
clergy  got  a  good  deal,  and  the  inferior  clergy  got  little  or 
nothing — which  has  also  happened  since  King  John's  time, 
I  believe. 

When  all  these  matters  were  arranged,  the  King  in  his 
triumph  became  more  fierce,  and  false,  and  insolent  to  all 
around  him  than  he  had  ever  been.  An  alliance  of  sover- 
eigns against  King  Philip,  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  land- 
ing an  army  in  France  ;  with  which  he  even  took  a  town! 
But,  on  the  French  King's  gaining  a  great  victory,  he  ran 
away,  of  course,  and  made  a  truce  for  five  years. 

And  now  the  time  approached  when  he  was  to  be  still  fur- 
ther humbled,  and  made  to  feel,  if  he  could  feel  any  thing, 
what  a  wretched  creature  he  was.  Of  all  men  in  the  world, 
Stephen  Langton  seemed  raised  up  by  Heaven  to  oppose  and 
subdue  him.  When  he  ruthlessly  burned  and  destroyed  the 
property  of    his  own  subjects,   because    their  lords,   the 


no         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

barons,  would  not  serve  him  abroad,  Stephen  Langton  fear- 
lessly reproved  and  threatened  him.  When  he  swore  to  re- 
store the  laws  of  King  Edward,  or  the  laws  of  King  Henry 
the  First,  Stephen  Langton  knew  his  falsehood,  and  pur- 
sued him  through  all  his  evasions.  When  the  barons  met 
at  the  abbey  of  Saint  Edmund's-Bury,  to  consider  their 
wrongs  and  the  King's  oppressions,  Stephen  Langton  roused 
them  by  his  fervid  words  to  demand  a  solemn  charter  of 
rights  and  liberties  from  their  perjured  master,  and  to  swear, 
one  by  one  on  the  High  Altar,  that  they  would  have  it,  or 
would  wage  war  against  him  to  the  death.  When  the  King 
hid  himself  in  London  from  the  barons,  and  was  at  last 
obliged  to  receive  them,  they  told  him  roundly  they  would 
not  believe  him  unless  Stephen  Langton  became  a  surety 
that  he  would  keep  his  word.  When  he  took  the  Cross  to 
invest  himself  with  some  interest,  and  belong  to  something 
that  was  received  with  favor,  Stephen  Langton  was  still  im- 
movable. When  he  appealed  to  the  Pope,  and  the  Pope 
wrote  to  Stephen  Langton  in  behalf  of  his  new  favorite, 
Stephen  Langton  was  deaf,  even  to  the  Pope  himself,  and 
saw  before  him  nothing  but  the  welfare  of  England  and  the 
crimes  of  the  English  King. 

At  Easter-time,  the  barons  assembled  at  Stamford,  in 
Lincolnshire,  in  proud  array,  and,  marching  near  to  Oxford 
where  the  King  was,  delivered  into  the  hands  of  Stephen 
Langton  and  two  others,  a  list  of  grievances.  "  And  these," 
they  said,  "  he  must  redress,  or  we  will  do  it  for  ourselves  !  " 
When  Stephen  Langton  told  the  King  as  much,  and  read  the 
list  to  him,  he  went  half  mad  with  rage.  But  that  did  him 
no  more  good  than  his  afterwards  trying  to  pacify  the  barons 
with  lies.  They  called  themselves  and  their  followers,  "  The 
army  of  God  and  the  Holy  Church."  Marching  through 
the  country,  with  the  people  thronging  to  them  everywhere 
(except  at  Northampton,  where  they  had  failed  in  an  attack 
upon  the  castle),  they  at  last  triumphantly  set  up  their  ban- 
ner in  London  itself,  whither  the  whole  land,  tired  of  the 
tyrant,  seemed  to  flock  to  join  them.  Seven  knights  alone, 
of  all  the  knights  in  England,  remained  with  the  King  ;  who, 
reduced  to  this  strait,  at  last  sent  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  to 
the  barons  to  say  that  he  approved  of  every  thing,  and  would 
meet  them  to  sign  their  charter  when  they  would.  "  Then," 
said  the  barons,  "let  the  day  be  the  fifteenth  of  June,  and 
the  place  Runny-Mead." 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        in 

On  Monday,  the  fifteenth  of  June,  one  thousand  two  hund- 
red and  fourteen,  the  King  came  from  Windsor  Castle,  and 
the  Barons  came  from  the  town  of  Staines,  and  they  met  on 
Runny-Mead,  which  is  still  a  pleasant  meadow  by  the 
Thames,  where  rushes  grow  in  the  clear  water  of  the 
winding  river,  and  its  banks  are  green  with  grass  and  trees. 
On  the  side  of  the  barons,  came  the  general  of  their  army, 
Robert  Fitz- Walter,  and  a  great  concourse  of  the  nobility  of 
England.  With  the  King,  came  in  all,  some  four-and-twenty 
persons  of  any  note,  most  of  whom  despised  him,  and  were 
merely  his  advisers  in  form.  On  that  great  day,  and  in  that 
great  company,  the  King  signed  Magna  Charta — the  great 
charter  of  England — by  which  he  pledged  himself  to  main- 
tain the  Church  in  its  rights  ;  to  relieve  the  barons  of  op- 
pressive obligations  as  vassals  of  the  Crown — of  which  the 
barons,  in  their  turn,  pledged  themselves  to  relieve  their 
vassals,  the  people  ;  to  respect  the  liberties  of  London  and 
all  other  cities  and  boroughs  ;  to  protect  foreign  merchants 
who  came  to  England  ;  to  imprison  no  man  without  a  fair 
trial  ;  and  to  sell,  delay,  or  deny  justice  to  none.  As  the 
barons  knew  his  falsehood  well,  they  further  required,  as 
their  securities,  that  he  should  send  out  of  his  kingdom  all 
his  foreign  troops  ;  that  for  two  months  they  should  hold 
possession  of  the  city  of  London,  and  Stephen  Langton  of 
the  Tower  ;  and  that  five-and-twenty  of  their  body,  chosen 
by  themselves,  should  be  a  lawful  committee  to  watch  the 
keeping  of  the  charter,  and  to  make  war  upon  him  if  he 
broke  it. 

All  this  he  was  obliged  to  yield.  He  signed  the  charter 
with  a  smile,  and,  if  he  could  have  looked  agreeable,  would 
have  done  so,  as  he  departed  from  the  splendid  assembly. 
When  he  got  home  to  Windsor  Castle,  he  was  quite  a  mad- 
man in  his  helpless  fury.  And  he  broke  the  charter  immedi- 
.ately  afterwards. 

He  sent  abroad  for  foreign  soldiers,  and  sent  to  the  Pope 
for  help,  and  plotted  to  take  London  by  surprise,  while  the 
barons  should  be  holding  a  great  tournament  at  Stamford, 
which  they  had  agreed  to  hold  there  as  a  celebration  of  the 
charter.  The  barons,  however,  found  him  out  and  put  it  off. 
Then,  when  the  barons  desired  to  see  him  and  tax  him  with 
his  treachery,  he  made  numbers  of  appointments  with  them, 
and  kept  none,  and  shifted  from  place  to  place,  and  was  con- 
stantly sneaking  and  skulking  about.     At  last  he  appeared 


ii2         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

at  Dover,  to  join  his  foreign  soldiers,  of  whom  numbers  came 
into  his  pay  ;  and  with  them  he  besieged  and  took  Rochester 
Castle,  which  was  occupied  by  knights  and  soldiers  of  the 
barons.  He  would  have  hanged  them  every  one  ;  but  the 
leader  of  the  foreign  soldiers,  fearful  of  what  the  English 
people  might  afterward  do  to  him,  interfered  to  save  the 
knights  ;  therefore  the  king  was  fain  to  satisfy  his  vengeance 
with  the  death  of  all  the  common  men.  Then,  he  sent  the 
Earl  of  Salisbury,  with  one  portion  of  his  army,  to  ravage  the 
eastern  part  of  his  own  dominions,  while  he  carried  fire  and 
slaughter  into  the  northern  part  ;  torturing,  plundering,  kill- 
ing, and  inflicting  every  possible  cruelty  upon  the  people  ; 
and,  every  morning,  setting  a  worthy  example  to  his  men  by 
setting  fire,  with  his  own  monster-hands,  to  the  house  where 
he  had  slept  last  night.  Nor  was  this  all  ;  for  the  Pope, 
coming  to  the  aid  of  his  precious  friend,  laid  the  kingdom 
under  an  Interdict  again,  because  the  people  took  part  with 
the  barons.  It  did  not  much  matter,  for  the  people  had 
grown  so  used  to  it  now,  that  they  had  begun  to  think  noth- 
ing about  it.  It  occurred  to  them — perhaps  to  Stephen 
Langton  too — that  they  could  keep  their  churches  open,  and 
ring  their  bells,  without  the  Pope's  permission  as  well  as 
with  it.  So,  they  tried  the  experiment — and  found  that  it 
succeeded  perfectly. 

It  being  now  impossible  to  bear  the  country,  as  a  wilder- 
ness of  cruelty,  or  longer  to  hold  any  terms  with  such  a 
forsworn  outlaw  of  a  King,  the  barons  sent  to  Louis,  son  of 
the  French  monarch,  to  offer  him  the  English  crown.  Caring 
as  little  for  the  Pope's  excommunication  of  him  if  he  accepted 
the  offer,  as  it  is  possible  his  father  may  have  cared  for  the 
Pope's  forgiveness  of  his  sins,  he  landed  at  Sandwich  (King 
John  immediately  running  away  from  Dover,  where  he  hap- 
pened to  be),  and  went  on  to  London.  The  Scottish  King, 
with  whom  many  of  the  Northern  English  lords  had  taken 
refuge  ;  numbers  of  the  foreign  soldiers,  numbers  of  the 
barons,  and  numbers  of  the  people  went  over  to  him  every 
day  ;  King  John,  the  while,  continually  running  away  in  all 
directions.  The  career  of  Louis  was  checked,  however,  by 
the  suspicions  of  the  barons,  founded  on  the  dying  declara- 
tion of  a  French  lord,  that  when  the  kingdom  was  conquered 
he  was  sworn  to  banish  them  as  traitors,  and  to  give  their  es* 
tates  to  some  of  his  own  nobles.  Rather  than  suffer  this,  some 
of  the  barons  hesitated  :  others  even  went  over  to  King  John. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        113 

It  seemed  to  be  the  turning-point  of  King  John's  fortunes, 
for,  in  his  savage  and  murderous  course,  he  had  now  taken 
some  towns  and  met  with  some  successes.  But,  happily  for 
England  and  humanity,  his  death  was  near.  Crossing  a 
dangerous  quicksand,  called  the  Wash,  not  very  far  from 
Wisbeach,  the  tide  came  up  and  nearly  drowned  his  army. 
He  and  his  soldiers  escaped  ;  but,  looking  back  from  the 
shore  when  he  was  safe,  he  saw  the  roaring  water  sweep 
down  in  a  torrent,  overturn  the  wagons,  horses,  and  men, 
that  carried  his  treasure,  and  ingulf  them  in  a  raging  whirl- 
pool from  which  nothing  could  be  delivered. 

Cursing,  and  swearing,  and  gnawing  his  fingers,  he  went 
on  to  Swinestead  Abbey,  where  the  monks  set  before  him 
quantities  of  pears,  and  peaches,  and  new  cider — some  say 
poison  too,  but  there  is  very  little  reason  to  suppose  so — of 
which  he  ate  and  drank  in  an  immoderate  and  beastly  way. 
All  night  he  lay  ill  of  a  burning  fever,  and  haunted  with 
horrible  fears.  Next  day,  they  put  him  in  a  horse-litter,  and 
carried  him  to  Sleaford  Castle,  where  he  passed  another 
night  of  pain  and  horror.  Next  day,  they  carried  him,  with 
greater  difficulty  than  on  the  day  before,  to  the  Castle  of 
Newark  upon  Trent ;  and  there,  on  the  18th  of  October,  in 
the  forty-ninth  year  of  his  age,  and  the  seventeenth  of  his 
vile  reign,  was  an  end  of  this  miserable  brute. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ENGLAND      UNDER     HENRY     THE     THIRD,      CALLED,    OF    WIN- 
CHESTER. 

If  any  of  the  English  barons  remembered  the  murdered 
Arthur's  sister,  Eleanor  the  fair  maid  of  Brittany,  shut  up  in 
her  convent  at  Bristol,  none  among  them  spoke  of  her  now, 
or  maintained  her  right  to  the  crown.  The  dead  Usurper's 
eldest  boy,  Henry  by  name,  was  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, the  Marshal  of  England,  to  the  city  of  Gloucester, 
and  there  crowned  in  great  haste  when  he  was  only  ten  years 
old.  As  the  crown  itself  had  been  lost  with  the  King's 
treasure,  in  the  raging  water,  and,  as  there  was  no  time  to 
make  another,  they  put  a  circle  of  plain  gold  upon  his  head 
instead.    "  We  have  been  the  enemies  of  this  child's  father, 


ii4        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

said  Lord  Pembroke,  a  good  and  true  gentleman,  to  the  few- 
lords  who  were  present,  "and  he  merited  our  ill-will;  but 
the  child  himself  is  innocent,  and  his  youth  demands  our 
friendship  and  protection."  Those  lords  felt  tenderly 
towards  the  little  boy,  remembering  their  own  young  chil- 
dren ;  and  they  bowed  their  heads,  and  said,  "  Long  live 
King  Henry  the  Third  !  " 

Next,  a  great  council  met  at  Bristol,  revised  Magna  Charta, 
and  made  Lord  Pembroke  Regent  or  Protector  of  England, 
as  the  King  was  too  young  to  reign  alone.  The  next  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  get  rid  of  Prince  Louis  of  France,  and  to 
win  over  those  English  barons  who  were  still  ranged  under 
his  banner.  He  was  strong  in  many  parts  of  England,  and 
in  London  itself  ;  and  he  held,  among  other  places,  a  certain 
castle  called  the  Castle  of  Mount  Sorel,  in  Leicestershire. 
To  this  fortress,  after  some  skirmishing  and  truce-making, 
Lord  Pembroke  laid  siege.  Louis  despatched  an  army  of 
six  hundred  knights  and  twenty  thousand  soldiers  to  relieve 
it.  Lord  Pembroke,  who  was  not  strong  enough  for  such  a 
force,  retired  with  all  his  men.  The  army  of  the  French 
prince,  which  had  marched  there  with  fire  and  plunder, 
marched  away  with  fire  and  plunder,  and  came,  in  a  boastful, 
swaggering  manner,  to  Lincoln.  The  town  submitted  ;  but 
the  castle  in  the  towm,  held  by  a  brave  widow  lady,  named 
Nichola  de  Camville  (whose  property  it  was),  made  such  a 
sturdy  resistance,  that  the  French  count  in  command  of 
the  army  of  the  French  prince  found  it  necessary  to  besiege 
this  castle.  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  word  was  brought 
to  him  that  Lord  Pembroke,  with  four  hundred  knights,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  men  with  cross-bows,  and  a  stout  force 
both  of  horse  and  foot,  was  marching  towards  him.  "  What 
care  I  ?"  said  the  French  count.  "The  Englishman  is  not 
so  mad  as  to  attack  me  and  my  great  army  in  a  walled 
town  !  "  But  the  Englishman  did  it  for  all  that,  and  did  it 
— not  so  madly  but  so  wisely,  that  he  decoyed  the  great 
army  into  the  narrow,  ill-paved  lanes  and  byways  of  Lincoln, 
where  its  horse-soldiers  could  not  ride  in  any  strong  body  ; 
and  there  he  made  such  havoc  with  them,  that  the  whole 
force  surrendered  themselves  prisoners,  except  the  count ; 
who  said  that  he  would  never  yield  to  any  English  traitor 
alive,  and  accordingly  got  killed.  The  end  of  this  victory, 
which  the  English  called,  for  a  joke,  the  Fair  of  Lincoln, 
was  the  usual  one  in  those  times — the  common  men  were 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         115 

slain  without  any  mercy,  and  the  knights  and  gentlemen  paid 
ransom  and  went  home. 

The  wife  of  Louis,  the  fair  Blanche  of  Castile,  dutifully 
equipped  a  fleet  of  eighty  good  ships,  and  sent  it  over  from 
France  to  her  husband's  aid.  An  English  fleet  of  forty  ships, 
some  good  and  some  bad,  gallantly  met  them  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Thames,  and  took  or  sunk  sixty-five  in  one  fight. 
This  great  loss  put  an  end  to  the  French  Prince's  hopes.  A 
treaty  was  made  at  Lambeth,  in  virtue  of  which  the  English 
barons  who  had  remained  attached  to  his  cause  returned  to 
their  allegiance,  and  it  was  engaged  on  both  sides  that  the 
Prince  and  all  his  troops  should  retire  peacefully  to  France. 
It  was  time  to  go  ;  for  war  had  made  him  so  poor  that  he 
was  obliged  to  borrow  money  from  the  citizens  of  London 
to  pay  his  expenses  home. 

Lord  Pembroke  afterward  applied  himself  to  governing  the 
country  justly,  and  to  healing  the  quarrels  and  disturbances 
that  had  risen  among  men  in  the  days  of  the  bad  King  John. 
He  caused  Magna  Charta  to  be  still  more  improved,  and  so 
amended  the  Forest  Laws  that  a  peasant  was  no  longer  put 
to  death  for  killing  a  stag  in  a  Royal  Forest,  but  was  only 
imprisoned.  It  would  have  been  well  for  England  if  it  could 
have  had  so  good  a  Protector  many  years  longer,  but  that 
was  not  to  be.  Within  three  years  after  the  young  King's 
coronation,  Lord  Pembroke  died  ;  and  you  may  see  his 
tomb,  at  this  day,  in  the  old  Temple  Church  in  London. 

The  Protectorship  was  now  divided.  Peter  de  Roches, 
whom  King  John  had  made  Bishop  of  Winchester,  was  en- 
trusted with  the  care  of  the  person  of  the  young  sovereign ; 
and  the  exercise  of  the  Royal  authority  was  confided  to  Earl 
Hubert  de  Burgh.  These  two  personages  had  from  the  first 
no  liking  for  each  other,  and  soon  became  enemies.  When 
the  young  King  was  declared  of  age,  Peter  de  Roches,  find- 
ing that  Hubert  increased  in  power  and  favor,  retired  dis- 
contentedly, and  went  abroad.  For  nearly  ten  years  after- 
ward Hubert  had  full  sway  alone. 

But  ten  years  is  a  long,  time  to  hold,  the  favor  of  a  King. 
This  King,  too,  as  he  grew  up,  showed  a  strong  resemblance 
to  his  father,  in  feebleness,  inconsistency,  and  irresolution. 
The  best  that  can  be  said  of  him  is  that  he  was  not  cruel. 
De  Roches  coming  home  again,  after  ten  years,  and  being  a 
novelty,  the  King  began  to  favor  him  and  to  look  coldly  on 
Hubert!     Wanting  money  besides,  and  having  made  Hubert 


n6        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

rich,  he  began  to  dislike  Hubert.  At  last  he  was  made  to 
believe,  or  pretended  to  believe,  that  Hubert  had  misappro- 
priated some  of  the  Royal  treasure  ;  and  ordered  him  to  fur- 
nish an  account  of  all  he  had  done  in  his  administration. 
Besides  which,  the  foolish  charge  was  brought  against  Hubert 
that  he  had  made  himself  the  King's  favorite  by  magic. 
Hubert  very  well  knowing  that  he  could  never  defend  him- 
self against  such  nonsense,  and  that  his  old  enemy  must  be 
determined  on  his  ruin,  instead  of  answering  the  charges 
fled  to  Merton  Abbey.  Then  the  King,  in  a  violent  passion, 
sent  for  the  Mayor  of  London,  and  said  to  the  Mayor,  "  Take 
twenty  thousand  citizens,  and  drag  me  Hubert  de  Burgh  out 
of  that  abbey,  and  bring  him  here."  The  Mayor  posted  off 
to  do  it,  but  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin  (who  was  a  friend  of 
Hubert's)  warning  the  King  that  an  abbey  was  a  sacred 
place,  and  that  if  he  committed  any  violence  there,  he  must 
answer  for  it  to  the  Church,  the  King  changed  his  mind  and 
called  the  Mayor  back,  and  declared  that  Hubert  should  have 
four  months  to  prepare  his  defense,  and  should  be  safe  and 
free  during  that  time. 

Hubert,  who* relied  upon  the  King's  word,  though  I  think 
he  was  old  enough  to  have  known  better,  came  out  of  Mer- 
ton Abbey  upon  these  conditions,  and  journeyed  away  to 
see  his  wife :  a  Scottish  Princess  who  was  then  at  St. 
Edmund's-Bury. 

Almost  as  soon  as  he  had  departed  from  the  sanctuary, 
his  enemies  persuaded  the  weak  King  to  send  out  one  Sir 
Godfrey  de  Crancumb,  who  commanded  three  hundred  vag- 
abonds called  the  Black  Band,  with  orders  to  seize  him. 
They  came  up  with  him  at  a  little  town  in  Essex,  called 
Brentwood,  when  he  was  in  bed.  He  leaped  out  of  bed,  got 
out  of  the  house,  fled  to  the  church,  ran  up  to  the  altar,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  cross.  Sir  Godfrey  and  the  Black 
Band,  caring  neither  for  church,  altar,  nor  cross,  dragged 
him  forth  to  the  church  door,  with  their  drawn  swords  flash- 
ing round  his  head,  and  sent  for  a  smith  to  rivet  a  set  of 
chains  upon  him.  When  the  smith  (I  wish  I  knew  his  name  !) 
was  brought,  all  dark  and  swarthy  with  the  smoke  of  his 
forge,  and  panting  with  the  speed  he  had  made  ;  and  the 
Black  Band,  falling  aside  to  show  him  the  prisoner,  cried 
with  a  loud  uproar, "  Make  the  fetters  heavy  !  make  them 
strong  !  "  the  smith  dropped  upon  his  knee — but  not  to  the 
Black  Band — and  said,     This  is  the  brave  Earl  Hubert  de 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         117 

Burgh,  who  fought  at  Dover  Castle,  and  destroyed  the  French 
fleet,  and  has  done  his  country  much  good  service.  You 
may  kill  me,  if  you  like,  but  I  will  never  make  a  chain  for 
Earl  Hubert  de  Burgh  !  " 

The  Black  Band  never  blushed,  or  they  might  have  blushed 
at  this.  They  knocked  the  smith  about  from  one  to  another, 
and  swore  at  him,  and  tied  the  Earl  on  horseback,  undressed 
as  he  was,  and  carried  him  off  to  the  Tower  of  London. 
The  bishops,  however,  were  so  indignant  at  the  violation  of 
the  sanctuary  of  the  Church,  that  the  frightened  King  soon 
ordered  the  Black  Band  to  take  him  back  again  ;  at  the  same 
time  commanding  the  Sheriff  of  Essex  to  prevent  his  escap- 
ing out  of  Brentwood  Church.  Well !  the  sheriff  dug  a  deep 
trench  all  round  the  church,  and  erected  a  high  fence,  and 
watched  the  church  night  and  day  ;  the  Black  Band  and 
their  captain  watched  it  too,  like  three  hundred  and  one 
black  wolves.  For  thirty-nine  days,  Hubert  de  Burgh  re- 
mained within.  At  length,  upon  the  fortieth  day,  cold  and 
hunger  were  too  much  for  him,  and  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  Black  Band,  who  carried  him  off,  for  the  second  time,  to 
the  Tower.  When  his  trial  came  on,  he  refused  to  plead  ; 
but  at  last  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  give  up  all  the 
royal  lands  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him,  and  should 
be  kept  at  the  Castle  of  Devizes,  in  what  was  called  "  free 
prison,"  in  charge  of  four  knights  appointed  by  four  lords. 
There  he  remained  almost  a  year,  until,  learning  that  a  fol- 
lower of  his  old  enemy  the  Bishop  was  made  keeper  of  the 
Castle,  and  fearing  that  he  might  be  killed  by  treachery,  he 
climbed  the  ramparts  one  dark  night,  dropped  from  the  top 
of  the  high  castle  wall  into  the  moat,  and  coming  safely  to 
the  ground  took  refuge  in  another  church.  From  this  place 
he  was  delivered  by  a  party  of  horse  despatched  to  his  help 
by  some  nobles,  who  were  by  this  time  in  revolt  against  the 
King,  and  assembled  in  Wales.  He  was  finally  pardoned  and 
restored  to  his  estates,  but  he  lived  privately,  and  never  more 
aspired  to  a  high  post  in  the  realm,  or  to  a  high  place  in 
the  King's  favor.  And  thus  end — more  happily  than  the 
stories  of  many  favorites  of  Kings — the  adventures  of  Earl 
Hubert  de  Burgh. 

The  nobles,  who  had  risen  in  revolt,  were  stirred  up  to 
rebellion  by  the  overbearing  conduct  of  the  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, who,  finding  that  the  King  secretly  hated  the  Great 
Charter  which  had  been  forced  from  his  father,  did  his  ut. 


ii$         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

most  to  confirm  him  in  that  dislike,  and  in  the  preference  he 
showed  to  foreigners  over  the  English.  Of  this,  and  of  his 
even  publicly  declaring  that  the  barons  of  England  were 
inferior  to  those  of  France,  the  English  lords  complained 
with  such  bitterness,  that  the  King,  finding  them  well  sup- 
ported by  the  clergy,  became  frightened  for  his  throne,  and 
sent  away  the  Bishop  and  all  his  foreign  associates.  On  his 
marriage,  however,  with  Eleanor,  a  French  lady,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Count  of  Provence,  he  openly  favored  the  foreign- 
ers again  ;  and  so  many  of  his  wife's  relations  came  over, 
and  made  such  an  immense  family-party  at  court,  and  got  so 
many  good  things,  and  pocketed  so  much  money,  and  were 
so  high  with  the  English  whose  money  they  pocketed,  that 
the  bolder  English  barons  murmured  openly  about  a  clause 
there  was  in  the  Great  Charter,  which  provided  for  the  ban- 
ishment of  unreasonable  favorites.  But  the  foreigners  only 
laughed  disdainfully,  and  said,  "  What  are  your  English  laws 
to  us?" 

King  Philip  of  France  had  died,  and  had  been  succeeded 
by  Prince  Louis,  who  had  also  died  after  a  short  reign  of 
three  years,  and  had  been  succeeded  by  his  son  of  the  same 
name — so  moderate  and  just  a  man  that  he  was  not  the 
least  in  the  world  like  a  king,  as  kings  went.  Isabella, 
King  Henry's  mother,  wished  very  much  (for  a  certain  spite 
she  had)  that  England  should  make  war  against  this  King  ; 
and,  as  King  Henry  was  a  mere  puppet  in  any  body's  hands 
who  knew  how  to  manage  his  feebleness,  she  easily  carried 
her  point  with  him.  But  the  Parliament  were  determined  to 
give  him  no  money  for  such  a  war.  So,  to  defy  the  Parlia- 
ment, he  packed  up  thirty  large  casks  of  silver — I  don't 
know  how  he  got  so  much  ;  I  dare  say  he  screwed  it  out  of 
the  miserable  Jews — and  put  them  aboard  ship,  and  went 
away  himself  to  carry  war  into  France  :  accompanied  by  his 
mother  and  his  brother  Richard,  Earl  of  Cornwall,  who  was 
rich  and  clever.  But  he  only  got  well  beaten,  and  came 
home. 

The  good-humor  of  the  Parliament  was  not  restored  by 
this.  They  reproached  the  King  with  wasting  the  public 
money  to  make  greedy  foreigners  rich,  and  were  so  stern  with 
him,  and  so  determined  not  to  let  him  have  more  of  it  to 
waste  if  they  could  help  it,  that  he  was  at  his  wit's  end  for 
some,  and  tried  so  shamelessly  to  get  all  he  could  from  his 
subjects  by  excuses  or  by  force,  that  the  people  used  to  say 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         119 

the  King  was  the  sturdiest  beggar  in  England.  He  took  the 
Cross,  thinking  to  get  some  money  by  that  means  :  but,  as  it 
was  very  well  known  that  he  never  meant  to  go  on  a  crusade, 
he  got  none.  In  all  this  contention,  the  Londoners  were  par- 
ticularly keen  against  the  King,  and  the  King  hated  them 
warmly  in  return.  Hating  or  loving,  however,  made  no  dif- 
ference ;  he  continued  in  the  same  condition  for  nine  or  ten 
years,  when  at  last  the  barons  said  that  if  he  would  solemnly 
confirm  their  liberties  afresh,  the  Parliament  would  vote  him 
a  large  sum. 

As  he  readily  consented,  there  was  a  great  meeting  held  in 
Westminster  Hall,  one  pleasant  day  in  May,  when  all  the 
clergy,  dressed  in  their  robes  and  holding  every  one  of  them 
a  burning  candle  in  his  hand,  stood  up  (the  barons  being  also 
there)  while  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  read  the  sentence 
of  excommunication  against  any  man,  and  all  men,  who 
should  henceforth,  in  any  way,  infringe  the  Great  Charter  of 
the  Kingdom.  When  he  had  done,  they  all  put  out  their 
burning  candles  with  a  curse  upon  the  soul  of  any  one,  and 
every  one,  who  should  merit  that  sentence.  The  King  con- 
cluded with  an  oath  to  keep  the  Charter,  "  As  I  am  a  man, 
as  I  am  a  Christian,  as  I  am  a  knight,  as  I  am  a  king  !  " 

It  was  easy  to  make  oaths,  and  easy  to  break  them  ;  and 
the  King  did  both,  as  his  father  had  done  before  him.  He 
took  to  his  old  courses  again  when  he  was  supplied  with  money, 
and  soon  cured  of  their  weakness  the  few  who  had  ever  really 
trusted  him.  When  his  money  was  gone,  and  he  was  once 
more  borrowing  and  begging  every- where  with  a  meanness 
worthy  of  his  nature,  he  got  into  a  difficulty  with  the  Pope 
respecting  the  crown  of  Sicily,  which  the  Pope  said  he  had  a 
right  to  give  away,  and  which  he  offered  to  King  Henry  for 
his  second  son,  Prince  Edmund.  But,  if  you  or  I  give  away 
what  we  have  not  got,  and  what  belongs  to  somebody  else, 
it  is  likely  that  the  person  to  whom  we  give  it,  will  have  some 
trouble  in  taking  it.  It  was  exactly  so  in  this  case.  It  was 
necessary  to  conquer  the  Sicilian  crown  before  it  could  be 
put  upon  young  Edmund's  head.  It  could  not  be  conquered 
without  money.  The  Pope  ordered  the  clergy  to  raise 
money.  The  clergy,  however,  were  not  so  obedient  to 
him  as  usual ;  they  had  been  disputing  with  him  for  some 
time  about  his  unjust  preference  of  Italian  priests  in  England; 
and  they  had  begun  to  doubt  whether  the  King's  chaplain, 
whom  he  allowed  to  be  paid  for  preaching  in  seven  hundred 


120        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

churches,  could  possibly  be,  even  by  the  Pope's  favor,  in  seven 
hundred  places  at  once.  "  The  Pope  and  the  King  together," 
said  the  Bishop  of  London,  "may  take  the  miter  off  my  head; 
but,  if  they  do,  they  will  find  that  I  shall  put  on  a  soldier's 
helmet.  I  pay  nothing."  The  Bishop  of  Worcester  was  as 
bold  as  the  Bishop  of  London,  and  would  pay  nothing  either. 
Such  sums  as  the  more  timid  or  more  helpless  of  the  clergy 
did  raise  were  squandered  away,  without  doing  any  good  to 
the  King,  or  bringing  the  Sicilian  crown  an  inch  nearer  to 
Prince  Edmund's  head.  The  end  of  the  business  was,  that 
the  Pope  gave  the  crown  to  the  brother  of  the  King  of  France 
(who  conquered  it  for  himself),  and  sent  the  King  of  En- 
gland in  a  bill  of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  for  the  ex- 
penses of  not  having  won  it. 

The  King  was  now  so  much  distressed  that  we  might  almost 
pity  him,  if  it  were  possible  to  pity  a  King  so  shabby  and 
ridiculous.  His  clever  brother,  Richard,  had  bought  the  title 
of  King  of  the  Romans  from  the  German  people,  and  was  no 
longer  near  him,  to  help  him  with  advice.  The  clergy  resist- 
ing the  very  Pope,  were  in  alliance  with  the  barons.  The 
barons  were  headed  by  Simon  de  Montfort,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
married  to  King  Henry's  sister,  and,  though  a  foreigner  him- 
self, the  most  popular  man  in  England  against  the  foreign 
favorites.  When  the  King  next  met  his  Parliament,  the 
barons,  led  by  this  Earl,  came  before  him,  armed  from  head 
to  foot,  and  cased  in  armor.  When  the  Parliament  again  as- 
sembled, in  a  month's  time,  at  Oxford,  this  Earl  was  at  their 
head,  and  the  King  was  obliged  to  consent,  on  oath,  to  what 
was  called  a  Committee  of  Government,  consisting  of  twenty- 
four  members  :  twelve  chosen  by  the  barons  and  twelve 
chosen  by  himself. 

But,  at  a  good  time  for  him,  his  brother  Richard  came 
back.  Richard's  first  act  (the  barons  would  not  admit  him  into 
England  on  other  terms)  was  to  swear  to  be  faithful  to  the 
Committee  of  Government — which  he  immediately  began  to 
oppose  with  all  his  might.  Then,  the  barons  began  to  quarrel 
among  themselves  ;  especially  the  proud  Earl  of  Gloucester 
with  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  went  abroad  in  disgust.  Then, 
the  people  began  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  barons,  because 
they  did  not  do  enough  for  them.  The  King's  chances  seemed 
so  good  again  at  length,  that  he  took  heart  enough — or  caught 
it  from  his  brother — to  tell  the  Committee  of  Government 
ihat  he  abolished  them — as  to  his  oath,  never  mind  that,  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         121 

Pope  said  ! — and  to  seize  all  the  money  in  the  Mint,  and  to 
shut  himself  up  in  the  Tower  of  London.  Here  he  was 
joined  by  his  only  son,  Prince  Edward  ;  and  from  the  Tower, 
he  made  public  a  letter  of  the  Pope's  to  the  world  in  general, 
informing  all  men  that  he  had  been  an  excellent  and  just 
King  for  nve-and-forty  years. 

As  every  body  knew  he  had  been  nothing  of  the  sort,  nobody 
cared  much  for  this  document.  It  so  chanced  that  the  proud 
Earl  of  Gloucester  dying,  was  succeeded  by  his  son  ;  and 
that  his  son,  instead  of  being  the  enemy  of  the  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter, was  (for  the  time)  his  friend.  It  fell  out,  therefore,  that 
these  two  Earls  joined  their  forces,  took  several  of  the  Royal 
castles  in  the  country,  and  advanced  as  hard  as  they  could 
on  London.  The  London  people,  always  opposed  to  the 
King,  declared  for  them  with  great  joy.  The  King  himself 
remained  shut  up,  not  at  all  gloriously,  in  the  Tower.  Prince 
Edward  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Windsor  Castle.  His 
mother,  the  Queen,  attempted  to  follow  him  by  water,  but 
the  people  seeing  her  barge  rowing  up  the  river,  and  hating 
her  with  all  their  hearts,  ran  to  London  Bridge,  got  together 
a  quantity  of  stones  and  mud,  and  pelted  the  barge  as  it 
came  through,  crying  furiously,  "  Drown  the  witch  !  Drown 
her  !  "  They  were  so  near  doing  it  that  the  Mayor  took 
the  old  lady  under  his  protection,  and  shut  her  up  in  St. 
Paul's  until  the  danger  was  past. 

It  would  require  a  great  deal  of  writing  on  my  part,  and  a 
great  deal  of  reading  on  yours,  to  follow  the  King  through 
his  disputes  with  the  barons,  and  to  follow  the  barons 
through  their  disputes  with  one  another — so  1  will  make 
short  work  of  it  for  both  of  us,  and  only  relate  the  chief 
events  that  arose  out  of  these  quarrels.  The  good  King  of 
France  was  asked  to  decide  between  them.  He  gave  it  as 
his  opinion  that  the  King  must  maintain  the  Great  Charter, 
and  that  the  barons  must  give  up  the  Committee  of  Govern- 
ment, and  all  the  rest  that  had  been  done  by  the  Parliament 
at  Oxford  :  which  the  Royalists,  or  King's  party,  scornfully 
called  the  Mad  Parliament.  The  barons  declared  that  these 
were  not  fair  terms,  and  they  would  not  accept  them.  Then 
they  caused  the  great  bell  of  St.  Paul's  to  be  tolled,  for  the 
purpose  of  rousing  up  the  London  people,  who  armed  them- 
selves at  the  dismal  sound  and  formed  quite  an  army  in  the 
streets.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  however,  that  instead  of  falling 
upon  the  King's  party  with  whom  their  quarrel  was,  they  fell 


122         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

upon  the  miserable  Jews,  and  killed  at  least  five  hundred  of 
them.  They  pretended  that  some  of  these  Jews  were  on  the 
King's  side,  and  that  they  kept  hidden  in  their  houses,  for 
the  destruction  of  the  people,  a  certain  terrible  composition 
called  Greek  Fire,  which  could  not  be  put  out  with  water,  but 
only  burned  the  fiercer  for  it.  What  they  really  did  keep 
in  their  houses  was  money  ;  and  this  their  cruel  enemies 
wanted,  and  this  their  cruel  enemies  took,  like  robbers  and 
murderers. 

The  Earl  of  Leicester  put  himself  at  the  head  of  these  Lon- 
doners and  other  forces,  and  followed  the  King  to  Lewes  in 
Sussex,  where  he  lay  encamped  with  his  army.  Before  giv- 
ing the  King's  forces  battle  here,  the  Earl  addressed  his 
soldiers,  and  said  that  King  Henry  the  Third  had  broken  so 
many  oaths,  that  he  had  become  the  enemy  of  God,  and 
therefore  they  would  wear  white  crosses  on  their  breasts,  as 
if  they  were  arrayed,  not  against  a  fellow-Christian,  but 
against  a  Turk.  White-crossed  accordingly,  they  rushed 
into  the  fight.  They  would  have  lost  the  day — the  King 
having  on  his  side  all  the  foreigners  in  England  :  and,  from 
Scotland,  John  Comyn,  John  Baliol,  and  Robert  Bruce, 
with  all  their  men — but  for  the  impatience  of  Prince  Edward, 
who,  in  his  hot  desire  to  have  vengeance  on  the  people  of 
London,  threw  the  whole  of  his  father's  army  into  confusion. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  ;  so  was  the  King  ;  so  was  the  King's 
brother  the  King  of  the  Romans  ;  and  five  thousand  En- 
glishmen were  left  dead  upon  the  bloody  grass. 

For  this  success  the  Pope  excommunicated  the  Earl  of 
Leicester :  which  neither  the  Earl  nor  the  people  cared  at  all 
about.  The  people  loved  him  and  supported  him,  and  he 
became  the  real  King ;  having  all  the  power  of  the  govern- 
ment in  his  own  hands,  though  he  was  outwardly  respectful 
to  King  Henry  the  Third,  whom  he  took  with  him  wherever 
he  went,  like  a  poor  old  limp  court-card.  He  summoned  a 
Parliament  (in  the  year  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
five)  which  was  the  first  Parliament  in  England  that  the 
people  had  any  real  share  in  electing ;  he  grew  more  and 
more  in  favor  with  the  people  every  day,  and  they  stood  by 
him  in  whatever  he  did. 

Many  of  the  other  baions,  and  particularly  the  Earl  of 
Gloucester,  who  had  become  by  this  time  as  proud  as  his 
father,  grew  jealous  of  this  powerful  and  popular  Earl,  who 
was  proud  too,  and  began  to  conspire  against   him.     Since 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         123 

the  battle  of  Lewes,  Prince  Edward  had  been  kept  as  a  host- 
age, and,  though  he  was  otherwise  treated  like  a  Prince,  had 
never  been  allowed  to  go  out  without  attendants  appointed 
by  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  watched  him.  The  conspiring 
lords  found  means  to  propose  to  him,  in  secret,  that  they 
should  assist  him  to  escape,  and  should  make  him  their 
leader  :  to  which  he  very  heartily  assented. 

So,  on  a  day  that  was  agreed  upon,  he  said  to  his  attend- 
ants after  dinner  (being  then  at  Hereford),  "  I  should  like  to 
ride  on  horseback,  this  fine  afternoon,  a  little  way  into  the 
country."  As  they,  too,  thought  it  would  be  very  pleasant 
to  have  a  canter  in  the  sunshine,  they  all  rode  out  of  the 
town  together  in  a  gay  little  troop.  When  they  came  to  a 
fine  level  piece  of  turf,  the  Prince  fell  to  comparing  their 
horses  one  with  another,  and  offering  bets  that  one  was 
faster  than  another ;  and  the  attendants,  suspecting  no 
harm,  rode  galloping  matches  until  their  horses  were  quite 
tired.  The  Prince  rode  no  matches  himself,  but  looked  on 
from  his  saddle,  and  staked  his  money.  Thus  they  passed 
the  whole  merry  afternoon.  Now,  the  sun  was  setting,  and 
they  were  all  going  slowly  up  a  hill,  the  Prince's  horse  very 
fresh  and  all  the  other  horses  very  weary,  when  a  strange 
rider  mounted  on  a  gray  steed  appeared  at  top  of  the 
hill,  and  waved  his  hat.  "  What  does  the  fellow  mean  ?  " 
said  the  attendants  one  to  another.  The  Prince  answered  on 
the  instant,  by  setting  spurs  to  his  horse,  dashing  away  at  his 
utmost  speed,  joining  the  man,  riding  into  the  midst  of  a 
little  crowd  of  horsemen  who  were  then  seen  waiting  under 
some  trees,  and  who  closed  around  him  ;  and  so  he  departed 
in  a  cloud  of  dust,  leaving  the  road  empty  of  all  but  the 
baffled  attendants,  who  sat  looking  at  one  another,  while 
their  horses  drooped  their  ears  and  panted. 

The  Prince  joined  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  at  Ludlow.  The 
Earl  of  Leicester,  with  a  part  of  the  army  and  the  stupid  old 
King  was  at  Hereford.  One  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  sons, 
Simon  de  Montfort,  with  another  part  of  the  army,  was  in 
Sussex.  To  prevent  these  two  parts  from  uniting  was  the 
Prince's  first  object.  He  attacked  Simon  de  Montfort  by 
night,  defeated  him,  seized  his  banners  and  treasure,  and 
forced  him  into  Kenilworth  Castle  in  Warwickshire,  which 
belonged  to  his  family. 

His  father,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  in  the  meanwhile,  not 
Knowing  what  had  happened,  marched  out  of  Hereford,  with 


i24        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND- 

his  part  of  the  army  and  the  King,  to  meet  him.  He  came, 
on  a  bright  morning  in  August,  to  Evesham,  which  is  watered 
by  the  pleasant  river  Avon.  Looking  rather  anxiously 
across  the  prospect  towards  Kenilworth,  he  saw  his  own 
banners  advancing  :  and  his  face  brightened  with  joy.  But, 
it  clouded  darkly  when  he  presently  perceived  that  the  ban- 
ners were  captured,  and  in  the  enemy's  hands  ;  and  he  said, 
"  It  is  over.  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  our  souls,  for  our 
bodies  are  Prince  Edward's  !  " 

He  fought  like  a  true  knight,  nevertheless.  When  his 
horse  was  killed  under  him,  he  fought  on  foot.  It  was  a 
fierce  battle  and  the  dead  lay  in  heaps  every-where.  The  old 
King,  stuck  up  in  a  suit  of  armor  on  a  big  war  horse,  which 
didn't  mind  him  at  all,  and  which  carried  him  into  all  sorts 
of  places  where  he  didn't  want  to  go,  got  into  every  body's 
way,  and  very  nearly  got  knocked  on  the  head  by  one  of  his 
son's  men.  But  he  managed  to  pipe  out,  "  I  am  Harry  of 
Winchester  !  "  and  the  Prince,  who  heard  him,  seized  his 
bridle,  and  took  him  out  of  peril.  The  Earl  of  Leicester 
still  fought  bravely,  until  his  best  son  Henry  was  killed,  and 
the  bodies  of  his  best  friends  choked  his  path  ;  and  then  he 
fell,  still  fighting,  sword  in  hand.  They  mangled  his  body, 
and  sent  it  as  a  present  to  a  noble  lady — but  a  very  un- 
pleasant lady,  I  should  think — who  was  the  wife  of  his 
worst  enemy.  They  could  not  mangle  his  memory  in  the 
minds  of  the  faithful  people,  though.  Many  years  after- 
wards, they  loved  him  more  than  ever,  and  regarded  him 
as  a  Saint,  and  always  spoke  of  him  as  "  Sir  Simon  the 
Righteous." 

And  even  though  he  was  dead,  the  cause  for  which  he  had 
fought  still  lived,  and  was  strong,  and  forced  itself  upon  the 
King  in  the  very  hour  of  victory.  Henry  found  himself 
obliged  to  respect  the  Great  Charter,  however  much  he  hated 
it,  and  to  make  laws  similar  to  the  laws  of  the  Great  Earl  of 
Leicester,  and  to  be  moderate  and  forgiving  toward  the 
people  at  last — even  toward  the  people  of  London,  who  had 
so  long  opposed  him.  There  were  more  risings  before  all 
this  was  done,  but  they  were  set  at  rest  by  these  means,  and 
Prince  Edward  did  his  best  in  all  things  to  restore  peace, 
One  Sir  Adam  de  Gourdon  was  the  last  dissatisfied  knight 
in  arms,  but  the  Prince  vanquished  him  in  single  combat, 
in  a  wood,  and  nobly  gave  him  his  life,  and  became  his 
friend,  instead  of  slaying  him.     Sir  Adam  was  not   ungrate- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        125 

ful.     He  ever  afterward  remained  devoted  to  his  generous 
conqueror. 

When  the  troubles  of  the  kingdom  were  thus  calmed, 
Prince  Edward  and  his  cousin  Henry  took  the  Cross,  and 
went  away  to  the  Holy  Land,  with  many  English  lords  and 
knights.  Four  years  afterwards  the  King  of  the  Romans 
died,  and,  next  year  (one  thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
two),  his  brother,  the  weak  King  of  England  died.  He  was 
sixty-eight  years  old  then,  and  had  reigned  fifty-six  years. 
He  was  as  much  of  a  king  in  death,  as  he  had  ever  been  in 
life.    He  was  the  mere  pale  shadow  of  a  king  at  all  times. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  EDWARD  THE  FIRST,  CALLED  LONGSHANKS. 

It  was  now  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  two  hund- 
red and  seventy-two  ;  and  Prince  Edward,  the  heir  to  the 
throne,  being  away  in  the  Holy  Land,  knew  nothing  of  his 
father's  death.  The  Barons,  however,  proclaimed  him  King, 
immediately  after  the  Royal  funeral ;  and  the  people  very 
willingly  consented,  since  most  men  knew  too  well  by  this 
time  what  the  horrors  of  a  contest  for  the  crown  were.  So 
King  Edward  the  First,  called,  in  a  not  very  complimentary 
manner,  Longshanks,  because  of  the  slenderness  of  his  legs, 
was  peacefully  accepted  by  the  English  Nation. 

His  legs  had  need  to  be  strong,  however  long  and  thin 
they  were  ;  for  they  had  to  support  him  through  many  dif- 
ficulties on  the  fiery  sands  of  Asia,  where  his  small  force  of 
soldiers  fainted,  died,  deserted,  and  seemed  to  melt  away. 
But  his  prowess  made  light  of  it,  and  he  said,  "  I  will  go  on, 
if  I  go  on  with  no  other  follower  than  my  groom  !  " 

A  Prince  of  this  spirit  gave  the  Turks  a  deal  of  trouble. 
He  stormed  Nazareth,  at  which  place,  of  all  places  on  earth, 
I  am  sorry  to  relate,  he  made  a  frightful  slaughter  of  inno- 
cent people  ;  and  then  he  went  to  Acre,  where  he  got  a  truce 
of  ten  years  from  the  Sultan.  He  had  very  nearly  lost  his 
life  in  Acre,  through  the  treachery  of  a  Saracen  noble, 
called  the  Emir  of  Jaffa,  who,  making  the  pretense  that  he 
had  some  idea  of  turning  Christian  and  wanted  to  know  all 
about  that  religion,  sent  a  trusty  messenger  to  Edward  very 
0ften — with  a  dagger  in  his  sleeve.      At  last,  one  Friday  in 


i26       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Whitsun  week,  when  it  was  very  hot,  and  all  the  sandy 
prospect  lay  beneath  the  blazing  sun,  burned  up  like  a  great 
overdone  biscuit,  and  Edward  was  lying  on  a  couch,  dressed 
for  coolness  in  only  a  loose  robe,  the  messenger,  with  his 
chocolate-colored  face  and  his  bright  dark  eyes  and  white 
teeth,  came  creeping  in  with  a  letter,  and  kneeled  down  like 
a  tame  tiger.  But  the  moment  Edward  stretched  out  his 
hand  to  take  the  letter,  the  tiger  made  a  spring  at  his  heart. 
He  was  quick,  but  Edward  was  quick  too.  He  seized  the 
traitor  by  his  chocolate  throat,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and 
slew  him  with  the  very  dagger  he  had  drawn.  The  weapon 
had  struck  Edward  in  the  arm,  and  although  the  wound 
itself  was  slight,  it  threatened  to  be  mortal,  for  the  blade  of 
the  dagger  had  been  smeared  with  poison.  Thanks,  how- 
ever, to  a  better  surgeon  than  was  often  to  be  found  in  those 
times,  and  to  some  wholesome  herbs,  and  above  all,  to  his 
faithful  wife,  Eleanor,  who  devotedly  nursed  him,  and  is  said 
by  some  to  have  sucked  the  poison  from  the  wound  with  her 
own  red  lips  (which  I  am  very  willing  to  believe),  Edward 
soon  recovered  and  was  sound  again. 

As  the  King  his  father  had  sent  entreaties  to  him  to  re- 
turn home,  he  now  began  the  journey.  He  had  got  as  far  as 
Italy,  when  he  met  messengers  who  brought  him  intelligence 
of  the  King's  death.  Hearing  that  all  was  quiet  at  home,  he 
made  no  haste  to  return  to  his  own  dominions,  but  paid  a 
visit  to  the  Pope,  and  went  in  state  through  various  Italian 
towns,  where  he  was  welcomed  with  acclamations  as  a 
mighty  champion  of  the  Cross  from  the  Holy  Land,  and 
where  he  received  presents  of  purple  mantles  and  prancing 
horses,  and  went  along  in  great  triumph.  The  shouting 
people  little  knew  that  he  was  the  last  English  monarch  who 
would  ever  embark  in  a  crusade,  or  that  within  twenty  years 
every  conquest  which  the  Christians  had  made  in  the  Holy 
Land  at  the  cost  of  so  much  blood,  would  be  won  back  by 
the  Turks.     But  all  this  came  to  pass. 

There  was,  and  there  is,  an  old  town  standing  in  a  plain 
in  France,  called  Chalons.  When  the  King  was  coming  to- 
ward this  place  on  his  way  to  England,  a  wily  French  lord, 
called  the  Count  of  Chalons,  sent  him  a  polite  challenge  to 
come  with  his  knights  and  hold  a  fair  tournament  with  the 
Count  and  his  knights,  and  make  a  day  of  it  with  sword  and 
lance.  It  was  represented  to  the  King  that  the  Count  of 
Chalons  was  not  to  be  trusted,  and  that  instead  of  a  holiday 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         127 

fight  for  mere  show  and  in  good  humor,  he  secretly  meant  a 
real  battle,  in  which  the  English  should  be  defeated  by 
superior  force. 

The  King,  however,  nothing  afraid,  went  to  the  appointed 
place  on  the  appointed  day  with  a  thousand  followers.  When 
the  Count  came  with  two  thousand  and  attacked  the  English 
in  earnest,  the  English  rushed  at  them  with  such  valor  that 
the  Count's  men  and  the  Count's  horses  soon  began  to  be 
tumbled  down  all  over  the  field.  The  Count  himself  seized 
the  King  round  the  neck,  but  the  King  tumbled  him  out  of 
his  saddle  in  return  for  the  compliment,  and  jumping  from 
his  own  horse,  and  standing  over  him,  beat  away  at  his  iron 
armor  like  a  blacksmith  hammering  on  his  anvil.  Even 
when  the  Count  owned  himself  defeated  and  offered  his 
sword,  the  King  would  not  do  him  the  honor  to  take  it,  but 
made  him  yield  it  up  to  a  common  soldier.  There  had  been 
such  fury  shown  in  this  fight,  that  it  was  afterwards  called 
the  little  Battle  of  Chalons. 

The  English  were  very  well  disposed  to  be  proud  of  their 
King  after  these  adventures  ;  so,  when  he  landed  at  Dover 
in  the  year  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy-four 
(being  then  thirty-six  years  old),  and  went  on  to  Westmins- 
ter, where  he  and  his  good  Queen  were  crowned  with  great 
magnificence,  splendid  rejoicings  took  place.  For  the  cor- 
onation-feast there  were  provided,  among  other  eatables, 
four  hundred  oxen,  four  hundred  sheep,  four  hundred  and 
fifty  pigs,  eighteen  wild  boars,  three  hundred  flitches  of 
bacon,  and  twenty  thousand  fowls.  The  fountains  and  con- 
duits in  the  street  flowed  with  red  and  white  wine  instead  of 
water  ;  the  rich  citizens  hung  silks  and  cloths  of  the  brightest 
colors  out  of  their  windows,  to  increase  the  beauty  of  the 
show,  and  threw  out  gold  and  silver  by  whole  handfuls  to 
make  scrambles  for  the  crowd.  In  short,  there  was  such 
eating  and  drinking,  such  music  and  capering,  such  a  ring- 
ing of  bells  and  tossing  of  caps,  such  a  shouting,  and  sing- 
ing, and  reveling,  as  the  narrow  overhanging  streets  of  old 
London  City  had  not  witnessed  for  many  a  long  day.  All 
the  people  were  merry— except  the  poor  Jews— who  tremb- 
ling within  their  houses,  and  scarcely  daring  to  peep  out, 
began  to  foresee  that  they  would  have  to  find  the  money  for 
this  joviality  sooner  or  later. 

To  dismiss  this  sad  subject  of  the  Jews  for  the  present,  I 
am  sorry  to  add  that  in  this  reign  they  were  most  unmerci- 


128        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

fully  pillaged.  They  were  hanged  in  great  numbers,  on  ac- 
cusations of  having  clipped  the  King's  coin — which  all  kinds 
of  people  had  done.  They  were  heavily  taxed  ;  they  were 
disgracefully  badged  ;  they  were,  on  one  day,  thirteen  years 
after  the  coronation,  taken  up  with  their  wives  and  children 
and  thrown  into  beastly  prisons,  until  they  purchased  their 
release  by  paying  to  the  King  twelve  thousand  pounds. 
Finally,  every  kind  of  property  belonging  to  them  was  seized 
by  the  King,  except  so  little  as  would  defray  the  charge  of 
their  taking  themselves  away  into  foreign  countries.  Many 
years  elapsed  before  the  hope  of  gain  induced  any  of  theii 
race  to  return  to  England,  where  they  had  been  treated  s<? 
heartlessly  and  had  suffered  so  much. 
_  If  King  Edward  the  First  had  been  as  bad  a  king  to  Chris, 
tians  as  he  was  to  Jews,  he  would  have  been  bad  indeed. 
But  he  was,  in  general,  a  wise  and  great  monarch,  under 
whom  the  country  much  improved.  He  had  no  love  for  the 
Great  Charter — few  Kings  had,  through  many  many  years — ■ 
but  he  had  high  qualities.  The  first  bold  object  which  he 
conceived  when  he  came  home,  wag,  to  unite  under  one 
Sovereign  England,  Scotland,  and  Wales  ;  the  two  last  of 
which  countries  had  each  a  little  king  of  its  own,  about 
whom  the  people  were  always  quarreling  and  fighting,  and 
making  a  prodigious  disturbance — a  great  deal  more  than  he 
was  worth.  In  the  course  of  King  Edward's  reign  he  was 
engaged,  besides,  in  a  war  with  France.  To  make  these 
quarrels  clearer,  we  will  separate  their  histories  and  take 
them  thus.  Wales,  first.  France,  second.  Scotland,  third. 
Llewellyn  was  the  Prince  of  Wales.  He  had  been  on  the 
side  of  the  barons  in  the  reign  of  the  stupid  old  King,  but 
had  afterwards  sworn  allegiance  to  him.  When  King  Ed- 
ward came  to  the  throne,  Llewellyn  was  required  to  swear 
allegiance  to  him  also  ;  which  he  refused  to  do.  The  King, 
being  crowned  and  in  his  own  dominions,  three  times  more 
required  Llewellyn  to  come  and  do  homage  ;  and  three  times 
more  Llewellyn  said  he  would  rather  not.  He  was  going  to 
be  married  to  Eleanor  de  Montfort,  a  young  lady  of  the  fam- 
ily mentioned  in  the  last  reign  ;  and  it  chanced  that  this 
young  lady,  coming  from  France  with  her  youngest  brother, 
Emeric,  was  taken  by  an  English  ship,  and  was  ordered  by 
the  English  King  to  be  detained.  Upon  this  the  quarrel 
came  to  a  head.  The  King  went,  with  his  fleet,  to  the  coast 
of  Wales  where,  so   encompassing  Llewellyn  that  he  could 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         129 

only  take  refuge  in  the  bleak  mountain  region  of  Snowdon 
in  which  no  provisions  could  reach  him,  he  was  soon  starved 
into  an  apology,  and  into  a  treaty  of  peace  and  into  paying 
the  expenses  of  the  war.  The  King,  however,  forgave  him 
some  of  the  hardest  conditions  of  the  treaty,  and  consented 
to  his  marriage.  And  he  now  thought  he  had  reduced  Wales 
to  obedience. 

But,  the  Welsh,  although  they  were  naturally  a  gentle, 
quiet,  pleasant  people,  who  liked  to  receive  strangers  in  their 
cottages  among  the  mountains,  and  to  set  before  them  with 
free  hospitality  whatever  they  had  to  eat  and  drink,  and  to 
play  to  them  on  their  harps,  and  sing  their  native  ballads  to 
them,  were  a  people  of  great  spirit  when  their  blood  was  up. 
Englishmen,  after  this  affair,  began  to  be  insolent  in  Wales, 
and  to  assume  the  air  of  masters  ;  and  the  Welsh  pride  could 
not  bear  it.  Moreover,  they  believed  in  that  unlucky  old 
Merlin,  some  of  whose  unlucky  old  prophecies  somebody  al- 
ways seemed  doomed  to  remember  when  there  was  a  chance 
of  its  doing  harm  ;  and  just  at  this  time  some  blind  old  gen- 
tleman with  a  harp,  and  a  long  white  beard,  who  was  an  ex- 
cellent person,  but  had  become  of  an  unknown  age  and 
tedious,  burst  out  with  a  declaration  that  Merlin  had  pre- 
dicted that  when  English  money  had  become  round,  a  Prince 
of  Wales  would  be  crowned  in  London.  Now,  King  Edward 
had  recently  forbidden  the  English  penny  to  be  cut  into 
halves  and  quarters  for  halfpence  and  farthings,  and  had  act- 
ually introduced  a  round  coin  ;  therefore,  the  Welsh  people 
said  this  was  the  time  Merlin  meant,  and  rose  accordingly. 

King  Edward  had  bought  over  Prince  David,  Llewellyn's 
brother,  by  heaping  favors  upon  him  ;  but  he  was  the  first  to 
revolt,  being  perhaps  troubled  in  his  conscience.  One  stormy 
night,  he  surprised  the  Castle  of  Hawarden,  in  possession  of 
which  an  English  nobleman  had  been  left ;  killed  the  whole 
garrison,  and  carried  off  the  nobleman  a  prisoner  to  Snow- 
don. Upon  this  the  Welsh  people  rose  like  one  man.  King 
Edward,  with  his  army,  marching  from  Worcester  to  the 
Menai  Strait,  crossed  it — near  to  where  the  wonderful  tubu- 
lar iron  bridge  now,  in  days  so  different,  makes  a  passage  for 
railway  trains — by  a  bridge  of  boats  that  enabled  forty  men 
to  march  abreast.  He  subdued  the  Island  of  Anglesea,  and 
sent  his  men  forward  to  observe  the  enemy.  The  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  the  Welsh  created  a  panic  among  them,  and 
they  fell  back  to  the  bridge.     The  tide  had  in  the  meantime 


*3°         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

risen  and  separated  the  boats  ;  the  Welsh  pursuing  them, 
they  were  driven  into  the  sea,  and  there  they  sank,  in  their 
heavy  iron  armor,  by  thousands.  After  this  victory  Llew- 
ellyn, helped  by  the  severe  winter-weather  of  Wales,  gained 
another  battle  :  but  the  King  ordering  a  portion  of  his  En- 
glish army  to  advance  through  South  Wales,  and  catch  him 
between  two  foes,  and  Llewellyn  bravely  turning  to  meet 
this  new  enemy,  he  was  surprised  and  killed — very  meanly, 
for  he  was  unarmed  and  defenseless.  His  head  was  struck 
off  and  sent  to  London,  where  it  was  fixed  up  on  the  Tower, 
encircled  with  a  wreath,  some  say  of  ivy,  some  say  of  willow, 
some  say  of  silver,  to  make  it  look  like  a  ghastly  coin  in  ridi- 
cule of  the  prediction. 

David,  however,  still  held  out  for  six  months,  though 
eagerly  sought  after  by  the  King,  and  hunted  by  his  own 
countrymen.  One  of  them  finally  betrayed  him  with  his 
wife  and  children.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  ;  and  from  that  time  this  became  the  estab- 
lished punishment  of  traitors  in  England — a  punishment 
wholly  without  excuse,  as  being  revolting,  vile,  and  cruel, 
after  its  object  is  dead  :  and  which  has  no  sense  in  it,  as  its 
only  real  degradation  (and  that  nothing  can  blot  out)  is  to 
the  country  that  permits  on  any  consideration  such  abomin- 
able barbarity. 

Wales  was  now  subdued.  The  Queen  giving  birth  to  a 
young  prince  in  the  castle  of  Carnarvon,  the  King  showed 
him  to  the  Welsh  people  as  their  countryman,  and  called  him 
Prince  of  Wales  ;  a  title  that  has  ever  since  been  borne  by 
the  heir-apparent  to  the  English  Throne — which  that  little 
Prince  soon  became  by  the  death  of  his  elder  brother.  The 
King  did  better  things  for  the  Welsh  than  that,  by  improv- 
ing their  laws  and  encouraging  their  trade.  Disturbances 
still  took  place,  chiefly  occasioned  by  the  avarice  and  pride 
of  the  English  lords,  on  whom  Welsh  lands  and  castles  had 
been  bestowed  :  but  they  were  subdued  and  the  country 
never  rose  again.  There  is  a  legend  that  to  prevent  the  peo- 
ple from  being  incited  to  rebellion  by  the  songs  of  their  bards 
and  harpers,  Edward  had  them  all  put  to  death.  Some  of 
them  may  have  fallen  among  other  men  who  held  out  against 
the  King;  but  this  general  slaughter  is,  I  think,  a  fancy  of  the 
harpers  themselves,  who,  I  dare  say,  made  a  song  about  it 
many  years  afterward,  and  sang  it  by  the  Welsh  firesides 
until  it  came  to  be  believed. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        131 

The  foreign  war  of  the  reign  of  Edward  the  First  arose  in 
this  way.  The  crews  of  two  vessels,  one  a  Norman  ship,  and 
the  other  an  English  ship,  happened  to  go  to  the  same  place 
in  their  boats  to  fill  their  casks  with  fresh  water.  Being  rough 
angry  fellows,  they  began  to  quarrel,  and  then  to  fight — the 
English  with  their  fists  ;  the  Normans  with  their  knives — and, 
in  the  fight  a  Norman  was  killed.  The  Norman  crew,  in- 
stead of  revenging  themselves  upon  those  English  sailors 
with  whom  they  had  quarreled  (who  were  too  strong  for 
them,  I  suspect),  took  to  their  ship  again  in  a  great  rage, 
attacked  the  first  English  ship  they  met,  laid  hold  of  an  un- 
offending merchant  who  happened  to  be  on  board,  and  bru- 
tally hanged  him  in  the  rigging  of  their  own  vessel  with  a 
dog  at  his  feet.  This  so  enraged  the  English  sailors  that 
there  was  no  restraining  them  ;  and  whenever,  and  wherever, 
English  sailors  met  Norman  sailors,  they  fell  upon  each  other 
tooth  and  nail.  The  Irish  and  Dutch  sailors  took  part  with 
the  English  ;  the  French  and  Genoese  sailors  helped  the 
Normans  ;  and  thus  the  greater  part  of  the  mariners  sailing 
over  the  sea  became,  in  their  way,  as  violent  and  raging  as 
the  sea  itself  when  it  is  disturbed. 

King  Edward's  fame  had  been  so  high  abroad  that  he  had 
been  chosen  to  decide  a  difference  between  France  and  an- 
other foreign  power,  and  had  lived  upon  the  Continent  three 
years.  At  first,  neither  he  nor  the  French  King  Philip  (the 
good  Louis  had  been  dead  some  time)  interfered  in  these 
quarrels;  but  when  a  fleet  of  eighty  English  ships  ^engaged 
and  utterly  defeated  a  Norman  fleet  of  two  hundred,  in  a 
pitched  battle  fought  round  a  ship  at  anchor,  in  which  no 
quarter  was  given,  the  matter  became  too  serious  to  be  passed 
over.  King  Edward,  as  Duke  of  Guienne,  was  summoned 
to  present  himself  before  the  King  of  France,  at  Paris,  and 
answer  for  the  damage  done  by  his  sailor  subjects.  At  first 
he  sent  the  Bishop  of  London  as  his  representative,  and  then 
his  brother  Edmund,  who  was  married  to  the  French  Queen's 
mother.  I  am  afraid  Edmund  was  an  easy  man,  and  allow- 
ed himself  to  be  talked  over  by  his  charming  relations,  the 
French  court  ladies  ;  at  all  events  he  was  induced  to  give  up 
his  brother's  dukedom  for  forty  days — as  a  mere  form,  the 
French  King  said,  to  satisfy  his  honor — and  he  was  so  very 
much  astonished,  when  the  time  was  out,  to  find  that  the 
French  King  had  no  idea  of  giving  it  up  again,  that  I  should 
not  wonder  if  it  hastened  his  death  ;  which  soon  took  place* 


132        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

King  Edward  was  a  King  to  win  his  foreign  dukedom  back 
kgain  if  it  could  be  won  by  energy  and  valor.  He  raised  a 
large  army,  renounced  his  allegiance  as  Duke  of  Guienne,  and 
crossed  the  sea  to  carry  war  into  France.  Before  any  im- 
portant battle  was  fought,  however,  a  truce  was  agreed  upon 
for  two  years  ;  and  in  the  course  of  that  time  the  Pope  ef- 
fected a  reconciliation.  King  Edward,  who  was  now  a  wid- 
ower, having  lost  his  affectionate  and  good  wife,  Eleanor, 
married  the  French  King's  sister,  Margaret,  and  the  Prince 
of  Wales  was  contracted  to  the  French  King's  daughter, 
Isabella. 

Out  of  bad  things  good  things  sometimes  arise.  Out  of 
this  hanging  of  the  innocent  merchant,  and  the  bloodshed  and 
strife  it  caused,  there  came  to  be  established  one  of  the 
greatest  powers  that  the  English  people  now  possess.  The 
preparations  for  the  war  being  very  expensive,  and  King  Ed- 
ward greatly  wanting  money,  and  being  very  arbitrary  in  his 
ways  of  raising  it,  some  of  the  barons  began  firmly  to  oppose 
him.  Two  of  them,  in  particular,  Humphrey  Bohun,  Earl 
of  Hereford,  and  Roger  Bigod,  Earl  of  Norfolk,  were  so 
stout  against  him  that  they  maintained  he  had  no  right  to 
command  them  to  head  his  forces  in  Guienne,  and  flatly  re- 
fused to  go  there.  "  By  Heaven,  Sir  Earl,"  said  the  King  to 
the  Earl  of  Hereford,  in  a  great  passion,  "  you  shall  either  go 
or  be  hanged  !  "  "  By  Heaven,  Sir  King,"  replied  the  Earl, 
"  I  will  neither  go  nor  yet  will  I  be  hanged  ! "  and  both  he 
and  the  other  Earl  sturdily  left  the  court,  attended  by  many 
lords.  ^The  King  tried  every  means  of  raising  money. 
He  taxed  the  clergy,  in  spite  of  all  the  Pope  said  to  the  con- 
trary ;  and  when  they  refused  to  pay,  reduced  them  to  sub- 
mission, by  saying  Very  well,  then  they  had  no  claim  upon 
the  government  for  protection,  and  any  man  might  plunder 
them  who  would — which  a  good  many  men  were  very  ready 
to  do,  and  very  readily  did,  and  which  the  clergy  found  too 
losing  a  game  to  be  played  at  long.  He  seized  all  the  wool 
and  leather  in  the  hands  of  the  merchants,  promising  to  pay 
for  it  some  fine  day  ;  and  he  set  a  tax  upon  the  exportation 
of  wool,  which  was  so  unpopular  among  the  traders  that  it 
was  called  "  The  evil  toll."  But  all  would  not  do.  The 
barons,  led  by  those  two  great  Earls,  declared  any  taxes  im- 
posed without  the  consent  of  Parliament,  unlawful  ;  and  the 
Parliament  refused  to  impose  taxes,  until  the  King  should 
confirm  afresh  the  two  Great  Charters,  and  should  solemnly 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         133 

declare  in  writing,  that  there  was  no  power  in  the  country  to 
raise  money  from  the  people,  evermore,  but  the  power  of  Par- 
liament representing  all  ranks  of  the  people.  The  King  was 
very  unwilling  to  diminish  his  own  power  by  allowing  this 
great  privilege  in  the  Parliament  ;  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  and  he  at  last  complied.  We  shall  come  to  another  king 
by-and-by,  who  might  have  saved  his  head  from  rolling  off, 
if  he  had  profited  by  this  example. 

The  people  gained  other  benefits  in  Parliament  from  the 
good  sense  and  wisdom  of  this  King.  Many  of  the  laws  were 
much  improved  ;  provision  was  made  for  the  greater  safety  of 
travelers,  and  the  apprehension  of  thieves  and  murderers ; 
the  priests  were  prevented  from  holding  too  much  land,  and 
so  becoming  too  powerful ;  and  justices  of  the  peace  were 
first  appointed  (though  not  at  first  under  that  name)  in 
various  parts  of  the  country. 

And  now  we  come  to  Scotland,  which  was  the  great  and 
lasting  trouble  of  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the  First. 

About  thirteen  years  after  King  Edward's  coronation, 
Alexander  the  Third,  the  King  of  Scotland,  died  of  a  fall 
from  his  horse.  He  had  been  married  to  Margaret,  King 
Edward's  sister.  All  their  children  being  dead,  the  Scottish 
crown  became  the  right  of  a  young  Princess  only  eight  years 
old,  the  daughter  of  Eric,  King  of  Norway,  who  had  married 
a  daughter  of  the  deceased  sovereign.  King  Edward  pro- 
posed, that  the  Maiden  of  Norway,  as  this  Princess  was 
called,  should  be  engaged  to  be  married  to  his  eldest  son  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  as  she  was  coming  over  to  England  she 
fell  sick,  and  landing  on  one  of  the  Orkney  Islands,  died 
there.  A  great  commotion  immediately  began  in  Scotland, 
where  as  many  as  thirteen  noisy  claimants  to  the  vacant 
throne  started  up  and  made  a  general  confusion. 

King  Edward  being  much  renowned  for  his  sagacity  and 
justice,  it  seems  to  have  been  agreed  to  refer  the  dispute  to 
him.  He  accepted  the  trust,  and  went  with  an  army  to  the 
Border-land  where  England  and  Scotland  joined.  There,  he 
called  upon  the  Scottish  gentlemen  to  meet  him  at  the  Castle 
of  Norham,  on  the  English  side  of  the  river  Tweed  ;  and  to 
that  castle  they  came.  But,  before  he  would  take  any  step 
in  the  business,  he  required  those  Scottish  gentlemen,  one 
and  all,  to  do  homage  to  him  as  their  superior  lord  ;  and 
when  they  hesitated,  he  said  "  By  holy  Edward,  whose  crown 


i34        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

I  wear,  I  will  have  my  rights,  or  I  will  die  in  maintaining 
them  !  "  The  Scottish  gentlemen,  who  had  not  expected 
this,  were  disconcerted,  and  asked  for  three  weeks  to  think 
about  it. 

At  the  end  of 'the  three  weeks,  another  meeting  took  place, 
on  a  green  plain  on  the  Scottish  side  of  the  river.  Of  all  the 
competitors  for  the  Scottish  throne,  there  were  only  two  who 
had  any  real  claim,  in  right  of  their  near  kindred  to  the 
Royal  family.  These  were  John  Baliol  and  Robert  Bruce  ; 
and  the  right  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  on  the  side  of  John 
Baliol.  At  this  particalar  meeting  John  Baliol  was  not 
present,  but  Robert  Bruce  was  ;  and  on  Robert  Bruce  being 
formally  asked  whether  he  acknowledged  the  King  of  En- 
gland for  his  superior  lord,  he  answered,  plainly  and  dis- 
tinctly, Yes,  he  did.  Next  day,  John  Baliol  appeared,  and 
said  the  same.  This  point  settled,  some  arrangements  were 
made  for  inquiring  into  their  titles. 

The  inquiry  occupied  a  pretty  long  time — more  than  a 
year.  While  it  was  going  on,  King  Edward  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  making  a  journey  through  Scotland,  and  calling 
upon  the  Scottish  people  of  all  degrees  to  acknowledge 
themselves  his  vassals,  or  be  imprisoned  until  they  did.  In 
the  meanwhile,  commissioners  were  appointed  to  conduct 
the  inquiry,  a  Parliament  was  held  at  Berwick  about  it,  the 
two  claimants  were  heard  at  full  length,  and  there  was  a  vast 
amount  of  talking.  At  last,  in  the  great  hall  of  the  Castle  of 
Berwick,  the  King  gave  judgment  in  favor  of  John  Baliol : 
who,  consenting  to  receive  his  crown  by  the  King  of  En- 
gland's favor  and  permission,  was  crowned  at  Scone,  in  an  old 
stone  chair  whicrf  had  been  used  for  ages  in  the  abbey  there, 
at  the  coronations  of  Scottish  Kings.  Then,  King  Edward 
caused  the  great  seal  of  Scotland,  used  since  the  late  King's 
death,  to  be  broken  in  four  pieces,  and  placed  in  the  English 
Treasury  ;  and  considered  that  he  now  had  Scotland  (ac- 
cording to  the  common  saying)  under  his  thumb. 

Scotland  had  a  strong  will  of  its  own  yet,  however.  King 
Edward,  determined  that  the  Scottish  King  should  not  forget 
he  was  his  vassal,  summoned  him  repeatedly  to  come  and 
defend  himself  and  his  judges  before  the  English  Parliament 
when  appeals  from  the  decisions  of  Scottish  courts  of  justice 
were  being  heard.  At  length,  John  Baliol,  who  had  no  great 
heart  of  his  own,  had  so  much  heart  put  into  him  by  the  brave 
spirit  of  the  Scottish  people,  who  took  this  as  a  national  in- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         135 

suit,  that  he  refused  to  come  any  more.  Thereupon,  the  King 
further  required  him  to  help  him  in  his  war  abroad  (which 
was  then  in  progress),  and  to  give  up,  as  security  for  his 
good  behavior  in  future,  the  three  strong  Scottish  Castles  of 
Jedburgh,  Roxburgh,  and  Berwick.  Nothing  of  this  being 
done  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  Scottish  people  concealing  their 
King  among  their  mountains  in  the  Highlands  and  showing  a 
determination  to  resist ;  Edward  marched  to  Berwick  with  an 
army  of  thirty  thousand  foot,  and  four  thousand  horse  ;  took 
the  castle,  and  slew  its  whole  garrison,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  town  as  well — men,  women,  and  children.  Lord 
Warrenne,  Earl  of  Surrey,  then  went  on  to  the  Castle  of 
Dunbar,  before  which  a  battle  was  fought,  and  the  whole 
Scottish  army  defeated  with  great  slaughter.  The  victory 
being  complete,  the  Earl  of  Surrey  was  left  as  Guardian  of 
Scotland  ;  the  principal  offices  in  that  kingdom  were  given 
to  Englishmen  ;  the  more  powerful  Scottish  nobles  were 
obliged  to  come  and  live  in  England  ;  the  Scottish  crown 
and  scepter  were  brought  away  ;  and  even  the  old  stone 
chair  was  carried  off  and  placed  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
where  you  may  see  it  now.  Baliol  had  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don lent  him  for  a  residence,  with  permission  to  range  about 
within  a  circle  of  twenty  miles.  Three  years  afterwards  he 
was  allowed  to  go  to  Normandy,  where  he  had  estates,  and 
where  he  passed  the  remaining  six  years  of  his  life  :  far 
more  happily,  I  dare  say,  than  he  had  lived  for  a  long  while 
in  angry  Scotland. 

Now,  there  was,  in  the  West  of  Scotland,  a  gentleman  of 
small  fortune,  named  William  Wallace,  the  second  son  of  a 
Scottish  knight.  He  was  a  man  of  great  size  and  great 
strength  ;  he  was  very  brave  and  daring  ;  when  he  spoke  to 
a  body  of  his  countrymen,  he  could  rouse  them  in  a  wonder- 
ful manner  by  the  power  of  his  burning  words  ;  he  loved 
Scotland  dearly,  and  he  hated  England  with  his  utmost 
might.  The  domineering  conduct  of  the  English  who  now 
held  the  places  of  trust  in  Scotland  made  them  as  intoler- 
able to  the  proud  Scottish  people  as  they  had  been,  under 
similar  circumstances,  to  the  Welsh  ;  and  no  man  in  all 
Scotland  regarded  them  with  so  much  smothered  rage  as 
William  Wallace.  One  day,  an  Englishman  in  office,  little 
knowing  what  he  was,  affronted  him.  Wallace  instantly 
struck  him  dead,  and  taking  refuge  among  the  rocks  and 
hills,  and  there  joining  with  his  countryman,   Sir  William 


136        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Douglas,  who  was  also  in  arms  against  King  Edward, 
became  the  most  resolute  and  undaunted  champion  of  a 
people  struggling  for  their  independence  that  ever  lived 
upon  the  earth. 

The  English  Guardian  of  the  Kingdom  fled  before  him, 
and,  thus  encouraged,  the  Scottish  people  revolted  every- 
where and  fell  upon  the  English  without  mercy.  The  Earl 
of  Surrey,  by  the  King's  commands,  raised  all  the  power  of 
the  Border-counties,  and  two  English  armies  poured  into 
Scotland.  Only  one  chief,  in  the  face  of  those  armies,  stood 
by  Wallace,  who,  with  a  force  of  forty  thousand  men, 
awaited  the  invaders  at  a  place  on  the  river  Forth,  within 
two  miles  of  Stirling.  Across  the  river  there  was  on/y  one 
poor  wooden  bridge,  called  the  bridge  of  Kildean — so  nar- 
row, that  but  two  men  could  cross  it  abreast  With  his  eyes 
upon  this  bridge,  Wallace  posted  the  greater  part  of  his  men 
among  some  rising  grounds,  and  waited  calmly.  When  the 
English  army  came  up  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river, 
messengers  were  sent  forward  to  offer  terms.  Wallace  sent 
them  back  with  a  defiance,  in  the  name  of  the  freedom  of 
Scotland.  Some  of  the  officers  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  in 
command  of  the  English,  with  their  eyes  also  on  the  bridge, 
advised  him  to  be  discreet  and  not  hasty.  He,  however, 
urged  to  immediate  battle  by  some  other  officers,  and  par- 
ticularly by  Cressingham,  King  Edward's  treasurer,  and  a 
rash  man,  gave  the  word  of  command  to  advance.  One 
thousand  English  crossed  the  bridge,  two  abreast ;  the 
Scottish  troops  were  as  motionless  as  stone  images.  Two 
thousand  English  crossed ;  three  thousand,  four  thousand, 
five.  Not  a  feather,  all  this  time,  had  been  seen  to  stir 
among  the  Scottish  bonnets.  Now,  they  all  fluttered. 
"  Forward,  one  party,  to  the  foot  of  the  bridge  !  "  cried 
Wallace,  "  and  let  no  more  English  cross  !  The  rest,  down 
with  me  on  the  five  thousand  who  have  come  over,  and  cut 
them  all  to  pieces  !  "  It  was  done,  in  the  sight  of  the  whole 
remainder  of  the  English  army,  who  could  give  no  help. 
Cressingham  himself  was  killed,  and  the  Scotch  made  whips 
for  their  horses  of  his  skin. 

King  Edward  was  abroad  at  this  time,  and  during  the 
successes  on  the  Scottish  side  which  followed,  and  which 
enabled  bold  Wallace  to  win  the  whole  country  back  again, 
and  even  to  ravage  the  English  borders.  But,  after  a  few 
winter  months,  the  King  returned,  and  took  the  field  with 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         137 

more  than  his  usual  energy.  One  night,  when  a  kick  from 
his  horse  as  they  both  lay  on  the  ground  together  broke  two 
of  his  ribs,  and  a  cry  arose  that  he  was  killed,  he  leaped  into 
his  saddle,  regardless  of  the  pain  he  suffered,  and  rode 
through  the  camp.  Day  then  appearing,  he  gave  the  word 
(still,  of  course,  in  that  bruised  and  aching  state)  Forward  ! 
and  led  his  army  on  to  near  Falkirk,  where  the  Scottish 
forces  were  seen  drawn  up  on  some  stony  ground,  behind  a 
morass.  Here,  he  defeated  Wallace,  and  killed  fifteen 
thousand  of  his  men.  With  the  shattered  remainder,  Wal- 
lace drew  back  to  Stirling ;  but,  being  pursued,  set  fire  to 
the  town  that  it  might  give  no  help  to  the  English,  and  es- 
caped. The  inhabitants  of  Perth  afterward  set  fire  to  their 
houses  for  the  same  reason,  and  the  King,  unable  to  find 
provisions,  was  forced  to  withdraw  his  army. 

Another  Robert  Bruce,  the  grandson  of  him  who  had  dis- 
puted the  Scottish  crown  with  Baliol,  was  now  in  arms 
against  the  King  (that  elder  Bruce  being  dead),  and  also 
John  Comyn,  Baliol's  nephew.  These  two  young  men  might 
agree  in  opposing  Edward,  but  could  agree  in  nothing  else, 
as  they  were  rivals  for  the  throne  of  Scotland.  Probably  it 
was  because  they  knew  this,  and  knew  what  troubles  must 
arise  even  if  they  could  hope  to  get  the  better  of  the  great 
English  King,  that  the  principal  Scottish  people  applied  to 
the  Pope  for  his  interference.  The  Pope,  on  the  principle 
jf  losing  nothing  for  want  of  trying  to  get  it,  very  coolly 
claimed  that  Scotland  belonged  to  him  ;  but  this  was  a  little 
too  much,  and  the  Parliament  in  a  friendly  manner  told  him 
so. 

In  the  spring  time  of  the  year  one  thousand  three  hund- 
red and  three,  the  King  sent  Sir  John  Segrave,  whom  he 
made  Governor  of  Scotland,  with  twenty  thousand  men,  to 
reduce  the  rebels.  Sir  John  was  not  as  careful  as  he  should 
have  been,  but  encamped  at  Rosslyn,  near  Edinburgh,  with 
his  army  divided  into  three  parts.  The  Scottish  forces  saw 
their  advantage  ;  fell  on  each  part  separately  ;  defeated 
each  ;  and  killed  all  the  prisoners.  Then,  came  the  King 
himself  once  more,  as  soon  as  a  great  army  could  be  raised; 
he  passed  through  the  whole  north  of  Scotland,  laying  waste 
whatsoever  came  in  his  way  ;  and  he  took  up  his  winter 
quarters  at  Dunfermline.  The  Scottish  cause  now  looked 
so  hopeless,  that  Comyn  and  the  other  nobles  made  submis- 
sion and  received  their  pardons.     Wallace  alone  stood  out 


138        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

He  was  invited  to  surrender,  though  on  no  distinct  pledge 
that  his  life  should  be  spared  ;  but  he  still  defied  the  ireful 
King,  and  lived  among  the  steep  crags  of  the  Highland 
glens,  where  the  eagles  made  their  nests,  and  where  the 
mountain  torrents  roared,  and  the  white  snow  was  deep,  and 
the  bitter  winds  blew  round  his  unsheltered  head,  as  he  lay 
through  many  a  pitch-dark  night  wrapped  up  in  his  plaid. 
Nothing  could  break  his  spirit ;  nothing  could  lower  his 
courage  ;  nothing  could  induce  him  to  forget  or  forgive  his 
country's  wrongs.  Even  when  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  which 
had  long  held  out,  was  besieged  by  the  King  with  every  kind 
of  military  engine  then  in  use  ;  even  when  the  lead  upon 
cathedral  roofs  was  taken  down  to  help  to  make  them  ;  even 
when  the  King,  though  an  old  man,  commanded  in  the  siege 
as  if  he  were  a  youth,  being  so  resolved  to  conquer  ;  even 
when  the  brave  garrison  (then  found  with  amazement  to  be 
not  two  hundred  people,  including  several  ladies),  were 
starved  and  beaten  out  and  Avere  made  to  submit  on  their 
knees,  and  with  every  form  of  disgrace  that  could  aggravate 
their  sufferings ;  even  then,  when  there  was  not  a  ray  of 
hope  in  Scotland,  William  Wallace  was  as  proud  and  firm  a& 
if  he  had  beheld  the  powerful  and  relentless  Edward  lying 
dead  at  his  feet. 

Who  betrayed  William  Wallace  in  the  end,  is  not  quite  cer- 
tain. That  he  was  betrayed — probably  by  an  attendant — is 
too  true.  He  was  taken  to  the  Castle  of  Dumbarton,  under  Sir 
John  Menteith,  and  thence  to  London,  where  the  great  fame 
of  his  bravery  and  resolution  attracted  immense  concourses 
of  people  to  behold  him.  He  was  tried  in  Westminster  Hall, 
with  a  crown  of  laurel  on  his  head — it  is  supposed  because 
he  was  reported  to  have  said  that  he  ought  to  wear,  or  that 
he  would  wear,  a  crown  there — and  was  found  guilty  as  a 
robber,  a  murderer,  and  a  traitor.  What  they  called  a  rob- 
ber (he  said  to  those  who  tried  him)  he  was,  because  he  had 
taken  spoil  from  the  King's  men.  What  they  called  a  mur- 
derer, he  was,  because  he  had  slain  an  insolent  Englishman. 
What  they  called  a  traitor,  he  was  not,  for  he  had  never 
sworn  allegiance  to  the  King,  and  had  ever  scorned  to  do  it. 
He  was  dragged  at  the  tails  of  horses  to  West  Smithfield, 
and  there  hanged  on  a  high  gallows,  torn  open  before  he  was 
dead,  beheaded,  Snd  quartered.  His  head  was  set  upon  a 
pole  on  London  Bridge,  his  right  arm  was  sent  to  Newcastle, 
his  left  arm  to  Berwick,  his  legs  to  Perth  and  Aberdeen.    But, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         13$ 

if  King  Edward  had  had  his  body  cut  into  inches,  and  had 
sent  every  separate  inch  into  a  separate  town,  he  could  not 
have  dispersed  it  half  so  far  and  wide  as  his  fame.  Wallace 
will  be  remembered  in  songs  and  stories,  while  there  are  songs 
and  stories  in  the  English  tongue,  and  Scotland  will  hold  him 
dear  while  her  lakes  and  mountains  last. 

Released  from  this  dreaded  enemy,  the  King  made  a  fairer 
plan  of  Government  for  Scotland,  divided  the  offices  of  honor 
among  Scottish  gentlemen  and  English  gentlemen,  forgave 
past  offenses,  and  thought,  in  his  old  age,  that  his  work  was 
done. 

But  he  deceived  himself.  Comyn  and  Bruce  conspired, 
and  made  an  appointment  to  meet  at  Dumfries,  in  the  church 
of  the  Minorites.  There  is  a  story  that  Comyn  was  false  to 
Bruce,  and  had  informed  against  him  to  the  King  ;  that  Bruce 
was  warned  of  his  danger  and  the  necessity  of  flight,  by  re- 
ceiving, one  night  as  he  sat  at  supper,  from  his  friend  the 
Earl  of  Gloucester,  twelve  pennies  and  a  pair  of  spurs  ;  that 
as  he  was  riding  angrily  to  keep  his  appointment  (through  a 
snow-storm,  with  his  horse's  shoes  reversed  that  he  might  not 
be  tracked),  he  met  an  evil-looking  serving  man,  a  messenger 
of  Comyn,  whom  he  killed,  and  concealed  in  whose  dress  he 
found  letters  that  proved  Comyn's  treachery.  However  this 
may  be,  they  were  likely  enough  to  quarrel  in  any  case,  being 
hot-headed  rivals  ;  and,  whatever  they  quarreled  about,  they 
certainly  did  quarrel  in  the  church  where  they  met,  and  Bruce 
drew  his  dagger  and  stabbed  Comyn,  who  fell  upon  the  pave- 
ment. When  Bruce  came  out,  pale  and  disturbed,  the  friends 
who  were  waiting  for  him  asked  what  was  the  matter  ?  "I 
think  I  have  killed  Comyn,"  said  he.  "  You  only  think  so  ?  " 
returned  one  of  them  ;  "  I  will  make  sure  !  "  and  going  into 
the  church,  and  finding  him  alive,  stabbed  him  again  and 
again.  Knowing  that  the  King  would  never  forgive  this  new 
deed  of  violence,  the  party  then  declared  Bruce  King  of  Scot- 
land :  got  him  crowned  at  Scone — without  the  chair ;  and 
set  up  the  rebellious  standard  once  again. 

When  the  King  heard  of  it  he  kindled  with  fiercer  anger 
than  he  had  ever  shown  yet.  He  caused  the  Prince  of  Wales 
and  two  hundred  and  seventy  of  the  young  nobility  to  be 
knighted— the  trees  in  the  Temple  Gardens  were  cut  down 
to  make  room  for  their  tents,  and  they  watched  their  armor 
all  night,  according  to  the  old  usage  :  some  in  the  Temple 
Church  :  some  in  Westminster  Abbey— and  at  the  public 


HO        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Feast  which  then  took  place,  he  swore,  by  heaven,  and  by 
two  swans  covered  with  gold  network  which  his  minstrels 
placed  upon  the  table,  that  he  would  avenge  the  death  of 
Comyn,  and  would  punish  the  false  Bruce.  And  before  all 
the  company,  he  charged  the  Prince  his  son,  in  case  that  he 
should  die  before  accomplishing  his  vow,  not  to  bury  him 
until  it  was  fulfilled.  Next  morning  the  Prince  and  the  rest 
of  the  young  knights  rode  away  to  the  Border-country  to  join 
the  English  army  ;  and  the  King,  now  weak  and  sick,  fol- 
lowed in  a  horse-litter. 

Bruce,  after  losing  the  battle  and  undergoing  many  dangers 
and  much  misery,  fled  to  Ireland,  where  he  lay  concealed 
through  the  winter.  That  winter,  Edward  passed  in  hunting 
down  and  executing  Bruce's  relations  and  adherents,  sparing 
neither  youth  nor  age,  and  showing  no  touch  of  pity  or  sign 
of  mercy.  In  the  following  spring,  Bruce  reappeared  and 
gained  some  victories.  In  these  frays  both  sides  were  griev- 
ously cruel.  For  instance — Bruce's  two  brothers,  being 
taken  captives  desperately  wounded,  were  ordered  by  the 
King  to  instant  execution.  Bruce's  friend  Sir  John  Douglas, 
taking  his  own  Castle  of  Douglas  out  of  the  hands  of  an 
English  lord,  roasted  the  dead  bodies  of  the  slaughtered 
garrison  in  a  great  fire  made  of  every  movable  within  it  ; 
which  dreadful  cookery  his  men  called  the  Douglas  Larder. 
Bruce,  still  successful,  however,  drove  the  Earl  of  Pembroke 
and  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  into  the  Castle  of  Ayr  and  laid 
siege  to  it. 

The  King,  who  had  been  laid  up  all  the  winter,  but  had 
directed  the  army  from  his  sick-bed,  now  advanced  to  Car- 
lisle, and  there  causing  the  litter  in  which  he  had  traveled 
to  be  placed  in  the  Cathedral  as  an  offering  to  heaven, 
mounted  his  horse  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time.  He 
was  now  sixty-nine  years  old,  and  had  reigned  thirty-five 
years.  He  was  so  ill,  that  in  four  days  he  could  go  no  more 
than  six  miles  ;  still,  even  at  that  pace  he  went  on  and  reso- 
lutely kept  his  face  toward  the  Border.  At  length,  he  lay 
down  at  the  village  of  Burgh-upon-Sands  ;  and  there,  telling 
those  around  him  to  impress  upon  the  Prince  that  he  was  to 
remember  his  father's  vow,  and  was  never  to  rest  until  he 
had  thoroughly  subdued  Scotland,  he  yielded  up  his  last 
breath. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         141 
CHAPTER  XVII. 

ENGLAND   UNDER   EDWARD    THE   SECOND. 

King  Edward  the  Second,  the  first  Prince  of  Wales,  was 
twenty-three  years  old  when  his  father  died.  There  was  a 
certain  favorite  of  his,  a  young  man  from  Gascony,  named 
Piers  Gaveston,  of  whom  his  father  had  so  much  disapproved 
that  he  had  ordered  him  out  of  England,  and  had  made  his 
son  swear  by  the  side  of  his  sick-bed,  never  to  bring  him 
back.  But,  the  Prince  no  sooner  found  himself  King,  than 
he  broke  his  oath,  as  so  many  other  Princes  and  Kings  did 
(they  were  far  too  ready  to  take  oaths),  and  sent  for  his  dear 
friend  immediately. 

Now,  this  same  Gaveston  was  handsome  enough,  but  was 
a  reckless,  insolent,  audacious  fellow.  He  was  detested  by 
the  proud  English  lords  :  not  only  because  he  had  such  power 
over  the  King,  and  made  the  Court  such  a  dissipated  place, 
but,  also,  because  he  could  ride  better  than  they  at  tourna- 
ments, and  was  used,  in  his  impudence,  to  cut  very  bad  jokes 
on  them  ;  calling  one,  the  old  hog  ;  another,  the  stage-player  ; 
another,  the  Jew  ;  another,  the  black  dog  of  Ardenne.  This 
was  as  poor  wit  as  need  be,  but  it  made  those  lords  very 
wroth  ;  and  the  surly  Earl  of  Warwick,  who  was  the  black 
dog,  swore  that  the  time  should  come  when  Piers  Gaveston 
should  feel  the  black  dog's  teeth. 

It  was  not  come  yet,  however,  nor  did  it  seem  to  be  com- 
ing. The  King  made  him  Earl  of  Cornwall,  and  gave  him 
vast  riches  ;  and,  when  the  King  went  over  to  France  to 
marry  the  French  Princess,  Isabella,  daughter  of  Philip  le 
Bel  :  who  was  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world  :  he  made  Gaveston  Regent  of  the  Kingdom.  His 
splendid  marriage-ceremony  in  the  Church  of  our  Lady  at 
Boulogne,  where  there  were  four  Kings  and  three  Queens 
present  (quite  a  pack  of  Court  Cards,  for  I  dare  say  the 
Knaves  were  not  wanting),  being  over,  he  seemed  to  care 
little  or  nothing  for  his  beautiful  wife  ;  but  was  wild  with  im- 
patience to  meet  Gaveston  again. 

When  he  landed  at  home,  he  paid  no  attention  to  anybody 
else,  but  ran  into  the  favorite's  arms  before  a  great  concourse 
of  people,  and  hugged  him,  and  kissed  him,  and  called  him 
his  brother.     At  the  coronation  which  soon  followed,  Gaves* 


i42        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ton  was  the  richest  and  brightest  of  all  the  glittering  com- 
pany there,  and  had  the  honor  of  carrying  the  crown.  This 
made  the  proud  lords  fiercer  than  ever  ;  the  people,  too, 
despised  the  favorite,  and  would  never  call  him  Earl  of  Corn- 
wall, however  much  he  complained  to  the  King  and  asked 
him  to  punish  them  for  not  doing  so,  but  persisted  in  styling 
him  plain  Piers  Gaveston. 

The  barons  were  so  unceremonious  with  the  King  m  giv- 
ing him  to  understand  that  they  would  not  bear  his  favorite, 
that  the  King  was  obliged  to  send  him  out  of  the  country. 
The  favorite  himself  was  made  to  take  an  oath  (more  oaths  !) 
that  he  would  never  come  back,  and  the  barons  supposed 
him  to  be  banished  in  disgrace,  until  they  heard  that  he  was 
appointed  Governor  of  Ireland.  Even  this  was  not  enough 
for  the  besotted  King,  who  brought  him  home  again  in  a 
year's  time,  and  not  only  disgusted  the  Court  and  the  people 
by  his  doting  folly,  but  offended  his  beautiful  wife  too,  who 
never  liked  him  afterward. 

He  had  now  the  old  Royal  want — of  money- — and  the 
Barons  had  the  new  power  of  positively  refusing  to  let  him 
raise  any.  He  summoned  a  Parliament  at  York  ;  the  barons 
refused  to  make  one,  while  the  favorite  was  near  him.  He 
summoned  another  Parliament  at  Westminster,  and  sent 
Gaveston  away.  Then  the  barons  came,  completely  armed, 
and  appointed  a  committee  of  themselves  to  correct  abuses 
in  the  state  and  in  the  King's  household.  He  got  some 
money  on  these  conditions,  and  directly  set  off  with  Gaves- 
ton to  the  Border- country,  where  they  spent  it  in  idling  away 
Ihe  time,  and  feasting,  while  Bruce  made  ready  to  drive  the 
English  out  of  Scotland.  For,  though  the  old  King  had 
even  made  this  poor  weak  son  of  his  swear  (as  some  say) 
that  he  would  not  bury  his  bones,  but  would  have  them  boiled 
clean  in  a  caldron,  and  carried  before  the  English  army  un- 
til Scotland  was  entirely  subdued,  the  second  Edward  was 
so  unlike  the  first  that  Bruce  gained  strength  and  power  every 
day. 

The  committee  of  nobles,  after  some  months  of  delibera- 
tion, ordained  that  the  King  should  henceforth  call  a  Parlia- 
ment together,  once  every  year,  and  even  twice  if  necessary, 
instead  of  summoning  it  only  when  he  chose.  Further,  that 
Gaveston  should  once  more  be  banished,  and,  this  time,  on 
pain  of  death  if  he  ever  came  back.  The  King's  tears  were 
of  no  avail ;  he  was  obliged  to  send  his  favorite  to  Flanders. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         143 

As  soon  as  he  had  done  so,  however,  he  dissolved  the  Par- 
liament, with  the  low  cunning  of  a  mere  fool,  and  set  off  to 
the  North  of  England,  thinking  to  get  an  army  about  him 
to  oppose  the  nobles.  And  once  again  he  brought  Gaves- 
ton  home,  and  heaped  upon  him  all  the  riches  and  titles  of 
which  the  barons  had  deprived  him. 

The  lords  saw,  now,  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
put  the  favorite  to  death.  They  could  have  done  so,  legally, 
according  to  the  terms  of  his  banishment ;  but  they  did  so, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  a  shabby  manner.  Led  by  the  Earl  of 
Lancaster,  the  King's  cousin,  they  first  of  all  attacked  the 
King  and  Gaveston  at  Newcastle.  They  had  time  to  escape 
by  sea,  and  the  mean  King,  having  his  precious  Gaveston 
with  him,  was  quite  content  to  leave  his  lovely  wife  behind. 
When  they  were  comparatively  safe,  they  separated  ;  the 
King  went  to  York  to  collect  a  force  of  soldiers  ;  and  the 
favorite  shut  himself  up,  in  the  meantime,  in  Scarborough 
Castle  overlooking  the  sea.  This  was  what  the  barons 
wanted.  They  knew  that  the  castle  could  not  hold  out ; 
they  attacked  it,  and  made  Gaveston  surrender.  He  deliv- 
ered himself  up  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke — that  lord  whom 
he  had  called  the  Jew — on  the  Earl's  pledging  his  faith  and 
knightly  word,  that  no  harm  should  happen  to  him  and  no 
violence  be  done  him. 

Now,  it  was  agreed  with  Gaveston  that  he  should  be  taken 
to  the  Castle  of  Wallingford,  and  there  kept  in  honorable 
custody.  They  traveled  as  far  as  Dedington,  near  Banbury, 
where,  in  the  castle  of  that  place,  they  stopped  for  a  night 
to  rest.  Whether  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  left  his  prisoner  there, 
knowing  what  would  happen,  or  really  left  him  thinking  no 
harm,  and  only  going  (as  he  pretended)  to  visit  his  wife,  the 
countess,  who  was  in  the  neighborhood,  is  no  great  matter 
now  ;  in  any  case,  he  was  bound  as  an  honorable  gentleman 
to  protect  his  prisoner,  and  he  did  not  do  it.  In  the  morn- 
ing, while  the  favorite  was  yet  in  bed,  he  was  required  to 
dress  himself  and  comedown  into  the  court-yard.  He  did 
so  without  any  mistrust,  but  started  and  turned  pale  when  he 
found  it  full  of  strange  armed  men.  "  I  think  you  know 
me  ? "  said  their  leader,  also  armed  from  head  to  foot.  "  I 
am  the  black  dog  of  Ardenne  !  " 

The  time  was  come  when  Piers  Gaveston  was  to  feel  the 
black  dog's  teeth  indeed.  They  sat  him  on  a  mule,  and  car- 
ried him,  in  mock  state  and  with  military  music,  to  the  black 


144        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

dog's  kennel — Warwick  Castle — where  a  hasty  council,  com- 
posed of  some  great  noblemen,  considered  what  should 
be  done  with  him.  Some  were  for  sparing  him,  but  one 
loud  voice — it  was  the  black  dog's  bark,  I  dare  say — 
sounded  through  the  castle  hall,  uttering  these  words  : 
"  You  have  the  fox  in  your  power.  Let  him  go  now,  and 
you  must  hunt  him  again." 

They  sentenced  him  to  death.  He  threw  himself  at  the 
feet  of  the  Earl  of  Lancaster — the  old  hog — but  the  old  hog 
was  as  savage  as  the  dog.  He  was  taken  out  upon  the  pleas- 
ant road,  leading  from  Warwick  to  Coventry,  where  the 
beautiful  river  Avon,  by  which,  long  afterward,  William 
Shakespeare  was  born  and  now  lies  buried,  sparkled  in  the 
bright  landscape  of  the  beautiful  May-day  ;  and  there  they 
struck  off  his  wretched  head,  and  stained  the  dust  with  his 
blood. 

When  the  King  heard  of  this  black  deed,  in  his  grief  and 
rage  he  denounced  relentless  war  against  his  barons,  and 
both  sides  were  in  arms  for  half  a  year.  But,  it  then  became 
necessary  for  them  to  join  their  forces  against  Bruce,  who 
had  used  the  time  well  while  they  were  divided,  and  had 
now  a  great  power  in  Scotland. 

Intelligence  was  brought  that  Bruce  was  then  besieging 
Stirling  Castle,  and  that  the  governor  had  been  obliged  to 
pledge  himself  to  surrender  it,  unless  he  should  be  relieved 
before  a  certain  day.  Thereupon,  the  King  ordered  the 
nobles  and  their  fighting-men  to  meet  him  at  Berwick  ;  but, 
the  nobles  cared  so  little  for  the  King,  and  so  neglected  the 
summons,  and  lost  time,  that  only  on  the  day  before  that  ap- 
pointed for  the  'surrender,  did  the  King  find  himself  at 
Stirling,  and  even  then  with  a  smaller  force  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. However,  he  had,  altogether,  a  hundred  thousand 
men,  and  Bruce  had  not  more  than  forty  thousand  ;  but 
Bruce's  army  was  strongly  posted  in  three  square  columns, 
on  the  ground  lying  between  the  Burn  or  Brook  of  Bannock 
and  the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle. 

On  the  very  evening,  when  the  King  came  up,  Bruce  did 
a  brave  act  that  encouraged  his  men.  He  was  seen  by  a  cer- 
tain Henry  de  Bohun,  an  English  knight,  riding  about  be- 
fore his  army  on  a  little  horse,  with  a  light  battle-ax  in  his 
hand,  and  a  crown  of  gold  on  his  head.  This  English 
knight,  who  was  mounted  on  a  strong  war-horse,  cased  in 
Steel,  strongly  armed,  and  able  (as  he  thought)  to  overthrow 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         145 

Bruce  by  crushing  him  with  his  mere  weight,  set  spurs  to  his 
great  charger,  rode  on  him,  and  made  a  thrust  at  him  with 
his  heavy  spear.  Bruce  parried  the  thrust,  and  with  one 
blow  of  his  battle-ax  split  his  skull. 

The  Scottish  men  did  not  forget  this,  next  day,  when  the 
battle  raged.  Randolph,  Bruce's  valiant  nephew,  rode, 
with  the  small  body  of  men  he  commanded,  into  such  a  host 
of  the  English,  all  shining  in  polished  armor  in  the  sunlight, 
that  they  seemed  to  be  swallowed  up  and  lost,  as  if  they  had 
plunged  into  the  sea.  But  they  fought  so  well,  and  did 
such  dreadful  execution  that,  the  English  staggered.  Then 
came  Bruce  himself  upon  them,  with  all  the  rest  of  his  army. 
While  they  were  thus  hard  pressed  and  amazed,  there  ap- 
peared upon  the  hills  what  they  supposed  to  be  a  new  Scot- 
tish army,  but  what  were  really  only  the  camp  followers,  in 
number  fifteen  thousand  ;  whom  Bruce  had  taught  to  show 
themselves  at  that  place  and  time.  The  Earl  of  Gloucester, 
commanding  the  English  horse,  made  a  last  rush  to  change 
the  fortune  of  the  day,  but  Bruce,  (like  Jack  the  Giant-killer 
in  the  story)  had  had  pits  dug  in  the  ground,  and  covered 
over  with  turfs  and  stakes.  Into  these,  as  they  gave  way 
beneath  the  weight  of  the  horses,  riders  and  horses  rolled  by 
hundreds.  The  English  were  completely  routed  ;  all  their 
treasure,  stores,  and  engines,  were  taken  by  the  Scottish 
men  ;  so  many  wagons  and  other  wheeled  vehicles  were 
seized,  that  it  is  related,  that  they  would  have  reached,  if 
they  had  been  drawn  out  in  a  line,  one  hundred  and  eighty 
miles.  The  fortunes  of  Scotland  were,  for  the  time,  com- 
pletely changed  ;  and  never  was  a  battle  won,  more  famous 
upon  Scottish  ground,  than  this  great  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn. 

Plague  and  famine  succeeded  in  England  ;  and  still  the 
powerless  king  and  his  disdainful  lords  were  always  in  con- 
tention. Some  of  the  turbulent  chiefs  of  Ireland  made  pro- 
posals to  Bruce  to  accept  the  rule  of  that  country.  He  sent 
his  brother  Edward  to  them,  who  was  crowned  King  of  Ire- 
land. He  afterwards  went  himself  to  help  his  brother  in  his 
Irish  wars,  but  his  brother  was  defeated  in  the  end  and 
killed.  Robert  Bruce,  returning  to  Scotland,  still  increased 
his  strength  there. 

As  the  King's  ruin  had  begun  in  a  favorite,  so  it  seemed 
likely  to  end  in  one.  He  was  too  poor  a  creature  to  rely  at 
all  upon  himself,  and  his  new  favorite  was  one  Hugh  le 


146         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Despenser,  the  son  of  a  gentleman  of  ancient  family.  Hugh 
was  handsome  and  b*ave,  but  he  was  the  favorite  of  a  weak 
King,  whom  no  man  cared  a  rush  for,  and  that  was  a  dan- 
gerous place  to  hold.  The  nobles  leagued  against  him,  be- 
cause the  King  liked  him  ;  and  they  lay  in  wait,  both  for  his 
ruin  and  his  father's.  Now,  the  King  had  married  him  to  the 
daughter  of  the  late  Earl  of  Gloucester,  and  had  given  both 
him  and  his  father  great  possessions  in  Wales.  In  their 
endeavors  to  extend  these,  they  gave  violent  offense  to  an 
angry  Welsh  gentleman,  named  John  de  Mowbray,  and  to 
divers  other  angry  Welsh  gentlemen,  who  resorted  to  arms, 
took  t^eir  castles,  and  seized  their  estates.  The  Earl  of 
Lancaster  had  first  placed  the  favorite  (who  was  a  poor  rela- 
tion of  his  own)  at  Court,  and  he  considered  his  own  dignity 
offended  by  the  preference  he  received,  and  the  honors  he 
acquired  ;  so  he,  and  the  barons  who  were  his  friends,  joined 
the  Welshmen,  marched  onto  London,  and  sent  a  message  to 
the  King  demanding  to  have  the  favorite  and  his  father  ban- 
ished. At  first  the  King  unaccountably  took  it  into  his  head 
to  be  spirited,  and  to  send  them  a  bold  reply  ;  but  when  they 
quartered  themselves  around  Holborn  and  Clerkenwell,  and 
went  down,  armed,  to  the  Parliament  at  Westminster,  he 
gave  way,  and  complied  with  their  demands. 

His  turn  of  triumph  came  sooner  than  he  expected.  It 
arose  out  of  an  accidental  circumstance.  The  beautiful 
Queen  happening  to  be  traveling,  came  one  night  to  one  of 
the  royal  castles,  and  demanded  to  be  lodged  and  entertained 
there  until  morning.  The  governor  of  this  castle,  who  pas 
one  of  the  enraged  lords,  was  away,  and  in  his  absence,  iris 
wife  refused  admission  to  the  Queen  ;  a  scuffle  took  place 
among  the  common  men  on  either  side,  and  some  of  the  royal 
attendants  were  killed.  The  people,  who  cared  nothing  for 
the  King,  were  very  angry  that  their  beautiful  Queen  should 
be  thus  rudely  treated  in  her  own  dominions  ;  and  the  King, 
taking  advantage  of  this  feeling,  besieged  the  castle,  took  it, 
and  then  called  the  two  Despensers  home.  Upon  this,  the 
confederate  lords  and  the  Welshmen  went  over  to  Bruce. 
The  King  encountered  them  at  Boroughbridge,  gained  the 
victory,  and  took  a  number  of  distinguished  prisoners;  among 
them  the  Earl  of  Lancaster,  now  an  old  man,  upon  whose 
destruction  he  was  resolved.  This  earl  was  taken  to  his 
own  castle  of  Pontefract,  and  there  tried  and  found  guilty  by 
an  unfair  court  appointed  for  the  purpose  ;  he  was  not  even 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        14/ 

allowed  to  speak  in  his  own  defense.  He  was  insulted, 
pelted,  mounted  on  a  starved  pony  without  saddle  or  bridle, 
carried  out,  and  beheaded.  Eight-and-twenty  knights  were 
hanged,  drawn  and  quartered.  When  the  King  had  de- 
spatched this  bloody  work,  and  had  made  a  fresh  and  a  long 
truce  with  Bruce,  he  took  the  Despensers  into  greater  favor 
than  ever,  and  made  the  father  Earl  of  Winchester. 

One  prisoner,  and  an  important  one,  who  was  taken  at 
Boroughbridge,  made  his  escape,  however,  and  turned  the 
tide  against  the  King.  This  was  Roger  Mortimer,  always 
resolutely  opposed  to  him,  who  was  sentenced  to  death,  and 
placed  for  safe  custody  in  the  Tower  of  London.  He  treated 
his  guards  to  a  quantity  of  wine  into  which  he  had  put  a 
sleeping  potion,  and  when  they  were  insensible,  broke  out  of 
his  dungeon,  got  into  a  kitchen,  climbed  up  the  chimney,  let 
himself  down  from  the  roof  of  the  building  with  a  rope-ladder, 
passed  the  sentries,  got  down  to  the  river,  and  made  away  in 
a  boat  to  where  servants  and  horses  were  waiting  for  him. 
He  finally  escaped  to  France,  where  Charles  le  Bel,  the 
brother  of  the  beautiful  Queen,  was  King.  Charles  sought  to 
quarrel  with  the  King  of  England,  on  pretense  of  his  not 
having  come  to  do  him  homage  at  his  coronation.  It  was 
proposed  that  the  beautiful  Queen  should  go  over  to  arrange 
the  dispute  ;  she  went,  and  wrote  home  to  the  King,  that  as> 
he  was  sick,  and  could  not  come  to  France  himself,  perhaps 
it  would  be  better  to  send  over  the  young  Prince,  their  son, 
who  was  only  twelve  years  old,  who  could  do  homage  to  her 
brother  in  his  stead,  and  in  whose  company  she  would  imme- 
diately return.  The  King  sent  him  ;  but  both  he  and  th# 
Queen  remained  at  the  French  Court  and  Roger  Mortimei 
became  the  Queen's  lover. 

When  the  King  wrote,  again  and  again,  to  the  Queen  to 
come  home,  she  did  not  reply  that  she  despised  him  too  much 
to  live  with  him  any  more  (which  was  the  truth),  but  said 
she  was  afraid  of  the  two  Despensers.  In  short,  her  design 
was  to  overthrow  the  favorite's  power,  and  the  King's  power, 
such  as  it  was,  and  invade  England.  Having  obtained  a 
French  force  of  two  thousand  men,  and  being  joined  by  all 
the  English  exiles  then  in  France,  she  landed,  within  a  year, 
at  Orewell,  in  Suffolk,  where  she  was  immediately  joined  by 
the  Earls  of  Kent  and  Norfolk,  the  King's  two  brothers  ;  by 
other  powerful  noblemen  ;  and  lastly,  by  the  first  English 
general  who  was  despatched  to  check  her;  who  went  over  to 


i48        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

her  with  all  his  men.  The  people  of  London,  receiving  these 
tidings,  would  do  nothing  for  the  King,  but  broke  open  the 
Tower,  let  out  all  his  prisoners,  and  threw  up  their  caps  and 
hurrahed  for  the  beautiful  Queen. 

The  King,  with  his  two  favorites,  fled  to  Bristol,  where  he 
left  old  Despenser  in  charge  of  the  town  and  castle,  while 
he  went  on  with  the  son  to  Wales.  The  Bristol  men  being 
opposed  to  the  King,  and  it  being  impossible  to  hold  the  town 
with  enemies  every-where  within  the  walls,  Despenser  yielded 
it  up  on  the  third  day,  and  was  instantly  brought  to  trial  for 
having  traitorously  influenced  what  was  called  "  the  King's 
mind  " — though  I  doubt  if  the  King  ever  had  any.  He  was 
a  venerable  old  man,  upwards  of  ninety  years  of  age,  but  his 
age  gained  no  respect  or  mercy.  He  was  hanged,  torn  open 
while  he  was  yet  alive,  cut  up  into  pieces,  and  thrown  to  the 
dogs.  His  son  was  soon  taken,  tried  at  Hereford  before  the 
same  judge  on  a  long  series  of  foolish  charges,  found  guilty, 
and  hanged  upon  a  gallows  fifty  feet  high,  with  a  chaplet  of 
nettles  around  his  head.  His  poor  old  father  and  he  were  in- 
nocent enough  of  any  worse  crimes  than  the  crime  of  having 
been  friends  of  a  King,  on  whom,  as  a  mere  man,  they  would 
never  have  deigned  to  cast  a  favorable  look.  It  is  a  bad 
crime,  I  know,  and  leads  to  worse  ;  but,  many  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen— I  even  think  some  ladies,  too,  if  I  recollect  right — 
have  committed  it  in  England,  who  have  neither  been  given 
to  the  dogs,  nor  hanged  up  fifty  feet  high. 

The  wretched  King  was  running  here  and  there,  all  this 
time,  and  never  getting  any  wherein  particular,  until  he  gave 
himself  up,  and  was  taken  off  to  Kenilworth  Castle.  When 
he  was  safely  lodged  there,  the  Queen  went  to  London  and 
met  the  Parliament.  And  the  Bishop  of  Hereford,  who  was 
the  most  skillful  of  her  friends,  said,  What  was  to  be  done 
now  ?  Here  was  an  imbecile,  indolent,  miserable  King  upon 
the  throne  ;  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  take  him  off,  and  put  his 
son  there  instead  ?  I  don't  know  whether  the  Queen  really 
pitied  him  at  this  pass,  but  she  began  to  cry ;  so,  the  Bishop 
said,  Well,  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  what  do  you  think, 
upon  the  whole,  of  sending  down  to  Kenilworth,  and  seeing 
if  His  Majesty  (God  bless  him,  and  forbid  we  should  depose 
him!)  won't  resign  ? 

My  lords  and  gentlemen  thought  it  a  good  notion,  so  a 
deputation  of  them  went  down  to  Kenilworth  ;  and  there 
the  King  came  into  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  commonly 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         149 

dressed  in  a  poor  black  gown  ;  and  when  he  saw  a  certain 
bishop  among  them,  fell  down,  poor  feeble-headed  man,  and 
made  a  wretched  spectacle  of  himself.  Somebody  lifted  him 
up,  and  then  Sir  William  Trussel,  the  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  almost  frightened  him  to  death  by  making  him 
a  tremendous  speech  to  the  effect  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
King,  and  that  every  body  renounced  allegiance  to  him. 
After  which,  Sir  Thomas  Blount,  the  Steward  of  the  House- 
hold, nearly  finished  him,  by  coming  forward  and  breaking 
his  white  wand — which  was  a  ceremony  only  performed  at 
a  King's  death.  Being  asked  in  this  pressing  manner  what 
he  thought  of  resigning,  the  King  said  he  thought  it  was  the 
best  thing  he  could  do.  So  he  did  it,  and  they  proclaimed 
his  son  next  day. 

I  wish  I  could  close  his  history  by  saying  that  he  lived  a 
harmless  life  in  the  castle  and  the  castle  gardens  at  Kenil- 
worth  many  years — that  he  had  a  favorite,  and  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink — and,  having  that,  wanted  nothing.  But  he  was 
shamefully  humiliated.  He  was  outraged  and  slighted,  and 
had  dirty  water  from  ditches  given  him  to  shave  with,  and 
wept  and  said  he  would  have  clean,  warm  water,  and  was  al- 
together very  miserable.  He  was  moved  from  this  castle  to 
that  castle,  and  from  that  castle  to  the  other  castle,  because 
this  lord  or  that  lord,  or  the  other  lord,  was  too  kind  to  him: 
until  at  last  he  came  to  Berkeley  Castle,  near  the  River  Sev- 
ern, where  (the  Lord  Berkeley  being  then  ill  and  absent)  he 
fell  into  the  hands  of  two  black  ruffians,  called  Thomas 
Gournay  and  William  Ogle. 

One  night — it  was  the  night  of  September  the  twenty 
first,  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  twenty-seven — dread- 
ful screams  were  heard,  by  the  startled  people  in  the  neigh- 
boring town,  ringing  through  the  thick  walls  of  the  castle, 
and  the  dark  deep  night  ;  and  they  said,  as  they  were  thus 
horribly  awakened  from  their  sleep,  "  May  Heaven  be  merci- 
ful to  the  King  ;  for  those  cries  forbode  that  no  good  is  being 
done  to  him  in  his  dismal  prison!  "  Next  morning  he  was 
dead — not  bruised  or  stabbed,  or  marked  upon  the  body, 
but  much  distorted  in  the  face  ;  and  it  was  whispered 
afterward,  that  those  two  villains,  Gournay  and  Ogle,  had 
burned  up  his  inside  with  a  red-hot  iron. 

If  you  ever  come  near  Gloucester,  and  see  the  center 
tower  of  its  beautiful  cathedral,  with  its  four  rich  pinnacles, 
rising  lightly  in  the  air,  you  may  remember  that  the  wretched 


i$o       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Edward  the  Second  was  buried  in  the  old  abbey  of  that 
ancient  city,  at  forty-three  years  old,  after  being  for  nineteen 
years  and  a  half  a  perfectly  incapable  King. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ENGLAND  UNDER   EDWARD    THE    THIRD. 

Roger  Mortimer,  the  Queen's  lover  (who  escaped  to 
France  in  the  last  chapter),  was  far  from  profiting  by  the 
examples  he  had  had  of  the  fate  of  favorites.  Having, 
through  the  Queen's  influence,  come  into  possession  of  the 
estates  of  the  two  Despensers,  he  became  extremely  proud 
and  ambitious,  and  sought  to  be  the  real  ruler  of  England. 
The  young  King,  who  was  crowned  at  fourteen  years  of  age 
with  all  the  usual  solemnities,  resolved  not  to  bear  this,  and 
soon  pursued  Mortimer  to  his  ruin. 

The  people  themselves  were  not  fond  of  Mortimer — first, 
because  he  was  a  royal  favorite  ;  secondly,  because  he  was 
supposed  to  have  helped  to  make  a  peace  with  Scotland 
which  now  took  place,  and  in  virtue  of  which  the  young 
King's  sister  Joan,  only  seven  years  old,  was  promised  in 
marriage  to  David,  the  son  and  heir  of  Robert  Bruce,  who 
was  only  five  years  old.  The  nobles  hated  Mortimer  be- 
cause of  his  pride,  riches,  and  power.  They  went  so  far  as 
to  take  up  arms  against  him :  but  were  obliged  to  submit. 
The  Earl  of  Kent,  one  of  those  who  did  so,  but  who  after- 
ward went  over  to  Mortimer  and  the  Queen,  was  made  an 
example  of  in  the  following  cruel  manner  : 

He  seems  to  have  been  any  thing  but  a  wise  old  earl  ;  and 
he  was  persuaded  by  the  agents  of  the  favorite  and  the 
Queen,  that  poor  King  Edward  the  Second,  was  not  really 
dead  ;  and  thus  was  betrayed  into  writing  letters  favoring 
his  rightful  claim  to  the  throne.  This  was  made  out  to  be 
high  treason,  and  he  was  tried,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced 
to  be  executed.  They  took  the  poor  old  lord  outside  the  town 
of  Winchester,  and  there  kept  him  waiting  some  three  or  four 
hours  unti,  they  could  find  somebody  to  cut  off  his  head. 
At  last,  a  convict  said  he  would  do  it,  if  the  government 
would  pardon  him  in  return  ;  and  they  gave  him  the  pardon  ; 
and  at  one  blow  he  put  the  Earl  of  Kent  out  of  his  last  sus- 
pense. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         151 

While  the  Queen  was  in  France,  she  had  found  a  lovely 
and  good  young  lady,  named  Philippa,  who  she  thought 
would  make  an  excellent  wife  for  her  son.  The  young  King 
married  this  lady,  soon  after  he  came  to  the  throne  ;  and 
her  first  child  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  afterward  became 
celebrated,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  under  the  famous  title 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince. 

The  young  King,  thinking  the  time  ripe  for  the  downfall 
of  Mortimer,  took  counsel  with  Lord  Montacute  how  he 
should  proceed.  A  Parliament  was  going  to  be  held  at  Not- 
tingham, and  that  lord  recommended  that  the  favorite  should 
be  seized  by  night  in  Nottingham  Castle,  where  he  was  sure 
to  be.  Now  this,  like  many  other  things,  was  more  easily 
said  than  done  ;  because  to  guard  against  treachery,  the 
great  gates  of  the  castle  were  locked  every  night,  and  the 
great  keys  were  carried  up  stairs  to  the  Queen,  who  laid 
them  under  her  own  pillow.  But  the  castle  had  a  governor, 
and  the  governor  being  Lord  Montacute's  friend,  confided 
to  him  how  he  knew  of  a  secret  passage  under-ground,  hid- 
den from  observation  by  the  weeds  and  brambles  with  which 
it  was  overgrown  ;  and  how,  through  that  passage,  the  con- 
spirators might  enter  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  and  go  straight 
to  Mortimer's  room.  Accordingly,  upon  a  certain  dark 
night,  at  midnight,  they  made  their  way  through  this  dismal 
place  :  startling  the  rats,  and  frightening  the  owls  and  bats  : 
and  came  safely  to  the  bottom  of  the  main  tower  of  the 
castle,  where  the  King  met  them,  and  took  them  up  a  pro- 
foundly-dark staircase  in  a  deep  silence.  They  soon  heard 
the  voice  of  Mortimer  in  council  with  some  friends  ;  and 
bursting  into  the  room  with  a  sudden  noise,  took  him 
prisoner.  The  Queen  cried  out  from  her  bed-chamber,  "  Oh, 
my  sweet  son,  my  dear  son,  spare  my  gentle  Mortimer !  " 
They  carried  him  off,  however  ;  and,  before  the  next  Parlia- 
ment accused  him  of  having  made  differences  between  the 
young  King  and  his  mother,  and  of  having  brought  about 
the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Kent,  and  even  of  the  late  King  ; 
for,  as  you  know  by  this  time,  when  they  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  a  man  in  those  old  days,  they  were  not  very  particular  of 
what  they  accused  him.  Mortimer  was  found  guilty  of  all 
this  and  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn.  The  King 
shut  his  mother  up  in  genteel  confinement,  where  she  passed 
the  rest  of  her  life  ;  and  now  he  became  King  in  earnest. 

The  first  effort  he  made  was  to  conquer  Scotland.     The 


i52        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

English  lords  who  had  lands  in  Scotland,  finding  that  theii 
rights  were  not  respected  under  the  late  peace,  made  war  on 
their  own  account  :  choosing  for  their  general,  Edward,  the 
son  of  John  Baliol,  who  made  such  a  vigorous  fight,  that  in 
less  than  two  months  he  won  the  whole  Scottish  Kingdom. 
He  was  joined,  when  thus  triumphant,  by  the  King  and  par- 
liament ;  and  he  and  the  King  in  person  besieged  the  Scot- 
tish forces  in  Berwick.  The  whole  Scottish  army  coming  to 
the  assistance  of  their  countrymen,  such  a  furious  battle  en- 
sued, that  thirty  thousand  men  are  said  to  have  been  killed 
in  it.  Baliol  was  then  crowned  King  of  Scotland,  doing 
homage  to  the  King  of  England  ;  but  little  came  of  his  suc- 
cesses after  all,  for  the  Scottish  men  rose  against  him,  within 
no  very  long  time,  and  David  Bruce  came  back  within  ten 
years  and  took  his  kingdom. 

France  was  a  far  richer  country  than  Scotland,  and  the 
King  had  a  much  greater  mind  to  conquer  it.  So,  he  let 
Scotland  alone,  and  pretended  that  he  had  a  claim  to  the 
French  throne  in  right  of  his  mother.  He  had,  in  reality,  no 
claim  at  all ;  but  that  mattered  little  in  those  times.  He 
brought  over  to  his  cause  many  little  princes  and  sovereigns, 
and  even  courted  the  alliance  of  the  people  of  Flanders — a 
busy,  working  community,  who  had  very  small  respect  for 
kings,  and  whose  head  man  was  a  brewer.  With  such  forces 
as  he  raised  by  these  means,  Edward  invaded  France  ;  but 
he  did  little  by  that,  except  run  into  debt  in  carrying  on  the 
war  to  the  extent  of  three  hundred  thousand  pounds.  The 
next  year  he  did  better;  gaining  a  great  sea-fight  in  the  harbor 
of  Sluys.  This  success,  however,  was  very  short-lived,  for  the 
Flemings  took  fright  at  the  siege  of  Saint  Omer  and  ran  away, 
leaving  their  weapons  and  baggage  behind  them.  Philip,  the 
French  King,  coming  up  with  his  army,  and  Edward  being 
very  anxious  to  decide  the  war,  proposed  to  settle  the 
difference  by  single  combat  with  him,  or  by  a  fight  of  one 
hundred  knights  on  each  side.  The  French  King  said,  he 
thanked  him  ;  but  being  very  well  as  he  was,  he  would  rather 
not.  So,  after  some  skirmishing  and  talking,  a  short  peace 
was  made. 

It  was  soon  broken  by  King  Edward's  favoring  the  cause 
of  John,  Earl  of  Montford  ;  a  French  nobleman,  who  assert- 
ed a  claim  of  his  own  against  the  French  King,  and  offered 
to  do  homage  to  England  for  the  Crown  of  France,  if  he 
could  obtain  it  through  England's  help.     This  French  lord, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         153 

himself,  was  soon  defeated  by  the  French  King's  son,  and 
shut  up  in  a  tower  in  Paris ;  but  his  wife,  a  courageous  and 
beautiful  woman,  who  is  said  to  have  had  the  courage  of  a 
man,  and  the  heart  of  a  lion,  assembled  the  people  of  Brit- 
tany, where  she  then  was  ;  and,  showing  them  her  infant 
son,  made  many  pathetic  entreaties  to  them  not  to 
desert  her  and  their  young  lord.  They  took  fire  at  this 
appeal,  and  rallied  round  her  .in  the  strong  castle  of 
Hennebon.  Here  she  was  not  only  besieged  without 
by  the  French  under  Charles  de  Blois,  but  was  endan- 
gered within  by  a  dreary  old  bishop,  who  was  always 
representing  to  the  people  what  horrors  they  must  un- 
dergo if  they  were  faithful — first  from  famine,  and  after- 
wards from  fire  and  sword.  But  this  noble  lady,  whose 
heart  never  failed  her,  encouraged  her  soldiers  by  her  own 
example  ;  went  from  post  to  post  like  a  great  general  ;  even 
mounted  on  horseback  fully  armed,  and,  issuing  from  the 
castle  by  a  by-path,  fell  upon  the  French  camp,  set  fire  to  the 
tents,  and  threw  the  whole  force  into  disorder.  This  done, 
she  got  safely  back  to  Hennebon  again,  and  was  received 
with  loud  shouts  of  joy  by  the  defenders  of  the  castle,  who 
had  given  her  up  for  lost.  As  they  were  now  very  short  of 
provisions,  however,  and  as  they  could  not  dine  off  enthusi- 
asm, and  as  the  old  bishop  was  always  saying,  "  I  told  you 
what  it  would  come  to  !  "  they  began  to  lose  heart,  and  to 
talk  of  yielding  the  castle  up.  The  brave  Countess  retiring 
to  an  upper  room  and  looking  with  great  grief  out  to  sea, 
where  she  expected  relief  from  England,  saw,  at  this  very 
time,  the  English  ships  in  the  distance,  and  was  relieved  and 
rescued  !  Sir  Walter  Manning,  the  English  commander,  so 
admired  her  courage,  that,  being  come  into  the  castle  with 
the  English  knights,  and  having  made  a  feast  there,  he  as- 
saulted the  French,  by  way  of  dessert,  and  beat  them  off 
triumphantly.  Then  he  and  the  knights  came  back  to  the 
castle  with  great  joy  ;  and  the  Countess  who  had  watched 
them  from  a  high  tower,  thanked  them  with  all  her  heart,  and 
kissed  them  every  one. 

This  noble  lady  distinguished  herself  afterwards  in  a  sea- 
fight  with  the  French  off  Guernsey,  when  she  was  on  her  way 
to  England  to  ask  for  more  troops.  Her  great  spirit  roused 
another  lady,  the  wife  of  another  French  lord  (whom  the 
French  King  very  barbarously  murdered),  to  distinguish  her- 
self scarcely  less.     The  time  was  fast  coming,  however,  when 


154        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  was  to  be  the  great  star  of  this 
French  and  English  war. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  July,  in  the  year  one  thousand 
three  hundred  and  forty-six,  when  the  King  embarked  at 
Southampton  for  France,  with  an  army  of  about  thirty  thou- 
sand men  in  all,  attended  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  by 
several  of  the  chief  nobles.  He  landed  at  La  Hogue  in  Nor- 
mandy ;  and,  burning  and  destroying  as  he  went,  according 
to  custom,  advanced  up  the  left  bank  of  the  River  Seine  and 
fired  the  small  towns  even  close  to  Paris  ;  but,  being  watched 
from  the  right  bank  of  the  river  by  the  French  King  and  all 
his  army,  it  came  to  this  at  last,  that  Edward  found  himself, 
on  Saturday  the  twenty-sixth  of  August,  one  thousand  three 
hundred  and  forty-six,  on  a  rising  ground  behind  the  little 
French  village  of  Crecy,  face  to  face  with  the  French  King's 
force.  And,  although  the  French  King  had  an  enormous 
.army — in  number  more  than  eight  times  his — he  there  re- 
isolved  to  beat  him  or  be  beaten. 

The  young  Prince,  assisted  by  the  Earl  of  Oxford  and  the 
Earl  of  Warwick,  led  the  first  division  of  the  English  army  ; 
two  other  great  earls  led  the  second  ;  and  the  King,  the 
third.  When  the  morning  dawned,  the  King  received  the 
sacrament,  and  heard  prayers,  and  then,  mounted  on  horse- 
back with  a  white  wand  in  his  hand,  rode  from  company  to 
company,  and  rank  to  rank,  cheering  and  encouraging  both 
■officers  and  men.  Then  the  whole  army  breakfasted,  each 
man  sitting  on  the  ground  where  he  had  stood  ;  and  then 
they  remained  quietly  on  the  ground  with  their  weapons 
ready. 

Up  came  the  French  King  with  all  his  great  force.  It  was 
dark  and  angry  weather  ;  there  was  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  ; 
there  was  a  thunder-storm,  accompanied  with  tremendous 
rain  ;  the  frightened  birds  new  screaming  above  the  soldiers' 
heads.  A  certain  captain  in  the  French  army  advised 
the  French  King,  who  was  by  no  means  cheerful,  not 
to  begin  the  battle  until  the  morrow.  The  King,  taking  this 
advice,  gave  the  word  to  halt.  But,  those  behind  not  under- 
standing it,  or  desiring  to  be  foremost  with  the  rest,  came 
pressing  on.  The  roads  for  a  great  distance  were  covered 
with  this  immense  army,  and  with  the  common  people  from 
the  villages,  who  were  flourishing  their  rude  weapons,  and 
making  a  great  noise.  Owing  to  these  circumstances,  the 
French   army   advanced   in   the  greatest   confusion  ;  every 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         155 

French  lord  doing  what  he  liked  with  his  own  men,  and 
putting  out  the  men  of  every  other  French  lord. 

Now,  their  King  relied  strongly  upon  a  great  body  of  cross- 
bowmen  from  Genoa  ;  and  these  he  ordered  to  the  front  to 
begin  the  battle,  on  finding  that  he  could  not  stop  it.  They 
shouted  once,  they  shouted  twice,  they  shouted  three  times, 
to  alarm  the  English  archers  ;  but,  the  English  would  have 
heard  them  shout  three  thousand  times  and  would  have 
never  moved.  At  last  the  cross-bowmen  went  forward  a 
little,  and  began  to  discharge  their  bolts  ;  upon  which,  the 
English  let  fly  such  a  hail  of  arrows,  that  the  Genoese 
speedily  made  off — for  their  cross-bows,  besides  being  heavy 
to  carry,  required  to  be  wound  up  with  a  handle,  and  con- 
sequently took  time  to  re-load  ;  the  English,  on  the  other 
hand,  could  discharge  their  arrows  almost  as  fast  as  the 
arrows  could  fly. 

When  the  French  King  saw  the  Genoese  turning,  he  cried 
out  to  his  men  to  kill  those  scoundrels,  who  were  doing  harm 
instead  of  service.  This  increased  the  confusion.  Meanwhile 
the  English  archers,  continuing  to  shoot  as  fast  as  ever,  shot 
down  great  numbers  of  the  French  soldiers  and  knights  ; 
whom  certain  sly  Cornishmen  and  Welshmen  from  the  En- 
glish army,  creeping  along  the  ground,  despatched  with  great 
knives. 

The  Prince  and  his  division  were  at  this  time  so  hard- 
pressed,  that  the  Earl  of  Warwick  sent  a  message  to  the 
King,  who  was  overlooking  the  battle  from  a  windmill,  be- 
seeching him  to  send  more  aid. 

"  Is  my  son  killed  ?  "  said  the  King. 

"No,  sire,  please  God,"  returned  the  messenger. 

"  Is  he  wounded  ?  "  said  the  King. 

"  No,  sire." 

"  Is  he  thrown  to  the  ground  ?  "  said  the  King. 

"  No,  sire,  not  so  ;  but,  he  is  very  hard-pressed." 

"  Then,"  said  the  King,  "  go  back  to  those  who  sent  you, 
and  tell  them  I  shall  send  no  aid  ;  because  I  set  my  heart  upon 
my  son  proving  himself  this  day  a  brave  knight,  and  because 
I  am  resolved,  please  God,  that  the  honor  of  a  great  victory 
shall  be  his  !  " 

These  bold  words,  being  reported  to  the  Prince  and  his  di- 
vision, so  raised  their  spirits,  that  they  fought  better  than  ever. 
The  King  of  France  charged  gallantly  with  his  men  many 
times  ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.     Night  closing  in,  his  horse  waj 


156        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

killed  under  him  by  an  English  arrow,  and  the  knights  and 
nobles  who  had  clustered  thick  about  him  early  in  the  day, 
were  now  completely  scattered.  At  last  some  of  his  few 
remaining  followers  led  him  off  the  field  by  force,  since  he 
would  not  retire  of  himself,  and  they  journeyed  away  to 
Amiens.  The  victorious  English,  lighting  their  watch-fires, 
made  merry  on  the  field,  and  the  King,  riding  to  meet  his  gal- 
lant son,  took  him  in  his  arms,  kissed  him,  and  told  him  that 
he  had  acted  nobly,  and  proved  himself  worthy  of  the  day  and 
of  the  crown.  While  it  was  yet  night,  King  Edward  was  hardly 
aware  of  the  great  victory  he  had  gained  ;  but,  next  day,  it  was 
discovered  that  eleven  princes,  twelve  hundred  knights,  and 
thirty  thousand  common  men  lay  dead  upon  the  French  side. 
Among  these  was  the  King  of  Bohemia,  an  old  blind  man  ; 
who,  having  been  told  that  his  son  was  wounded  in  the  battle, 
and  that  no  force  could  stand  against  the  Black  Prince,  called 
to  him  two  knights,  put  himself  on  horseback  between  them, 
fastened  the  three  bridles  together,  and  dashed  in  among  the 
English,  where  he  was  presently  slain.  He  bore  on  his  crest 
three  white  ostrich  feathers,  with  the  motto  Ich  dien,  signify- 
ing in  English  "I  serve."  This  crest  and  motto  were  taken 
by  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  remembrance  of  that  famous  day, 
and  have  been  borne  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  ever  since. 

Five  days  after  this  great  battle,  the  King  laid  siege  to 
Calais.  This  siege — ever  .afterwards  memorable — lasted 
nearly  a  year.  In  order  to  starve  the  inhabitants  out,  King 
Edward  built  so  many  wooden  houses  for  the  lodging  of  his 
troops,  that  it  is  said  their  quarters  looked  like  a  second 
Calais-  suddenly  sprung  up  around  the  first.  Early  in  the 
siege,  the  governor  of  the  town  drove  out  what  he  called  the 
useless  mouths,  to  the  number  of  seventeen  hundred  persons, 
*ien  and  women,  young  and  old.  King  Edward  allowed 
them  to  pass  through  his  lines,  and  even  fed  them,  and  dis- 
missed them  with  money  ;  but,  later  in  the  siege,  he  was  not 
so  merciful — five  hundred  more,  who  were  afterwards  driven 
out,  dying  of  starvation  and  misery.  The  garrison  were  so 
hard-pressed  at  last,  that  they  sent  a  letter  to  King  Philip, 
telling  him  that  they  had  eaten  all  the  horses,  all  the  dogs, 
and  all  the  rats  and  mice  that  could  be  found  in  the  place  ; 
and,  that  if  he  did  not  relieve  them,  they  must  either  surren- 
der to  the  English,  or  eat  one  another.  Philip  made  one 
effort  to  give  them  relief  ;  but  they  were  so  hemmed  in  by  the 
English  power,  that  he  could  not  succeed,  and  was  fain  t(> 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        157 

leave  the  place.  Upon  this  they  hoisted  the  English  flag,  and 
surrendered  to  King  Edward.  "Tell  your  generals,"  said  he 
to  the  humble  messenger  who  came  out  of  the  town,  "  that 
I  require  to  have  sent  here,  six  of  the  most  distinguished  cit 
izens,  bare-legged,  and  in  their  shirts,  with  ropes  about  their 
necks  ;  and  let  those  six  men  bring  with  them  the  keys  of 
the  castle  and  the  town." 

When  the  governor  of  Calais  related  this  to  the  people  in 
the  Market-place,  there  was  great  weeping  and  distress  ;  in 
the  midst  of  which,  one  worthy  citizen,  named  Eustace  de 
Saint  Pierre,  rose  up  and  said,  that  if  the  six  men  required 
were  not  sacrificed,  the  whole  population  would  be  ;  therefore 
he  offered  himself  as  the  first.  Encouraged  by  this  bright 
example,  five  other  worthy  citizens  rose  up  one  after  another, 
and  offered  themselves  to  save  the  rest.  The  governor,  who 
was  too  badly  wounded  to  be  able  to  walk,  mounted  a  poor 
old  horse  that  had  not  been  eaten,  and  conducted  these  good 
men  to  the  gate,  while  all  the  people  cried  and  mourned. 

Edward  received  them  wrathfully,  and  ordered  the  heads 
of  the  whole  six  to  be  struck  off.  However,  the  good  Queen 
fell  upon  her  knees,  and  besought  the  King  to  give  them  up 
to  her.  The  King  replied,  "  I  wish  you  had  been  somewhere 
else  ;  but  I  cannot  refuse  you."  So  she  had  them  properly 
dressed,  made  a  feast  for  them,  and  sent  them  back  with  a 
handsome  present,  to  the  great  rejoicing  of  the  whole  camp. 
I  hope  the  people  of  Calais  loved  the  daughter  to  whom  she 
gave  birth  soon  afterwards,  for  her  gentle  mother's  sake. 

Now  came  that  terrible  disease,  the  Plague,  into  Europe, 
hurrying  from  the  heart  of  China  ;  and  killed  the  wretched 
people — especially  the  poor — in  such  enormous  numbers, 
that  one-half  of  the  inhabitants  of  England  are  related  to  have 
died  of  it.  It  killed  the  cattle,  in  great  numbers,  too  ;  and 
so  few  working  men  remained  alive,  that  there  were  not 
enough  left  to  till  the  ground. 

After  eight  years  of  differing  and  quarreling,  the  Prince 
of  Wales  again  invaded  France  with  an  army  of  sixty  thou- 
sand men.  He  went  through  the  south  of  the  country,  burn- 
ing and  plundering  wheresoever  he  went  ;  while  his  father, 
who  had  still  the  Scottish  war  upon  his  hands,  did  the  like  in 
Scotland,  but  was  harassed  and  worried  in  his  retreat  from 
that  country  by  the  Scottish  men,  who  repaid  his  cruelties 
with  interest. 

The  French  King,  Philip,  was  now  dead,  and  was  sue- 


158        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ceeded  by  his  son  John.  The  Black  Prince,  called  by  the 
name  from  the  color  of  the  armor  he  wore  to  set  off  his  fair 
complexion,  continuing  to  burn  and  destroy  in  France,  roused 
John  into  determined  opposition  ;  and  so  cruel  had  the  Black 
Prince  been  in  his  campaign,  and  so  severely  had  the  French 
peasants  suffered,  that  he  could  not  find  one  who,  for  love, 
or  money,  or  the  fear  of  death,  would  tell  him  what  the 
French  King  was  doing,  or  where  he  was.  Thus  it  happened 
that  he  came  upon  the  French  King's  forces,  all  of  a  sudden, 
near  the  town  of  Poitiers,  and  found  that  the  whole  neigh- 
boring country  was  occupied  by  a  vast  French  army.  "  God 
help  us  !  "  said  the  Black  Prince,  "  we  must  make  the  best 
of  it." 

So,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  the  eighteenth  of  September, 
the  Prince — whose  army  was  now  reduced  to  ten  thousand 
men  in  all — prepared  to  give  battle  to  the  French  King, 
who  had  sixty  thousand  horse  alone.  While  he  was  so  en- 
gaged, there  came  riding  from  the  French  camp,  a  cardinal, 
who  had  persuaded  John  to  let  him  offer  terms,  and  try  to 
save  the  shedding  of  Christian  blood.  "  Save  my  honor," 
said  the  Prince  to  this  good  priest,  "  and  save  the  honor  of 
my  army,  and  I  will  make  any  reasonable  terms."  He  offered 
to  give  up  all  the  towns,  castles,  and  prisoners,  he  had  taken, 
and  to  swear  to  make  no  war  in  France  for  seven  years  ;  but 
as  John  would  hear  of  nothing  but  his  surrender,  with  a  hun- 
dred of  his  chief  knights,  the  treaty  was  broken  off,  and  the 
Prince  said  quietly — "  God  defend  the  right  ;  we  shall  fight 
to-morrow." 

Therefore  on  the  Monday  morning  at  break  of  day,  the 
two  armies  prepared  for  battle.  The  English  were  posted  in 
a  strong  place,  which  could  only  be  approached  by  one  nar- 
row lane,  skirted  by  hedges  on  both  sides.  The  French  at- 
tacked them  by  this  lane  ;  but  were  so  galled  and  slain  by 
English  arrows  from  behind  the  hedges,  that  they  were  forced 
to  retreat.  Then  went  six  hundred  English  bowmen  round 
about,  and,  coming  upon  the  rear  of  the  French  army,  rained 
arrows  on  them  thick  and  fast.  The  French  knights,  thrown 
into  confusion,  quitted  their  banners  and  dispersed  in  all 
directions.  Said  Sir  John  Chandos  to  the  Prince,  "  Ride 
forward,  noble  Prince,  and  fhe  day  is  yours.  The  King  of 
France  is  so  valiant  a  gentleman,  that  I  know  he  will  never 
fly,  and  may  be  taken  prisoner."  Said  the  Prince  to  this, 
"  Advance,  English  banners,  in  the  name   of   God   and   St. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,     '159 

George!  "  and  on  they  pressed  until  they  came  up  with  the 
French  King,  fighting  fiercely  with  his  battle-ax,  andfc  when 
all  his  nobles  had  forsaken  him,  attended  faithfully  to  the 
last  by  his  youngest  son,  Philip,  only  sixteen  years  of  age. 
Father  and  son  fought  well,  and  the  King  had  already  two 
wounds  in  his  face,  and  had  been  beaten  down,  when  he  at 
last  delivered  himself  to  a  banished  French  knight,  and  gave 
him  his  right-hand  glove  in  token  that  he  had  done  so. 

The  Black  Prince  was  generous  as  well  as  brave,  and  he 
invited  his  royal  prisoner  to  supper  in  his  tent,  and  waited 
upon  him  at  table,  and,  when  they  afterwards  rode  into  Lon- 
don in  a  gorgeous  procession,  mounted  the  French  King  on. 
a  fine  cream-colored  horse,  and  rode  at  his  side  on  a  little- 
pony.  This  was  all  very  kind,  but  I  think  it  was,  perhaps,  a. 
little  theatrical  too,  and  has  been  made  more  meritorious  than: 
it  deserved  to  be  ;  especially  as  I  am  inclined  to  think  that: 
the  greatest  kindness  to  the  King  of  France  would  have  beeni 
not  to  have  shown  him  to  the  people  at  all.  However,  it 
must  be  said,  for  these  acts  of  politeness,  that,  in  course  of 
time,  they  did  much  to  soften  the  horrors  of  war  and  the 
passions  of  conquerors.  It  was  a  long,  long  time  before  the 
common  soldiers  began  to  have  the  benefit  of  such  courtly 
deeds  ;  but  they  did  at  last ;  and  thus  it  is  possible  that  a 
poor  soldier  who  asked  for  quarter  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
or  any  other  such  great  fight,  may  have  owed  his  life  indi- 
rectly to  Edward  the  Black  Prince. 

At  this  time  there  stood  in  the  Strand,  in  London,  a  palace 
called  the  Savoy,  which  was  given  up  to  the  captive  King  of 
France  and  his  son  for  their  residence.  As  the  King  of  Scot- 
land had  now  been  King  Edward's  captive  for  eleven  years 
too,  his  success  was,  at  this  time,  tolerably  complete.  The 
Scottish  business  was  settled  by  the  prisoner  being  released 
under  the  title  of  Sir  David,  King  of  Scotland,  and  by  his 
engaging  to  pay  a  large  ransom.  The  state  of  France  en- 
couraged England  to  propose  harder  terms  to  that  country, 
where  the  people  rose  against  the  unspeakable  cruelty  and 
barbarity  of"  its  nobles  ;  where  the  nobles  rose  in  turn  against 
the  people  ;  where  the  most  frightful  outrages  were  committed 
on  all  sides  ;  and  where  the  insurrection  of  the  peasants, 
called  the  insurrection  of  the  Jacquerie,  from  Jacques,  a  com- 
mon  Christian  name  among  the  country  people  of  France, 
awakened  terrors  and  hatreds  that  have  scarcely  yet  passed 
away.     A  treaty  called  the  Great  Peace,  was  at  last  signed, 


i6o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

under  which  King  Edward  agreed  to  give  up  the  greater  part 
of  his  conquests,  and  King  John  to  pay,  within  six  years,  a 
ransom  of  three  million  crowns  of  gold.  He  was  so  beset  by 
his  own  nobles  and  courtiers  for  having  yielded  to  these  con- 
ditions— though  they  could  help  him  to  no  better — that  he 
came  back  of  his  own  will  to  his  old  palace-prison  of  the 
Savoy,  and  there  died. 

There  was  a  sovereign  of  Castile  at  that  time,  called  Pedro 
the -Cruel,  who  deserved  the  name  remarkably  well:  having 
committed,  among  other  cruelties,  a  variety  of  murders. 
This  amiable  monarch  being  driven  from  his  throne  for  his 
crimes,  went  to  the  province  of  Bordeaux,  where  the  Black 
Prince — now  married  to  his  cousin  Joan,  a  pretty  widow — 
was  residing,  and  besought  his  help.  The  Prince,  who  took 
to  him  much  more  kindly  than  a  prince  of  such  fame  ought 
to  have  taken  to  such  a  ruffian,  readily  listened  to  his  fair 
promises,  and  agreeing  to  help  him,  sent  secret  orders  to 
some  troublesome  disbanded  soldiers  of  his  and  his  father's, 
who  called  themselves  the  Free  Companions,  and  who  had 
been  a  pest  to  the  French  people,  for  some  time,  to  aid  this 
Pedro.  The  Prince,  himself,  going  into  Spain  to  head  the 
army  of  relief,  soon  set  Pedro  on  his  throne  again — where  he 
no  sooner  found  himself,  than,  of  course,  he  behaved  like 
the  villain  he  was,  broke  his  word  without  the  least  shame, 
and  abandoned  all  the  promises  he  had  made  to  the  Black 
Prince. 

Now,  it  had  cost  the  Prince  a  good  deal  of  money  to  pay 
soldiers  to  support  this  murderous  King  ;  and  finding  himself, 
wrhen  he  came  back  disgusted  to  Bordeaux,  not  only  in  bad 
health,  but  deeply  in  debt,  he  began  to  tax  his  French  sub- 
jects to  pay  his  creditors.  They  appealed  to  the  French 
King  Charles  ;  war  again  broke  out ;  and  the  French  town 
of  Limoges,  which  the  Prince  had  greatly  benefited,  went 
over  to  the  French  King.  Upon  this  he  ravaged  the  province 
of  which  it  was  the  capital ;  burned,  and  plundered,  and  killed 
in  the  old  sickening  way  ;  and  refused  mercy  to  the  prison- 
ers, men,  women,  and  children  taken  in  the  offending  town, 
though  he  was  so  ill  and  so  much  in  need  of  pity  himself  from 
Heaven,  that  he  was  carried  in  a  litter.  He  lived  to  come 
home  and.  make  himself  popular  with  the  people  and  Parlia- 
ment, and  he  died  on  Trinity  Sunday,  the  eighth  of  June, 
one  thousand  three  hundred  and  seventy-six,  at  forty-six 
years  old. 


KING   JOHN   OF   FRANCE    AT   THE    BATTI  E    01     TOiriERG. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         161 

The  whole  nation  mourned  for  him  as  one  of  the  most  re- 
nowned and  beloved"  princes  it  had  ever  had;  and  he  was 
buried  with  great  lamentations  in  Canterbury  Cathedral. 
Near  to  the  tomb  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  his  monument, 
with  his  figure,  carved  in  stone,  and  represented  in  the  old 
black  armor,  lying  on  its  back,  may  be  seen  at  this  day,  with 
an  ancient  coat  of  mail,  a  helmet,  and  a  pair  of  gauntlets 
hanging  from  a  beam  above  it,  which  most  people  like  to  be- 
lieve were  once  worn  by  the  Black  Prince. 

King  Edward  did  not  outlive  his  renowned  son  long.  He 
was  old,  and  one  Alice  Perrers,  a  beautiful  lady,  had  con- 
trived to  make  him  so  fond  of  her  in  his  old  age,  that  he 
could  refuse  her  nothing,  and  made  himself  ridiculous.  She 
little  deserved  his  love,  or — what  I  dare  say  she  valued  a 
great  deal  more — the  jewels  of  the  late  Queen,  which  h^, 
gave  her  among  other  rich  presents.  She  took  the  very 
ring  from  his  finger  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  he  died, 
and  left  him  to  be  pillaged  by  his  faithless  servants.  Only 
one  good  priest  was  true  to  him,  and  attended  him  to  the 
last. 

Besides  being  famous  for  the  great  victories  I  have  related, 
the  reign  of  King  Edward  the  Third  was  rendered  memorable 
in  better  ways,  by  the  growth  of  architecture  and  the  erection 
of  Windsor  Castle.  In  better  ways  still,  by  the  rising  up  of 
Wickliff  e,  originally  a  poor  parish  priest :  who  devoted  him- 
self to  exposing,  with  wonderful  power  and  success,  the 
ambition  and  corruption  of  the  Pope,  and  of  the  whole 
church  of  which  he  was  the  head. 

Some  of  those  Flemings  were  induced  to  come  to  England 
in  this  reign  too,  and  to  settle  in  Norfolk,  where  they  made 
better  woolen  cloths  than  the  English  had  ever,  had  before. 
The  Order  of  the  Garter  (a  very  fine  thing  in  its  way,  but 
hardly  so  important  as  good  clothes  for  the  nation)  also  dates 
from  this  period.  The  King  is  said  to  have  picked  up  a 
lady's  garter  at  a  ball,  and  to  have  said  Honi  soit  qui  mal y 
pense— in  English  "  Evil  be  to  him  who  evil  thinks  of  it." 
The  •  courtiers  were  usually  glad  to  imitate  what  the  King 
said  or  did,  and  hence  from  a  slight  incident  the  Order  of  the 
Garter  was  instituted,  and  became  a  great  dignity.  So  the 
story  goes. 


i62        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 
CHAPTER  XIX. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  RICHARD  THE  SECOND. 

Richard,  son  of  the  Black  Prince,  a  boy  eleven  years  of 
age,  succeeded  to  the  Crown  under  the  title  of  King  Richard 
the  Second.  The  whole  English  nation  were  ready  to  ad- 
mire him  for  the  sake  of  his  brave  father.  As  to  the  lords 
and  ladies  about  the  Court,  they  declared  him  to  be  the 
most  beautiful,  the  wisest,  and  the  best — even  of  princes — 
whom  the  lords  and  ladies  about  the  Court,  generally  declare 
to  be  the  most  beautiful,  the  wisest,  and  the  best  of  mankind. 
To  natter  a  poor  boy  in  this  base  manner  was  not  a  very 
likely  way  to  develop  whatever  good  was  in  him  ;  and  it 
brought  him  to  any  thing  but  a  good  or  happy  end. 

The  Duke  of  Lancaster,  the  young  King's  uncle — com- 
monly called  John  of  Gaunt,  from  having  been  born  at 
Ghent,  which  the  common  people  so  pronounced — was  sup- 
posed to  have  some  thoughts  of  the  throne  himself  ;  but,  as 
he  was  not  popular,  and  the  memory  of  the  Black  Prince 
was,  he  submitted  to  his  nephew. 

The  war  with  France  being  still  unsettled,  the  Govern- 
ment of  England  wanted  money  to  provide  for  the  expenses 
that  might  arise  out  of  it  ;  accordingly  a  certain  tax,  called 
the  poll-tax,  which  had  originated  in  the  last  reign,  was 
ordered  to  be  levied  on  the  people.  This  was  a  tax  on  every 
person  in  the  kingdom,  male  and  female,  above  the  age  of 
fourteen,  of  three  groats  (or  three  fourpenny  pieces)  a  year  ; 
clergymen  were  charged  more,  and  only  beggars  were  ex- 
empt. 

I  have  no  need  to  repeat  that  the  common  people  of  En- 
gland had  long  been  suffering  under  great  oppression.  They 
were  still  the  mere  slaves  of  the  lords  of  the  land  on  which 
they  lived,  and  were  on  most  occasions  harshly  and  unjustly 
treated.  But,  they  had  begun  by  this  time  to  think  very 
seriously  of  not  bearing  quite  so  much  ;  and,  probably,  were 
emboldened,  by  that  French  insurrection  I  mentioned  in  the 
last  chapter. 

The  people  of  Essex  rose  against  the  poll-tax,  and  being 
severely  handled  by  the  government  officers,  killed  some  of 
them.  At  this  very  time  one  of  the  tax-collectors,  going  his 
rounds  from  house   to  house,  at  Dartford  in  Kent,  came   to 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        i6j 

the  cottage  of  one  Wat,  a  tiler  by  trade,  and  claimed  the  tax 
upon  his  daughter.  Her  mother,  who  was  at  home,  declared 
that  she  was  under  the  age  of  fourteen  ;  upon  that,  the  col- 
lector (as  other  collectors  had  already  done  in  different  parts 
of  England)  behaved  in  a  savage  way,  and  brutally  insulted 
Wat  Tyler's  daughter.  The  daughter  screamed,  the  mother 
screamed.  Wat  the  Tiler,  who  was  at  work  not  far  off,  ran 
to  the  spot,  and  did  what  any  honest  father  under  such  prov- 
ocation might  have  done — struck  the  collector  dead  at  a 
blow. 

Instantly  the  people  of  that  town  uprose  as  one  man. 
They  made  Wat  Tyler  their  leader  ;  they  joined  with  the 
people  of  Essex,  who  were  in  arms  under  a  priest  called 
Jack  Straw  ;  they  took  out  of  prison  another  priest  named 
John  Ball ;  and  gathering  in  numbers  as  they  went  along, 
advanced,  in  a  great  confused  army  of  poor  men,  to  Black- 
heath.  It  is  said  that  they  wanted  to  abolish  all  property, 
and  to  declare  all  men  equal.  I  do  not  think  this  very  likely  ; 
because  they  stopped  the  travelers  on  the  roads  and  made 
them  swear  to  be  true  to  King  Richard  and  the  people.  Nor 
were  they  at  all  disposed  to  injure  those  who  had  done  them 
no  harm,  merely  because  they  were  of  high  station  ;  for,  the 
King's  mother,  who  had  to  pass  through  their  camp  at  Black- 
heath,  on  her  way  to  her  young  son,  lying  for  safety  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  had  merely  to  kiss  a  few  dirty-faced, 
rough-bearded  men  who  were  noisily  fond  of  royalty,  and 
so  got  away  in  perfect  safety.  Next  day  the  whole  mass 
marched  on  to  London  Bridge. 

There  was  a  drawbridge  in  the  middle,  which  William 
Walworth,  the  Mayor,  caused  to  be  raised  to  prevent  their 
coming  into  the  city  ;  but  they  soon  terrified  the  citizens  in- 
to lowering  it  again,  and  spread  themselves,  with  great  up- 
roar, over  the  streets.  They  broke  open  the  prisons  ;  they 
burned  the  papers  in  Lambeth  Palace  ;  they  destroyed  the 
Duke  of  Lancaster's  Palace,  the  Savoy,  in  the  Strand,  said 
to  be  the  most  beautiful  and  splendid  in  England  ;  they  set 
fire  to  the  books  and  documents  in  the  Temple  ;  and  made 
a  great  riot.  Many  of  these  outrages  were  committed  in 
drunkenness  ;  since  those  citizens,  who  had  well-filled  cellars, 
were  only  too  glad  to  throw  them  open  to  save  the  rest  of 
their  property  ;  but  even  the  drunken  rioters  were  very  care- 
ful to  steal  nothing.  They  were  so  angry  with  one  man,  who 
was  seen  to  take  a  silver  cup  at  the  Savoy  Palace,    and    put 


164        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

it  in  his  breast,  that  they  drowned  him  in  the  river,  cup  and 
all. 

The  young  King  had  been  taken  out  to  treat  with  them 
before  they  committed  these  excesses  ;  but,  he  and  the  peo- 
ple about  him  were  so  frightened  by  the  riotous  shouts,  that 
they  got  back  to  the  Tower  in  the  best  way  they  could. 
This  made  the  insurgents  bolder  ;  so  they  went  on  rioting 
away,  striking  off  the  heads  of  those  who  did  not, 
at  a  moment's  notice,  declare  for  King  Richard  and  the 
people  ;  and  killing  as  many  of  the  unpopular  persons 
whom  they  supposed  to  be  their  enemies  as  they  could 
by  any  means  lay  hold  of.  In  this  manner  they  passed 
one  very  violent  day,  and  then  proclamation  was  made 
that  the  King  would  meet  them  at  Mile-end,  and  grant  their 
requests. 

The  rioters  went  to  Mile-end  to  the  number  of  sixty  thou- 
sand, and  the  King  met  them  there,  and  to  the  King  the 
rioters  peaceably  proposed  four  conditions.  First,  that 
neither  they,  nor  their  children,  nor  any  coming  after  them, 
should  be  made  slaves  any  more.  Secondly,  that  the  rent 
of  land  should  be  fixed  at  a  certain  price  in  money,  instead 
of  being  paid  in  service.  Thirdly,  that  they  should  have 
liberty  to  buy  and  sell  in  all  markets  and  public  places,  like 
other  free  men.  Fourthly,  that  they  should  be  pardoned  for 
past  offenses.  Heaven  knows,  there  was  nothing  very  un- 
reasonable in  these  proposals  !  The  young  King  deceitfully 
pretended  to  think  so,  and  kept  thirty  clerks  up,  all  night, 
writing  out  a  charter  accordingly. 

Now,  Wat  Tyler  himself  wanted  more  than  this.  He 
wanted  the  entire  abolition  of  the  forest  laws.  He  was  not 
at  Mile-end  with  the  rest,  but,  while  that  meeting  was  being 
held,  broke  into  the  Tower  cf  London  and  slew  the  arch- 
bishop and  the  treasurer,  for  whose  heads  the  people  had 
cried  out  loudly  the  day  before.  He  and  his  men  even 
thrust  their  swords  into  the  bed  of  the  Princess  of  Wales 
while  the  Princess  was  in  it,  to  make  certain  that  none  of 
their  enemies  were  concealed  there. 

So,  Wat  and  his  men  still  continued  armed,  and  rode  about 
the  city.  Next  morning,  the  King  with  a  small  train  of  some 
sixty  gentlemen — among  whom  was  Walworth,  the  Mayor — 
rode  into  Smithfield,  and  saw  Wat  and  his  people  at  a  little 
distance.  Says  Wat  to  his  men,  "  There  is  the  King.  I  will 
go  speak  with  him,  and  tell  him  what  we  want." 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         165 

Straightway  Wat   rode    up    to   .him,   and    began    to    talk 
"  King,"  says  Wat,  "  dost  thou  see  all  my  men  there  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  says  the  King.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because,"  says  Wat,  "  they  are  all  at  my  command,  and 
have  sworn  to  do  whatever  I  bid  them." 

Some  declared  afterward  that  as  Wat  said  this,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  the  King's  bridle.  Others  declared  that  he  was 
seen  to  play  with  his  own  dagger.  1  think,  myself,  that  he 
just  spoke  to  the  King  like  a  rough,  angry  man,  as  he  was, 
and  did  nothing  more.  At  any  rate  he  was  expecting  no  at- 
tack, and  preparing  for  no  resistance,  when  Walworth,  the 
Mayor  did  the  not  very  valiant  deed  of  drawing  a  short 
sword  and  stabbing  him  in  the  throat.  He  dropped  from  his 
horse,  and  one  of  the  King's  people  speedily  finished  him. 
So  fell  Wat  Tyler.  Fawners  and  flatterers  made  a  mighty 
triumph  of  it,  and  set  up  a  cry  which  will  occasionally  find 
an  echo  to  this  day.  But  Wat  was  a  hard-working  man, 
who  had  suffered  much,  and  had  been  foully  outraged  ;  and 
it  is  probable  that  he  was  a  man  of  a  much  higher  nature 
and  a  much  braver  spirit  than  any  of  the  parasites  who  ex- 
ulted then,  or  have  exulted  since,  over  his  defeat. 

Seeing  Wat  down,  his  men  immediately  bent  their  bows  to 
avenge  his  fall.  If  the  young  King  had  not  had  presence  of 
mind  at  that  dangerous  moment,  both  he  and  the  Mayor  to 
boot,  might  have  followed  Tyler  pretty  fast.  But  the  King 
riding  up  to  the  crowd,  cried  out  that  Tyler  was  a  traitor, 
and  that  he  would  be  their  leader.  They  were  so  taken  by 
surprise,  that  they  set  up  a  great  shouting,  and  followed  the 
boy  until  he  was  met  at  Islington  by  a  large  body  of  soldiers. 

The  end  of  this  rising  was  the  then  usual  end.  As  soon 
as  the  King  found  himself  safe,  he  unsaid  all  he  had  said, 
and  undid  all  he  had  done  ;  some  fifteen  hundred  of  the 
rioters  were  tried  (mostly  in  Essex)  with  great  rigor,  and 
executed  with  great  cruelty.  Many  of  them  were  hanged  on 
gibbets,  and  left  there  as  a  terror  to  the  country  people  ; 
and,  because  their  miserable  friends  took  some  of  the  bodies 
down  to  bury,  the  King  ordered  the  rest  to  be  chained  up— 
which  was  the  beginning  of  the  barbarous  custom  of  hang- 
ing in  chains.  The  King's  falsehood  in  this  business  makes 
such  a  pitiful  figure,  that  I  think  Wat  Tyler  appears  in  his- 
tory as  beyond  comparison  the  truer  and  more  respectable 
man  of  the  two. 

Richard  was  now  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  married  Anns 


166        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

of  Bohemia,  an  excellent  princess,  who  was  called  "  the  good 
Queen  Anne."  She  deserved  a  better  husband  ;  for  the 
King  had  been  fawned  and  nattered  into  a  treacherous, 
wasteful,  dissolute,  bad  young  man. 

There  were  two  Popes  at  this  time  (as  if  one  were  not 
enough  !),  and  their  quarrels  involved  Europe  in  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  Scotland  was  still  troublesome  too ;  and  at 
home  there  was  much  jealousy  and  distrust,  and  plotting  and 
counter-plotting,  because  the  King  feared  the  ambition  of 
his  relations,  and  particularly  of  his  uncle,  the  Duke  of 
Lancaster,  and  the  duke  had  his  party  against  the  King,  and 
the  King  had  his  party  against  the  duke.  Nor  were  these 
home  troubles  lessened  when  the  duke  went  to  Castile  to  urge 
his  claim  to  the  crown  of  that  kingdom  ;  for  then  the  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  another  of  Richard's  uncles,  opposed  him, 
and  influenced  the  Parliament  to  demand  the  dismissal  of  the 
King's  favorite  ministers.  The  King  said  in  reply,  that  he 
would  not  for  such  men  dismiss  the  meanest  servant  in  his 
kitchen.  But,  it  had  begun  to  signify  little  what  a  King  said 
when  a  Parliament  was  determined  ;  so  Richard  was  at  last 
obliged  to  give  way,  and  to  agree  to  another  Government  of 
the  kingdom,  under  a  commission  of  fourteen  nobles,  for  a 
year.  His  uncle  of  Gloucester  was  at  the  head  of  this  com- 
mission, and,  in  fact,  appointed  everybody  composing  it. 

Having  done  all  this,  the  King  declared  as  soon  as  he  saw 
an  opportunity  that  he  had  never  meant  to  do  it,  and  that  it 
was  all  illegal  ;  and  he  got  the  judges  secretly  to  sign  a  dec- 
laration to  that  effect.  The  secret  oozed  out  directly,  and 
was  carried  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester.  The  Duke  of  Glou- 
cester, at  the  head  of  forty  thousand  men,  met  the  King  on 
his  entering  into  London  to  enforce  his  authority  ;  the  King 
was  helpless  against  him  ;  his  favorites  and  ministers  were  im- 
peached and  were  mercilessly  executed.  Among  them  were 
two  men  whom  the  people  regarded  with  very  different  feel- 
ings ;  one,  Robert  Tresilian,  Chief  Justice,  who  was  hated 
for  having  made  what  was  called  "  the  bloody  circuit  "  to  try 
the  rioters  ;  the.other,  Sir  Simon  Burley,  an  honorable  knight, 
who  had  been  the  dear  friend  of  the  Black  Prince,  and  the 
governor  and  guardian  of  the  King.  For  this  gentleman's 
life  the  good  Queen  even  begged  of  Gloucester  on  her 
knees  ;  but  Gloucester  (with  or  without  reason)  feared  and 
hated  him,  and  replied,  that  if  she  valued  her  husband's 
crown,  she  had  better  beg  no  more.  All  this  was  done  under 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        167 

what  was  called  by  some  the  wonderful— and  by  others,  with 
better  reason,  the  merciless — Parliament. 

But  Gloucester's  power  was  not  to  last  forever.  He  held 
it  for  only  a  year  longer  ;  in  which  year  the  famous  battle  of 
Otterbourne,  sung  in  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  was 
fought.  When  the  year  was  out,  the  King,  turning  suddenly 
to  Gloucester,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  council  said,  "  Uncle, 
how  old  am  I  ?  "  "  Your  highness,"  returned  the  Duke,  "  is 
in  your  twenty-second  year."  "  Am  I  so  much  ?  "  said  the 
King,  "  then  I  will  manage  my  own  affairs  !  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you,  my  good  lords,  for  your  past  services,  but  I 
need  them  no  more."  He  followed  this  up,  by  appointing  a 
new  Chancellor  and  a  new  Treasurer,  and  announced  to  the 
people  that  he  had  resumed  the  Government.  He  held  it 
for  eight  years  without  opposition.  Through  all  that  time, 
he  kept  his  determination  to  revenge  himself  some  day  upon 
his  uncle  Gloucester,  in  his  own  breast. 

At  last  the  good  Queen  died,  and  then  the  King,  desiring 
to  take  a  second  wife,  proposed  to  his  council  that  he  should 
marry  Isabella,  of  France,  the  daughter  of  Charles  the  Sixth: 
who,  the  French  courtiers  said  (as  the  English  courtiers  had 
said  of  Richard),  was  a  marvel  of  beauty  and  wit,  and  quite 
a  phenomenon — of  seven  years  old.  The  council  were  di- 
vided about  this  marriage,  but  it  took  place.  It  secured 
peace  between  England  and  France  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury ;  but  it  was  strongly  opposed  to  the  prejudices  of  the 
English  people.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  v/as  anxious 
to  take  the  occasion  of  making  himself  popular,  declaimed 
against  it  loudly,  and  this  at  length  decided  the  King  to  ex- 
ecute the  vengeance  he  had  been  nursing  so  long. 

He  went  with  a  gay  company  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's 
house,  Pleshey  Castle,  in  Essex,  where  the  Duke,  suspecting 
nothing,  came  out  into  the  court-yard  to  receive  his  royal 
visitor.  While  the  King  conversed  in  a  friendly  manner  with 
the  Duchess,  the  Duke  was  quietly  seized,  hurried  away, 
shipped  for  Calais,  and  lodged  in  the  castle  there.  His 
friends,  the  Earls  of  Arundel  and  Warwick,  were  taken  in 
the  same  treacherous  manner,  and  confined  to  their  castles. 
A  few  days  after,  at  Nottingham,  they  were  impeached  of 
high  treason.  The  Earl  of  Arundel  was  condemned  and 
beheaded,  and  the  Earl  of  Warwick  was  banished.  Then,  a 
writ  was  sent  by  a  messenger  to  the  Governor  of  Calais,  re- 
quiring him  to  send  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  over  to  be  tried* 


168        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

In  three  days  he  returned  an  answer  that  he  could  not  do 
that,  because  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  had  died  in  prison. 
The  Duke  was  declared  a  traitor,  his  property  was  confis- 
cated to  the  King,  a  real  or  pretended  confession  he  had  made 
in  the  prison  to  one  of  the  Justices  of  the  Common  Pleas 
was  produced  against  him,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter. How  the  unfortunate  duke  died,  very  few  cared  to 
know.  Whether  he  really  died  naturally  ;  whether  he  killed 
himself  ;  whether,  by  the  King's  order,  he  was  strangled,  or 
smothered  between  two  beds  (as  a  serving-man  of  the  Gov- 
ernor'b  named  Hall,  did  afterward  declare),  cannot  be  dis- 
covered. There  is  not  much  doubt  that  he  was  killed,  some- 
how or  other,  by  his  nephew's  orders.  Among  the  most 
active  nobles  in  these  proceedings  were  the  King's  cousin, 
Henry  Bolingbroke,  whom  the  King  had  make  Duke  of  Here- 
ford to  smooth  down  the  old  family  quarrels,  and  some 
others  :  who  had  in  the  family-plotting  times  done  just  such 
acts  themselves  as  they  now  condemned  in  the  duke.  They 
seem  to  have  been  a  corrupt  set  of  men  ;  but  such  men  were 
easily  found  about  the  court  in  such  days. 

The  people  murmured  at  all  this,  and  were  still  very  sore 
about  the  French  marriage.  The  nobles  saw  how  little  the 
King  cared  for  law,  and  how  crafty  he  was,  and  began  to  be 
somewhat  afraid  of  themselves.  The  King's  life  was  a  life 
of  continued  feasting  and  excess;  his  retinue,down  to  the 
meanest  servants,  were  dressed  in  the  most  costly  manner, 
and  caroused  at  his  tables  ;  it  is  related,  to  the  number  of 
ten  thousand  persons  every  day.  He  himself,  surrounded 
by  a  body  of  ten  thousand  archers,  and  enriched  by  a  duty 
on  wool  which  the  Commons  had  granted  him  for  life,  saw 
no  danger  of  ever  being  otherwise  than  powerful  and  abso- 
lute, and  was  as  fierce  and  haughty  as  a  King  could  be. 

He  had  two  of  his  old  enemies  left,  in  the  persons  of  the 
Dukes  of  Hereford  and  Norfolk.  Sparing  these  no  more 
than  the  others,  he  tampered  with  the  Duke  of  Hereford  un- 
til he  got  him  to  declare  before  the  Council  that  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk  had  lately  held  some  treasonable  talk  with  him,  as 
he  was  riding  near  Brentford  ;  and  that  he  had  told  him, 
among  other  things,  that  he  could  noi  believe  the  King's 
oath — which  nobody  could,  I  should  think.  For  this  treach- 
ery he  obtained  a  pardon,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  sum- 
moned to  appear  and  defend  himself.  As  he  denied  the 
charge  and   said  his  accuser  was  a  liar  and  a  traitor,    both 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         169 

noblemen,  according  to  the  manner  of  those  times,  were 
held  in  custody,  and  the  truth  was  ordered  to  be  decided  by 
wager  of  battle  at  Coventry.  This  wager  of  battle  meant 
that  whomsoever  won  the  combat  was  to  be  considered  in 
the  right ;  which  nonsense  meant  in  effect,  that  no  strong 
man  could  ever  be  wrong.  A  great  holiday  was  made  ;  a 
great  crowd  assembled,  with  much  parade  and  show  ;  and 
the  two  combatants  were  about  to  rush  at  each  other  with 
their  lances,  when  the  King,  sitting  in  a  pavilion  to  see  fair, 
threw  down  the  truncheon  which  he  carried  in  his  hand,  and 
forbade  the  battle.  The  Duke  of  Hereford  was  to  be  ban- 
ished for  ten  years,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  to  be  ban- 
ished for  life.  So  said  the  King.  The  Duke  of  Hereford 
went  to  France  and  went  no  further.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  afterwards  died 
at  Venice  of  a  broken  heart. 

Faster  and  fiercer,  after  this,  the  King  went  on  in  his 
career.  The  Duke  of  Lancaster,  who  was  the  father  of  the 
Duke  of  Hereford,  died  soon  after  the  departure  of  his  son  ; 
and,  the  King,  although  he  had  solemnly  granted  to  that  son 
leave  to  inherit  his  father's  property,  if  it  should  come  to  him 
during  his  banishment,  immediately  seized  it  all,  like  a  rob- 
ber. The  judges  were  so  afraid  of  him,  that  they  disgraced 
themselves  by  declaring  this  theft  to  be  just  and  lawful. 
His  avarice  knew  no  bounds.  He  outlawed  seventeen  coun- 
ties at  once,  on  a  frivolous  pretense,  merely  to  raise  money 
by  way  of  fines  for  misconduct.  In  short,  he  did  as  many 
dishonest  things  as  he  could  ;  and  cared  so  little  for  the  dis- 
content of  his  subjects — though  even  the  spaniel  favorites 
began  to  whisper  to  him  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  dis- 
content afloat — that  he  took  that  time,  of  all  others,  for  leav- 
ing England  and  making  an  expedition  against  the  Irish. 

He  was  scarcely  gone,  leaving  the  Duke  of  York  Regent 
in  his  absence,  when  his  cousin,  Henry  of  Hereford,  came 
over  from  France  to  claim  the  rights  of  which  he  had  been 
so  monstrously  deprived.  He  was  immediately  joined  by  the 
two  great  Earls  of  Northumberland  and  Westmoreland;  and 
his  uncle,  the  Regent,  finding  the  King's  cause  unpopular, 
and  the  disinclination  of  the  army  to  act  against  Henry, 
very  strong,  withdrew  the  royal  forces  towards  Bristol. 
Henry,  at  the  head  of  an  army,  came  from  Yorkshire  (where 
he  had  landed)  to  London  and  followed  him.  They  joined 
their  forces — how  they  brought  that  about   is  not  distinctly 


X7o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

understood — and  proceeded  to  Bristol  Castle,  whither  three 
noblemen  had  taken  the  young  Queen.  The  castle  surren- 
dering, they  presently  put  those  three  noblemen  to  death. 
The  Regent  then  remained  there,  and  Henry  went  on  to 
Chester. 

All  this  time,  the  boisterous  weather  had  prevented  the 
King  from  receiving  intelligence  of  what  had  occurred.  At 
length  it  was  conveyed  to  him  in  Ireland,  and  he  sent  over 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  who,  landing  at  Conway,  rallied  the 
Welshmen,  and  waited  for  the  King  a  whole  fortnight  ;  at 
the  end  of  that  time  the  Welshmen,  who  were  perhaps  not 
very  warm  for  him  in  the  beginning,  quite  cooled  down  and 
went  home.  When  the  King  did  land  on  the  coast  at  last, 
he  came  with  a  pretty  good  power,  but  his  men  cared  noth- 
ing for  him,  and  quickly  deserted.  Supposing  the  Welsh- 
men to  be  still  at  Conway,  he  disguised  himself  as  a  priest, 
and  made  for  that  place  in  company  with  his  two  brothers 
and  some  few  of  their  adherents.  But  there  were  no  Welsh- 
men left — only  Salisbury  and  a  hundred  soldiers.  In  this 
distress,  the  King's  two  brothers,  Exeter  and  Surrey,  offered 
to  go  to  Henry  to  learn  what  his  intentions  were.  Surrey,  who 
was  true  to  Richard,  was  put  into  prison,  Exeter,  who  was 
false,  took  the  royal  badge,  which  was  a  hart,  off  his  shield, 
and  assumed  the  rose,  the  badge  of  Henry.  After  this,  it 
was  pretty  plain  to  the  King  what  Henry's  intentions  were, 
without  sending  any  more  messengers  to  ask. 

The  fallen  King,  thus  deserted — hemmed  in  on  all  sides, 
and  pressed  with  hunger — rode  here  and  rode  there,  and  went 
to  this  castle,  and  went  to  that  castle,  endeavoring  to  obtain 
some  provisions,  but  could  find  none.  He  rode  wretchedly 
back  to  Conway,  and  there  surrendered  himself  to  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland,  who  came  from  Henry,  in  reality  to  take 
him  prisoner,  but  in  appearance  to  offer  terms  ;  and  whose 
men  were  hidden  not  far  off.  By  this  earl  he  was  conducted 
to  the  castle  of  Flint,  where  his  cousin  Henry  met  him,  and 
dropped  on  his  knee  as  if  he  were  still  respectful  to  his  sov- 
ereign. 

"  Fair  cousin  of  Lancaster,"  said  the  King,  "you  are  very 
welcome "  (very  welcome,  no  doubt  ;  but  he  would  have 
been  more  so,  in  chains  or  without  a  head). 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Henry,  "  I  am  come  a  little  before  my 
time  ;  but,  with  your  good  pleasure,  I  will  show  you  the 
reason.     Your  people  complain  with  some  bitterness,  that 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         171 

you  have  ruled  them  rigorously  for  two-and-twenty  years. 
Now,  if  it  please  God,  I  will  help  you  to  govern  them  better 
in  future." 

"  Fair  cousin,"  replied  the  abject  King,  "  since  it  pleaseth 
you,  it  pleaseth  me  mightily." 

After  this,  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  King  was  stuck 
on  a  wretched  horse,  and  carried  prisoner  to  Chester,  where 
he  was  made  to  issue  a  proclamation,  calling  a  Parliament. 
From  Chester  he  was  taken  on  towards  London.  At  Lichfield 
he  tried  to  escape  by  getting  out  of  a  window  and  letting 
himself  down  into  a  garden  ;  it  was  all  in  vain,  however, 
and  he  was  carried  on  and  shut  up  in  the  Tower,  where  no 
one  pitied  him,  and  where  the  whole  people,  whose  patience 
he  had  quite  tired  out,  reproached  him  without  mercy.  Be- 
fore he  got  there,  it  is  related,  that  his  very  dog  left  him 
and  departed  from  his  side  to  lick  the  hand  of  Henry. 

The  day  before  the  Parliament  met,  a  deputation  went  to 
this  wrecked  King,  and  told  him  that  he  had  promised  the 
Earl  Of  Northumberland  at  Conway  Castle  to  resign  the 
crown.  He  said  he  was  quite  ready  to  do  it,  and  signed  a 
paper  in  which  he  renounced  his  authority  and  absolved  his 
people  from  their  allegiance  to  him.  He  had  so  little  spirit 
left  that  he  gave  his  royal  ring  to  his  triumphant  cousin 
Henry  with  his  own  hand,  and  said,  that  if  he  could  have  had 
leave  to  appoint  a  successor,  that  same  Henry  was  the  man 
of  all  others  whom  he  would  have  named.  Next  day,  the 
Parliament  assembled  in  Westminster  Hall,  where  Henry  sat 
at  the  side  of  the  throne,  which  was  empty  and  covered  with 
a  cloth  of  gold.  The  paper  just  signed  by  the  King  was  read 
to  the  multitude  amid  shouts  of  joy,  which  were  echoed 
through  all  the  streets  ;  when  some  of  the  noise  had  died 
away,  the  King  was  formally  deposed.  Then  Henry  arose, 
and,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  forehead  and  breast, 
challenged  the  realm  of  England  as  his  right ;  the  arch- 
bishops of  Canterbury  and  York  seated  him  on  the  throne. 

The  multitude  shouted  again,  and  the  shouts  re-echoed 
throughout  all  the  streets.  No  one  remembered,  now,  that 
Richard  the  Second  had  ever  been  the  most  beautiful,  the 
wisest,  and  the  best  of  princes  ;  and  he  now  made  living  (to 
my  thinking)  a  far  more  sorry  spectacle  in  the  Tower  of 
London,  than  Wat  Tyler  had  made,  lying  dead,  among  the 
hoofs  of  the  royal  horses  in  Smithfield. 

The  Poll-tax  died  with  Wat.    The  smiths  to  the  King  and 


172        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Royal  Family  could  make  no  claims  in  which  the  King 
could  hang  the  people's  recollection  of  him  ;  so  the  Poll-tax 
was  never  collected. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  HENRY  THE  FOURTH,  CALLED  BOLING- 

BROKE. 

During  the  last  reign,  the  preaching  of  Wickliffe  against 
the  pride  and  cunning  of  the  Pope  and  all  his  men,  had  made 
a  great  noise  in  England.  Whether  the  new  King  wished  to 
be  in  favor  with  the  priests,  or  whether  he  hoped,  by  pre- 
tending to  be  very  religious,  to  cheat  Heaven  itself  into  the 
belief  that  he  was  not  an  usurper,  I  don't  know.  Both  sup- 
positions are  likely  enough.  It  is  certain  that  he  began  his 
reign  by  making  a  strong  show  against  the  followers  of 
Wickliffe,  who  were  called  Lollards  or  heretics — although 
his  father,  John  of  Gaunt,  had  been  of  that  way  of  thinking, 
as  he  himself  had  been  more  than  suspected  of  being.  It  is 
no  less  certain  that  he  first  established  in  England  the  detest- 
able and  atrocious  custom,  brought  from  abroad,  of  burning 
those  people  as  a  punishment  for  their  opinions.  It  was  the 
importation  into  England  of  one  of  the  practices  of  what 
was  called  the  Holy  Inquisition  ;  which  was  the  most  ten- 
holy  and  the  most  infamous  tribunal  that  ever  disgraced 
mankind;  and  made  men  more  like  demons  than  followers 
of  Our  Saviour. 

No  real  right  to  the  crown,  as  you  know,  was  in  this  King. 
Edward  Mortimer,  the  young  Earl  of  March— who  was  only 
eight  or  nine  years  old,  and  who  was  descended  from  the 
Duke  of  Clarence,  the  elder  brother  of  Henry's  father— was, 
by  succession,  the  real  heir  to  the  throne.  However,  the 
King  got  his  son  declared  Prince  of  Wales  ;  and,  obtaining 
possession  of  the  young  Earl  of  March  and  his  little  brother, 
kept  them  in  confinement  (but  not  severely)  in  Windsor  Cas- 
tle. He  then  required  the  Parliament  to  decide  what  was  to 
be  done  with  the  deposed  King,  who  was  quiet  enough,  and 
who  only  said  that  he  hoped  his  cousin  Henry  would  be  "  a 
good  lord  "  to  him.  The  Parliament  replied  that  they  would 
recommend  his  being  kept  in  some  secret  place  where  the 
people  could  not  resort,  and  where  his  friends  could  not  be 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         173 

admitted  to  see  him.  Henry  accordingly  passed  this  sentence 
upon  him,  and  it  now  began  to  be  pretty  clear  to  the  nation 
that  Richard  the  Second  would  not  live  very  long. 

It  was  a  noisy  Parliament,  as  it  was  an  unprincipled  one, 
and  the  lords  quarreled  so  violently  among  themselves  as  to 
which  of  them  had  been  loyal  and  which  disloyal,  and  which 
consistent  and  which  inconsistent,  that  forty  gauntlets  are 
said  to  have  been  thrown  upon  the  floor  at  one  time  as  chal- 
lenges to  as  many  battles  :  the  truth  being  that  they  were  all 
false  and  base  together,  and  had  been,  at  one  time  with  the 
old  King,  and  at  another  time  with  the  new  one,  and  seldom 
true  for  any  length  of  time  to  any  one.  They  soon  began  to 
plot  again.  A  conspiracy  was  formed  to  invite  the  King  to  a 
tournament  at  Oxford,  and  then  to  take  him  by  surprise  and 
kill  him.  This  murderous  enterprise,  which  was  agreed  upon 
at  secret  meetings  in  the  house  of  the  Abbot  of  Westminster, 
was  betrayed  by  the  Earl  of  Rutland — one  of  the  conspira- 
tors. The  King,  instead  of  going  to  the  tournament  or  slay- 
ing at  Windsor  (where  the  conspirators  suddenly  went,  on 
finding  themselves  discovered,  with  the  hope  of  seizing  him), 
retired  to  London,  proclaimed  them  all  traitors,  and  advanced 
upon  them  with  a  great  force.  They  retired  into  the  west  of 
England,  proclaiming  Richard  King  ;  but,  the  people  rose 
against  them,  and  they  were  all  slain.  Their  treason  hast- 
ened the  death  of  the  deposed  monarch.  Whether  he  was 
killed  by  hired  assassins,  or  whether  he  was  starved  to  death, 
or  whether  he  refused  food  on  hearing  of  his  brothers  being 
killed  (who  were  in  that  plot),  is  very  doubtful.  He  met  his 
death  somehow  ;  and  his  body  was  publicly  shown  at  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral  with  only  the  lower  part  of  the  face  un- 
covered. I  can  scarcely  doubt  that  he  was  killed  by  the 
King's  orders. 

The  French  wife  of  the  miserable  Richard  was  now  only 
ten  years  old  ;  and,  when  her  father,  Charles  of  France, 
heard  of  her  misfortunes  and  of  her  lonely  condition  in  En- 
gland, he  went  mad  :  as  he  had  several  times  done  before, 
during  the  last  five  or  six  years.  The  French  Dukes  of  Bur- 
gundy and  Bourbon  took  up  the  poor  girl's  cause,  without 
caring  much  about  it,  but  on  the  chance  of  getting  something 
out  of  England.  The  people  of  Bordeaux,  who  had  a  sort 
of  superstitious  attachment  to  the  memory  of  Richard,  be- 
cause he  was  born  there,  swore  by  the  Lord  that  he  had  been 
the  best  man  in  all  his  kingdom — which  was  going  rather 


174        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

far — and  promised  to  do  great  things  against  the  English. 
Nevertheless,  when  they  came  to  consider  that  they,  and  the 
whole  people  of  France,  were  ruined  by  their  own  nobles, 
and  that  the  English  rule  was  much  the  better  of  the  two, 
they  cooled  down  again  ;  and  the  two  dukes,  although  they 
were  very  great  men,  could  do  nothing  without  them.  Then 
began  negotiations  between  France  and  England  for  the 
sending  home  to  Paris  of  the  poor  little  Queen  with  all  her 
jewels  and  her  fortune  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
gold.  The  King  was  quite  willing  to  restore  the  young 
lady  and  even  the  jewels  ;  but  he  said  he  really  could  not 
part  with  the  money.  So,  at  last  she  was  safely  deposited 
at  Paris  without  her  fortune,  and  then  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy (who  was  cousin  to  the  French  King)  began  to  quar- 
rel with  the  Duke  of  Orleans  (who  was  brother  to  the  French 
King)  about  the  whole  matter  ;  and  those  two  dukes  made 
France  even  more  wretched  than  ever. 

As  the  idea  of  conquering  Scotland  was  still  popular  at 
home,  the  King  marched  to  the  river  Tyne  and  demanded 
homage  of  the  King  of  that  country.  This  being  refused,  he 
advanced  to  Edinburgh,  but  did  little  there  ;  for,  his  army 
being  in  want  of  provisions,  and  the  Scotch  being  very  care- 
ful to  hold  him  in  check  without  giving  battle,  he  was  obliged 
to  retire.  It  is  to  his  immortal  honor  that  in  this  sally  he 
burned  no  villages  and  slaughtered  no  people,  but  was  par- 
ticularly careful  that  his  army  should  be  merciful  and  harm- 
less.    It  was  a  great  example  in  those  ruthless  times. 

A  war  among  the  border  people  of  England  and  Scotland 
went  on  for  twelve  months,  and  then  the  Earl  of  Northum- 
berland, the  nobleman  who  had  helped  Henry  to  the  crown, 
began  to  rebel  against  him — probably  because  nothing  that 
Henry  could  do  for  him  would  satisfy  his  extravagant  expect- 
ations. There  was  a  certain  Welsh  gentlemen,  named  Owen 
Glendower,  who  had  been  a  student  in  one  of  the  Inns  of 
Court,  and  had  afterward  been  in  the  service  of  the  late 
King,  whose  Welsh  property  was  taken  from  him  by  a  power- 
ful lord  related  to  the  present  King,  who  was  his  neighbor. 
Appealing  for  redress,  and  getting  none,  he  took  up  arms, 
was  made  an  outlaw,  and  declared  himself  sovereign  of  Wales. 
He  pretended  to  be  a  magician  ;  and  not  only  were  the  Welsh 
people  stupid  enough  to  believe  him,  but,  even  Henry  be- 
lieved him  too  :  for,  making  three  expeditions  into  Wales, 
and  being  three  times  driven  back  by  the  wildness  of  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         175 

country,  the  bad  weather,  and  the  skill  of  Glendower,  he 
thought  he  was  defeated  by  the  Welshman's  magic  arts. 
However,  he  took  Lord  Grey  and  Sir  Edmund  Mortimer, 
prisoners,  and  allowed  the  relatives  of  Lord  Grey  to  ran- 
som him,  but  would  not  extend  such  favor  to  Sir  Edmund 
Mortimer.  Now,  Henry  Percy,  called  Hotspur,  son  of  the 
Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  was  married  to  Mortimer's 
sister,  is  supposed  to  have  taken  offense  at  this  ;  and,  there- 
fore, in  conjunction  with  his  father  and  some  others,  to  have 
joined  Owen  Glendower,  and  risen  against  Henry.  It  is  by 
no  means  clear  that  this  was  the  real  cause  of  the  conspiracy; 
but  perhaps  it  was  made  the  pretext.  It  was  formed,  and 
was  very  powerful ;  including  Scroop,  Archbishop  of  York, 
and  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  a  powerful  and  brave  Scottish 
nobleman.  The  King  was  prompt  and  active,  and  the  two 
armies  met  at  Shrewsbury. 

There  were  about  fourteen  thousand  men  in  each.  The 
old  Earl  of  Northumberland  being  sick,  the  rebel  forces  were 
led  by  his  son.  The  King  wore  plain  armor  to  deceive  the 
enemy  ;  and  four  noblemen,  with  the  same  object,  wore  the 
royal  arms.  The  rebel  charge  was  so  furious,  that  every 
one  of  those  gentlemen  was  killed,  the  royal  standard  was 
beaten  down,  and  the  young  Prince  of  Wales  was  severely 
wounded  in  the  face.  But  he  was  one  of  the  bravest  and 
best  soldiers  that  ever  lived,  and  he  fought  so  well,  and  the 
King's  troops  were  so  encouraged  by  his  bold  example,  that 
they  rallied  immediately,  and  cut  the  enemy's  forces  all  to 
pieces.  Hotspur  was  killed  by  an  arrow  in  the  brain,  and  the 
rout  was  so  complete  that  the  whole  rebellion  was  struck 
down  by  this  one  blow.  The  Earl  of  Northumberland  sur- 
rendered himself  soon  after  hearing  of  the  death  of  his  son, 
and  received  a  pardon  for  all  his  offenses. 

There  was  some  lingering  of  rebellion  yet ;  Owen  Glen- 
dower being  retired  to  Wales,  and  a  preposterous  story  being 
spread  among  the  ignorant  people  that  King  Richard  was  still 
alive.  How  they  could  have  believed  such  nonsense  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  ;  but  they  certainly  did  suppose  that  the 
Court  fool  of  the  late  King,  who  was  something  like  him,  was 
he,  himself ;  so  that  it  seemed  as  if,  after  giving  so  much 
trouble  to  the  country  in  his  life,  he  was  still  to  trouble  it 
after  his  death.  This  was  not  the  worst.  The  young  Earl 
of  March  and  his  brother  were  stolen  out  of  Windsor  Castle. 
Being  retaken,  and  being  found  to  have  been  spirited  away 


176        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

by  one  Lady  Spencer,  she  accused  her  own  brother,  that  Earl 
of  Rutland  who  was  in  the  former  conspiracy  and  was  now 
Duke  of  York,  of  being  in  the  plot.  For  this  he  was  ruined 
in  fortune,  though  not  put  to  death  ;  and  then  another  plot 
arose  among  the  old  Earl  of  Northumberland,  some  other 
lords,  and  that  same  Scroop,  Archbishop  of  York,  who  was 
with  the  rebels  before.  These  conspirators  caused  a  writing 
to  be  posted  on  the  church  doors,  accusing  the  King  of  a 
variety  of  crimes  ;  but,  the  King  being  eager  and  vigilant  to 
oppose  them,  they  were  all  taken,  and  the  Archbishop  was 
executed.  This  was  the  first  time  that  a  great  churchman 
had  been  slain  by  the  law  in  England  ;  but  the  King  was  re- 
solved that  it  should  be  done,  and  done  it  was. 

The  next  most  remarkable  event  of  this  time  was  the  seiz- 
ure, by  Henry,  of  the  heir  to  the  Scottish  throne — James, 
a  boy  of  nine  years  old.  He  had  been  put  aboard-ship  by 
his  father,  the  Scottish  King  Robert,  to  save  him  from  the 
designs  of  his  uncle,  when,  on  his  way  to  France,  he  was 
accidentally  taken  by  some  English  cruisers.  He  remained  a 
prisoner  in  England  for  nineteen  years,  and  became  in  his 
prison  a  student  and  a  famous  poet. 

With  the  exception  of  occasional  troubles  with  the  Welsh 
and  with  the  French,  the  rest  of  King  Henry's  reign  was 
quiet  enough.  But,  the  King  was  far  from  happy,  and  proba- 
bly was  troubled  in  his  conscience  by  knowing  that  he  had 
usurped  the  crown,  and  had  occasioned  the  death  of  his  mis- 
erable cousin.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  though  brave  and  gen- 
erous, is  said  to  have  been  wild  and  dissipated,  and  even  to 
have  drawn  his  sword  on  Gascoigne,  the  Chief  Justice  of  the 
King's  Bench,  because  he  was  firm  in  dealing  impartially  with 
one  of  his  dissolute  companions.  Upon  this  the  Chief  Justice 
is  said  to  have  ordered  him  immediately  to  prison  ;  the  Prince 
of  Wales  is  said  to  have  submitted  with  a  good  grace  ;  and 
the  King  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  "  Happy  is  the  monarch 
who  has  so  just  a  judge,  and  a  son  so  willing  to  obey  the 
laws."  This  is  all  very  doubtful,  and  so  is  another  story  (of 
which  Shakespeare  has  made  beautiful  use),  that  the  Prince 
once  took  the  crown  out  of  his  father's  chamber  as  he  was 
sleeping,  and  tried  it  on  his  own  head. 

The  King's  health  sank  more  and  more,  and  he  became 
subject  to  violent  eruptions  on  the  face  and  to  bad  epileptic 
fits,  and  his  spirits  sank  every  day.  At  last,  as  he  was  pray- 
ing before  the  shrine  of  St.  Edward  at  Westminster  Abbey, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        177 

he  was  seized  with  a  terrible  fit,  and  was  carried  into  the 
Abbot's  chamber,  where  he  presently  died.  It  had  been  fore- 
told that  he  would  die  at  Jerusalem,  which  certainly  is  not, 
and  never  was,  Westminster.  But,  as  the  Abbot's  room  had 
long  been  called  the  Jerusalem  chamber,  people  said  it  was 
all  the  same  thing,  and  were  quite  satisfied  with  the  pre- 
diction. 

The  King  died  on  the  20th  of  March,  1413,  in  the  forty- 
seventh  year  of  his  age,  and  the  fourteenth  of  his  reign. 
He  was  buried  in  Canterbury  Cathedral.  He  had  been  twice 
married,  and  had,  by  his  first  wife,  a  family  of  four  sons  and 
two  daughters.  Considering  his  duplicity  before  he  came  to 
the  throne,  his  unjust  seizure  of  it,  and,  above  all,  his  making 
that  monstrous  law  for  the  burning  of  what  the  priests  called 
heretics,  he  was  a  reasonably  good  king,  as  kings  went. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

england  under  henry  the  fifth. 

Part  First. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  began  his  reign  like  a  generous  and 
honest  man.  He  set  the  young  Earl  of  March  free  ;  he  re- 
stored their  estates  and  their  honors  to  the  Percy  family,  who 
had  lost  them  by  their  rebellion  against  his  father  ;  he  order- 
ed the  imbecile  and  unfortunate  Richard  to  be  honorably 
buried  among  the  Kings  of  England  ;  and  he  dismissed  all 
his  wild  companions,  with  assurances  that  they  should  not 
want,  if  they  would  resolve  to  be  steady,  faithful,  and  true. 

It  is  much  easier  to  burn  men  than  to  burn  their  opinions; 
and  those  of  the  Lollards  were  spreading  every  day.  The 
Lollards  were  represented  by  the  priests — probably  falsely 
for  the  most  part — to  entertain  treasonable  designs  against 
the  new  King  ;  and  Henry,  suffering  himself  to  be  worked 
upon  by  these  representations,  sacrificed  his  friend  Sir  John 
Oldcastle,  the  Lord  Cobham,  to  them,  after  trying  in  vain  to 
convert  him  by  arguments.  He  was  declared  guilty,  as  the 
head  of  the  sect,  and  sentenced  to  the  flames  ;  but  he  escaped 
from  the  Tower  before  the  day  of  execution  (postponed  for 
fifty  days  by  the  King  himself),  arid  summoned  the  Lollards 
to  meet  him  near  London  on  a  certain  day.     So  the  priests 


178        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

told  the  King,  at  least.  I  doubt  whether  there  was  any  con- 
spiracy beyond  such  as  was  got  up  by  their  agents.  On  the 
day  appointed,  instead  of  five-and-twenty  thousand  men, 
under  the  command  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  in  the  meadows  of 
St.  Giles,  the  King  found  only  eighty  men,  and  no  Sir  John 
at  all.  There  was  in  another  place,  an  addle-headed  brewer, 
who  had  gold  trappings  to  his  horse,  and  a  pair  of  gilt  spurs 
in  his  breast — expecting  to  be  made  a  knight  next  day  by 
Sir  John,  and  so  to  gain  the  right  to  wear  them — but  there 
was  no  Sir  John,  nor  did  any  body  give  information  respecting 
him,  though  the  King  offered  great  rewards  for  such  intelli- 
gence. Thirty  of  these  unfortunate  Lollards  were  hanged 
and  drawn  immediately,  and  were  then  burned,  gallows  and 
all ;  and  the  various  prisons  in  and  around  London  were 
crammed  full  of  others.  Some  of  these  unfortunate  men 
made  various  confessions  of  treasonable  designs  ;  but  such 
confessions  were  easily  got,  under  torture  and  the  fear  of 
fire,  and  are  very  little  to  be  trusted.  To  finish  the  sad  story 
of  Sir  John  Oldcastle  at  once,  I  may  mention  that  he  escaped 
into  Wales  and  remained  there  safely,  for  four  years.  When 
discovered  by  Lord  Powis,  it  is  very  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  been  taken  alive — so  great  was  the  old  soldier's  bravery 
— if  a  miserable  old  woman  had  not  come  behind  him  and 
broken  his  legs  with  a  stool.  He  was  carried  to  London  in  a 
horse  litter,  was  fastened  by  an  iron  chain  to  a  gibbet,  and 
so  roasted  to  death. 

To  make  the  state  of  France  as  plain  as  I  can  in  a  few 
words,  I  should  tell  you  that  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  commonly  called  "  John  without  fear," 
had  had  a  grand  reconciliation  of  their  quarrel  in  the  last 
reign  and  had  appeared  to  be  quite  in  a  heavenly  state  of 
mind.  Immediately  after  which,  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  public 
streets  of  Paris,  the  Duke  of  Orleans  was  murdered  by  a 
party  of  twenty  men,  set  on  by  the  Duke  of  Burgundy- 
according  to  his  own  deliberate  confession.  The  widow  of 
King  Richard  had  been  married  in  France  to  the  eldest  son 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  The  poor  mad  King  was  quite 
powerless  to  help  her,  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  became 
the  real  master  of  France.  Isabella  dying,  her  husband 
(Duke  of  Orleans  since  the  death  of  his  father)  married  the 
daughter  of  the  Count  of  Armagnac,  who,  being  a  much 
abler  man  than  his  young  son-in-law,  headed  his  party  ; 
thence  called  after  him  Armagnacs.     Thus,  France  was  now 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        179 

in  this  terrible  condition,  that  it  had  in  it  the  party  of  the 
King's  son,  the  Dauphin  Louis  ;  the  party  of  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  who  was  the  father  of  the  Dauphin's  ill-used  wife; 
and  the  party  of  the  Armagnacs;  all  hating  each  other  ;  all 
fighting  together  ;  all  composed  of  the  most  depraved  nobles 
that  the  earth  has  ever  known  ;  and  all  tearing  unhappy 
France  to  pieces. 

The  late  King  had  watched  these  dissensions  from  En- 
gland, sensible  (like  the  French  people)  that  no  enemy  of 
France  could  injure  her  more  than  her  own  nobility.  The 
present  King  now  advanced  a  claim  to  the  French  throne. 
His  demand,  being,  of  course,  refused,  he  reduced  his  pro- 
posal to  a  certain  large  amount  of  French  territory,  and  to 
demanding  the  French  princess,  Catherine,  in  marriage,  with 
a  fortune  of  two  millions  of  golden  crowns.  He  was  offered 
less  territory  and  fewer  crowns,  and  no  princess  ;  but  he 
called  his  ambassadors  home  and  prepared  for  war.  Then, 
he  proposed  to  take  the  princess  with  one  million  of  crowns. 
The  French  Court  replied  that  he  should  have  the  princess 
with  two  hundred  thousand  crowns  less  ;  he  said  this  would 
not  do  (he  had  never  seen  the  princess  in  his  life),  and 
assembled  his  army  at  Southampton.  There  was  a  short 
plot  at  home  just  at  that  time,  for  deposing  him,  and  making 
the  Earl  of  March  king  ;  but  the  conspirators  were  all  speed- 
ily condemned  and  executed,  and  the  King  embarked  for 
France. 

It  is  dreadful  to  observe  how  long  a  bad  example  will  be 
followed  ;  but,  it  is  encouraging  to  know  that  a  good  exam- 
ple is  never  thrown  away.  The  King's  first  act  on  disem- 
barking at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Seine,  three  miles  from 
Harfleur,  was  to  imitate  his  father,  and  to  proclaim  his  sol- 
emn orders  that  the  lives  and  property  of  the  peaceable 
inhabitans  should  be  respected  on  pain  of  death.  It  is 
agreed  by  French  writers,  to  his  lasting  renown,  that  even 
while  his  soldiers  were  suffering  the  greatest  distress  from 
want  of  food,  these  commands  were  rigidly  obeyed. 

With  an  army  in  all  of  thirty  thousand  men,  he  besieged 
the  town  of  Harfleur  both  by  sea  and  land  for  five  weeks  ;  at 
the  end  of  which  time  the  town  surrendered,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants were  allowed  to  depart  with  only  fivepence  each,  and  a 
part  of  their  clothes.  All  the  rest  of  their  possessions  was 
divided  among  the  English  army.  But  that  army  suffered 
so  much  in  spite  of  its  successes,  from  disease  and  privation, 


180        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

that  it  was  already  reduced  one  half.  Still,  the  King  was 
determined  not  to  retire  until  he  had  struck  a  greater  blow. 
Therefore,  against  the  advice  of  all  his  counselors,  he  moved 
on  with  his  little  force  toward  Calais.  When  he  came  up  to 
the  river  Somme  he  was  unable  to  cross,  in  consequence  of 
the  ford  being  fortified  ;  and,  as  the  English  moved  up  the 
left  bank  of  the  river  looking  for  a  crossing,  the  French,  who 
had  broken  all  the  bridges,  moved  up  the  right  bank,  watch- 
ing them,  and  waiting  to  attack  them  when  they  should  try 
to  pass  it.  At  last  the  English  found  a  crossing  and  got 
safely  over.  The  French  held  a  council  of  war  at  Rouen, 
resolved  to  give  the  English  battle,  and  sent  heralds  to  King 
Henry  to  know  by  which  road  he  was  going.  "  By  the  road 
that  will  take  me  straight  to  Calais  !  "  said  the  King,  and 
sent  them  away  with  a  present  of  a  hundred  crowns. 

The  English  moved  on  until  they  beheld  the  French,  and 
then  the  King  gave  orders  to  form  in  line  of  battle.  The 
French  not  coming  on,  the  army  broke  up  after  remaining  in 
battle  array  till  night,  and  got  good  rest  and  refreshment  at 
a  neighboring  village.  The  French  were  now  all  lying  in 
another  village,  through  which  they  knew  the  English  must 
pass.  They  were  resolved  that  the  English  should  begin  the 
battle.  The  English  had  no  means  of  retreat,  if  their  King 
had  any  such  intention  ;  and  so  the  two  armies  passed  the 
night  close  together. 

To  understand  these  armies  well,  you  must  bear  in  mind 
that  the  immense  French  army  had,  among  its  notable  per- 
sons, almost  the  whole  of  that  wicked  nobility,  whose  de- 
bauchery had  made  France  a  desert ;  and  so  besotted  were 
they  by  pride,  and  by  contempt  for  the  common  people,  that 
they  had  scarcely  any  bowmen  (if  indeed  they  had  any  at  all) 
in  their  whole  enormous  number  :  which,  compared  with  the 
English  army,  was  at  least  as  six  to  one.  For  these  proud 
fools  had  said  that  the  bow  was  not  a  fit  weapon  for  knightly 
hands,  and  that  France  must  be  defended  by  gentlemen 
only.  We  shall  see,  presently,  what  hand  the  gentlemen 
made  of  it. 

Now,  on  the  English  side,  among  the  little  force,  there 
was  a  good  proportion  of  men  who  were  not  gentlemen  by 
any  means,  but  who  were  good  stout  archers  for  all  that. 
Among  them  in  the  morning — having  slept  little  at  night, 
while  the  French  were  carousing  and  making  sure  of  victory 
— the  King  rode,  on  a  gray  horse ;  wearing  on  his  head  Sk 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        181 

helmet  of  shining  steel,  surmounted  by  a  crown  of  gold, 
sparkling  with  precious  stones ;  and  bearing  over  his  armor, 
embroidered  together,  the  arms  of  England  and  the  arms  of 
France.  The  archers  looked  at  the  shining  helmet  and  the 
crown  of  gold  and  the  sparkling  jewels,  and  admired  them 
all  ;  but,  what  they  admired  most  was  the  King's  cheerful 
face,  and  his  bright  blue  eye,  as  he  told  them  that,  for  him- 
self, he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  conquer  there  or  to  die 
there,  and  that  England  should  never  have  a  ransom  to  pay 
for  him.  There  was  one  brave  knight  who  chanced  to  say 
that  he  wished  some  of  the  many  gallant  gentlemen  and 
good  soldiers,  who  were  then  idle  at  home  in  England  were 
there  to  increase  their  numbers.  But  the  King  told  him  that, 
for  his  part,  he  did  not  wish  for  one  more  man.  "  The  fewer 
we  have,"  said  he,  "  the  greater  will  be  the  honor  we  shall 
win!"  His  men,  being  now  all  in  good  heart,  were  re- 
freshed with  bread  and  wine,  and  heard  prayers,  and  waited 
quietly  for  the  French.  The  King  waited  for  the  French, 
because  they  were  drawn  up  thirty  deep  (the  little  English 
force  was  only  three  deep),  on  a  very  difficult  and  heavy 
ground  ;  and  he  knew  that  when  they  moved,  there  must  be 
confusion  among  them. 

As  they  did  not  move,  he  sent  off  two  parties  : — one  to 
lie  concealed  in  a  wood  on  the  left  of  the  French  :  the  other, 
to  set  fire  to  some  houses  behind  the  French  after  the  battle 
should  be  begun.  This  was  scarcely  done,  when  three  of  the 
proud  French  gentlemen,  who  were  to  defend  their  country 
without  any  help  from  the  base  peasants,  came  riding  out, 
calling  upon  the  English  to  surrender.  The  King  warned 
those  gentlemen  himself  to  retire  with  all  speed  if  they  cared 
for  their  lives,  and  ordered  the  English  banners  to  advance. 
Upon  that,  Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  a  great  English  general, 
who  commanded  the  archers,  threw  his  truncheon  into  the 
air  joyfully  ;  and  all  the  Englishmen,  kneeling  down  upon 
the  ground  and  biting  it  as  if  they  took  possession  of  the 
country,  rose  up  with  a  great  shout  and  fell  upon  the 
French. 

Every  archer  was  furnished  with  a  great  stake  tipped  with 
iron  ;  and  his  orders  were,  to  thrust  this  stake  into  the 
ground,  to  discharge  his  arrow,  and  then  to  fall  back,  when 
the  French  horsemen  came  on.  As  the  haughty  French 
gentlemen,  who  were  to  break  the  English  archers  and 
utterly  destroy  them  with  their  knightly  lances,  came  riding 


t82        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

up,  they  were  received  with  such  a  blinding  storm  of  arrows 
that  they  broke  and  turned.  Horses  and  men  rolled  over 
one  another,  and  the  confusion  was  terrific.  Those  who 
rallied  and  charged  the  archers  got  among  the  stakes  on 
slippery  and  boggy  ground,  and  were  so  bewildered  that  the 
English  archers  —  who  wore  no  armor,  and  even  took  off 
their  leathern  coats  to  be  more  active — cut  them  to  pieces, 
root  and  branch.  Only  three  French  horsemen  got  within 
the  stakes,  and  those  were  instantly  dispatched.  All  this 
time  the  dense  French  army,  being  in  armor,  were  sinking 
knee-deep  into  the  mire  ;  while  the  light  English  archers, 
half-naked,  were  as  fresh  and  active  as  if  they  were  fighting 
on  a  marble  floor. 

But  now,  the  second  division  of  the  French  coming  to  the 
relief  of  the  first,  closed  up  in  a  firm  mass  ;  the  English 
headed  by  the  King,  attacked  them  ;  and  the  deadliest  part 
of  the  battle  began.  The  King's  brother,  the  Duke  of  Clar- 
ence, was  struck  down,  and  numbers  of  the  French  sur- 
rounded him  ;  but,  King  Henry,  standing  over  the  body, 
fought  like  a  lion  until  they  were  beaten  off. 

Presently,  came  up  a  band  of  eighteen  French  knights, 
bearing  the  banner  of  a  certain  French  lord,  who  had  sworn 
to  kill  or  take  the  English  King.  One  of  them  struck  him 
such  a  blow  with  a  battle- ax  that  he  reeled  and  fell  upon 
his  knees  ;  but  his  faithful  men,  immediately  closing  round 
him,  killed  every  one  of  those  eighteen  knights,  and  so  that 
French  lord  never  kept  his  oath. 

The  French  Duke  of  Alencon,  seeing  this,  made  a  desperate 
charge,  and  cut  his  way  close  up  to  the  Royal  Standard  of 
England.  He  beat  down  the  Duke  of  York,  who  was  stand- 
ing near  it  ;  and  when  the  King  came  to  his  rescue,  struck  off 
a  piece  of  the  crown  he  wore.  But,  he  never  struck  another 
blow  in  this  world  ;  for,  even  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  saying 
who  he  was,  and  that  he  surrendered  to  the  King  ;  and  even 
as  the  King  stretched  out  his  hand  to  give  him  a  safe  and 
honorable  acceptance  of  the  offer,  he  fell  dead,  pierced  by 
innumerable  wounds. 

The  death  of  this  nobleman  decided  the  battle.  The  third 
division  of  the  French  army,  which  had  never  struck  a  blow 
yet,  and  which  was,  in  itself,  more  than  double  the  whole 
English  power,  broke  and  fled.  At  this  time  of  the  fight,  the 
English,  who  as  yet  had  made  no  prisoners,  began  to  take 
them  in  immense  numbers,  and  were  still  occupied  in  doing 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         183 

so,  or  in  killing  those  who  would  not  surrender,  when  a  great 
noise  arose  in  the  rear  of  the  French — their  flying  banners 
were,  seen  to  stop — and  King  Henry,  supposing  a  great  re-en- 
forcement to  have  arrived,  gave  orders  that  all  the  prisoners 
should  be  put  to  death.  As  soon,  however,  as  it  was  found 
that  the  noise  was  only  occasioned  by  a  body  of  plundering 
peasants,  the  terrible  massacre  was  stopped. 

Then  King  Henry  called  to  him  the  French  herald,  and 
asked  him  to  whom  the  victory  belonged. 

The  herald  replied,  "  To  the  King  of  England." 

"  We  have  not  made  this  havoc  and  slaughter,"  said  the 
King.  "  It  is  the  wrath  of  heaven  on  the  sins  of  France. 
What  is  the  name  of  that  castle  yonder  ? " 

The  herald  answered  him,  "  My  lord,  it  is  the  castle  of 
Azincourt." 

Said  the  King,  "  From  henceforth  this  battle  shall  be 
known  to  posterity  by  the  name  of  the  battle  of  Azincourt." 

Our  English  historians  have  made  it  Agincourt ;  but,  under 
that  name,  it  will  ever  be  famous  in  English  annals. 

The  loss  upon  the  French  side  was  enormous.  Three 
dukes  were  killed,  two  more  were  taken  prisoners,  seven 
counts  were  killed,  three  more  were  taken  prisoners,  and  ten 
thousand  knights  and  gentlemen  were  slain  upon  the  field. 
The  English  loss  amounted  to  sixteen  hundred  men, 
among  whom  were  the  Duke  of  York  and  the  Earl  of  Suf- 
folk. 

War  is  a  dreadful  thing  ;  and  it  is  appalling  to  know  how 
the  English  were  obliged,  next  morning,  to  kill  those  pris- 
oners mortally  wounded,  who  yet  writhed  in  agony  upon  the 
ground  ;  how  the  dead  upon  the  French  side  were  stripped 
by  their  own  countrymen  and  countrywomen,  and  afterward 
buried  in  great  pits  ;  how  the  dead  upon  the  English  side 
were  piled  up  in  a  great  barn,  and  how  their  bodies  and  the 
barn  were  all  burned  together.  It  is  in  such  things,  and  in 
many  more  much  too  horrible  to  relate,  that  the  real  desola- 
tion and  wickedness  of  war  consists.  Nothing  can  make  war 
otherwise  than  horrible.  But  the  dark  side  of  it  was  little 
thought  of  and  soon  forgotten  ;  and  it  cast  no  shade  of  trouble 
on  the  English  people,  except  on  those  who  had  lost  friends 
or  relations  in  the  fight.  They  welcomed  their  King  home 
with  shouts  of  rejoicing,  and  plunged  into  the  water  to  bear 
him  ashore  on  their  shoulders,  and  flocked  out  in  crowds  to 
welcome  him  in  every  town  through  which  he  passed,  and 


1 84        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

hung  rich  carpets  and  tapestries  out  of  the  windows,  and 
strewed  the  streets  with  flowers,  and  made  the  fountains 
run  with  wine,  as  the  great  field  of  Agincourt  had  run  with 
blood. 

Second  Part. 

That  proud  and  wicked  French  nobility  who  dragged  their 
country  to  destruction,  and  who  were  every  day  and  every 
year  regarded  with  deeper  hatred  and  detestation  in  the 
hearts  of  the  French  people,  learned  nothing,  even  from  the 
defeat  of  Agincourt.  So  far  from  uniting  against  the  com- 
mon enemy,  they  became,  among  themselves,  more  violent, 
more  bloody,  and  more  false — if  that  were  possible — than 
they  had  been  before.  The  Count  of  Armagnac  persuaded 
the  French  king  to  plunder  of  her  treasures  Queen  Isabella 
of  Bavaria,  and  to  make  her  a  prisoner.  She,  who  had 
hitherto  been  the  bitter  enemy  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
proposed  to  join  him,  in  revenge.  He  carried  her  off  to 
Troyes,  where  she  proclaimed  herself  Regent  of  France, 
and  made  him  her  lieutenant.  The  Armagnac  party  were 
at  that  time  possessed  of  Paris  ;  but,  one  of  the  gates  of  the 
city  being  secretly  opened  on  a  certain  night  to  a  party  of 
the  Duke's  men,  they  got  into  Paris,  threw  into  the  prisons 
all  the  Armagnacs  upon  whom  they  could  lay  their  hands, 
and,  a  few  nights  afterward,  with  the  aid  of  a  furious  mob 
of  sixty  thousand  people,  broke  the  prisons  open,  and  killed 
them  all.  The  former  Dauphin  was  now  dead,  and  the 
King's  third  son  bore  the  title.  Him,  in  the  height  of  this 
murderous  scene,  a  French  knight  hurried  out  of  bed,  wrap- 
ped in  a  sheet,  and  bore  away  to  Poitiers.  So,  when  the 
revengeful  Isabella  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  entered  Paris 
in  triumph  after  the  slaughter  of  their  enemies,  the  Dauphin 
was  proclaimed  at  Poitiers  as  the  real  Regent. 

King  Henry  had  not  been  idle  since  his  victory  of  Agin- 
court, but  had  repulsed  a  brave  attempt  of  the  French  to 
recover  Harfleur  ;  had  gradually  conquered  a  great  part  of 
Normandy  ;  and,  at  this  crisis  of  affairs,  took  the  important 
town  of  Rouen,  after  a  siege  of  half  a  year.  This  great 
loss  so  alarmed  the  French,  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  pro- 
posed that  a  meeting  to  treat  of  peace  should  be  held 
between  the  French  and  the  English  kings  in  a  plain  by  the 
river  Seine.  On  the  appointed  day,  King  Henry  appeared 
there,  with  his  two  brothers,  Clarence  and  Gloucester,  and  a 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         185 

thousand  men.  The  unfortunate  French  King,  being  more 
mad  than  usual  that  day,  could  not  come  ;  but  the  Queen 
came,  and  with  her  the  Princess  Catherine  :  who  was  a  very 
lovely  creature,  and  who  made  a  real  impression  on  King 
Henry,  now  that  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time.  This  was  the 
most  important  circumstance  that  arose  out  of  the  meeting. 

As  if  it  were  impossible  for  a  French  nobleman  of  that 
time  to  be  true  to  his  word  of  honor  in  any  thing,  Henry  dis- 
covered that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was,  at  that  very 
moment,  in  secret  treaty  with  the  Dauphin  ;  and  he  there- 
fore abandoned  the  negotiation. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  the  Dauphin,  each  of  whom 
with  the  best  reason  distrusted  the  other  as  a  noble  ruffian 
surrounded  by  a  party  of  noble  ruffians,  were  rather  at  a  loss 
how  to  proceed  after  this  ;  but,  at  length  they  agreed  to  meet, 
on  a  bridge  over  the  river  Yonne,  where  it  was  arranged  that 
there  should  be  two  strong  gates  put  up,  with  an  empty  space 
between  them  ;  and  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  should 
come  into  that  space  by  one  gate,  with  ten  men  only  ;  and 
that  the  Dauphin  should  come  into  that  space  by  the  other 
gate,  also  with  ten  men,  and  no  more. 

So  far  the  Dauphin  kept  his  word,  but  no  further.  When 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  on  his  knee  before  him  in  the 
act  of  speaking,  one  of  the  Dauphin's  noble  ruffians  cut  the 
said  duke  down  with  a  small  ax,  and  others  speedily  fin- 
ished him. 

It  was  in  vain  for  the  Dauphin  to  pretend  that  this  base 
murder  was  not  done  with  his  consent ;  it  was  too  bad,  even 
for  France,  and  caused  a  general  horror.  The  Duke's  heir 
hastened  to  make  a  treaty  with  King  Henry,  and  the  French 
Queen  engaged  that  her  husband  should  consent  to  it,  what- 
ever it  was.  Henry  made  peace,  on  condition  of  receiving 
the  Princess  Catherine  in  marriage,  and  being  made  Regent 
of  France  during  the  rest  of  the  King's  lifetime,  and  suc- 
ceeding to  the  French  crown  at  his  death.  He  was  soon 
married  to  the  beautiful  Princess,  and  took  her  proudly 
home  to  England,  where  she  was  crowned  with  great  honor 
and  glory. 

This  peace  was  called  the  Perpetual  Peace  ;  we  shall  soon 
see  how  long  it  lasted.  It  gave  great  satisfaction  to  the 
French  people,  although  they  were  so  poor  and  miserable, 
that,  at  the  time  of  the  celebration  of  the  Royal  marriage, 
numbers  of  them  were  dying  of   starvation,  on  the  dunghills 


186        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

in  the  streets  of  Paris.  There  was  some  resistance  on  the 
part  of  the  Dauphin  in  some  few  parts  of  France,  but  King 
Henry  beat  it  all  down. 

And  now,  with  his  great  possessions  in  France  secured, 
and  with  his  beautiful  wife  to  cheer  him,  and  a  son  born  to 
give  him  greater  happiness,  all  appeared  bright  before  him. 
But,  in  the  fullness  of  his  triumph  and  the  height  of  his 
power,  Death  came  upon  him,  and  his  day  was  done.  When 
he  fell  ill  at  Vincennes,  and  found  that  he  could  not  recover, 
he  was  very  calm  and  quiet,  and  spoke  serenely  to  those  who 
wept  around  his  bed.  His  wife  and  child,  he  said,  he  left  to 
the  loving  care  of  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and 
his  other  faithful  nobles.  He  gave  them  his  advice  that 
England  should  establish  a  friendship  with  the  new  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  and  offer  him  the  regency  of  France  ;  that  it 
should  not  set  free  the  royal  princess  who  had  been  taken  at 
Agincourt  ;  and  that,  whatever  quarrel  might  arise  with 
France,  England  should  never  make  peace  without  holding 
Normandy.  Then,  he  laid  down  his  head,  and  asked  the 
attendant  priests  to  chant  the  penitential  psalms.  Amid 
which  solemn  sounds,  on  the  thirty-first  of  August,  one 
thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty-two,  in  only  the  thirty- 
fourth  year  of  his  age  and  the  tenth  of  his  reign,  King  Henry 
the  Fifth  passed  away. 

Slowly  and  mournfully  they  carried  his  embalmed  body  in 
a  procession  of  great  state  to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Rouen 
where  his  Queen  was  :  from  whom  the  sad  intelligence  of  his 
death  was  concealed  until  he  had  been  dead  some  days. 
Thence,  lying  on  a  bed  of  crimson  and  gold,  with  a  golden 
crown  upon  the  head,  and  a  golden  ball  and  scepter  lying  in 
the  nerveless  hands,  they  carried  it  to  Calais,  with  such  a 
great  retinue  as  seemed  to  dye  the  road  black.  The  King  of 
Scotland  acted  as  chief  mourner,  all  the  Royal  Household 
followed,  the  knights  wore  black  armor  and  black  plumes  of 
feathers,  crowds  of  men  bore  torches,  making  the  night  as 
light  as  day  ;  and  the  widowed  Princess  followed  last  of  all. 
At  Calais  there  was  a  fleet  of  ships  to  bring  the  funeral  host 
to  Dover.  And  so,  by  way  of  London  Bridge,  where  the 
service  for  the  dead  was  chanted  as  it  passed  along,  they 
brought  the  body  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  there  buried  it 
with  great  respect. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         187 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

england  under  henry  the  sixth. 

Part  the  First. 

It  had  been  the  wish  of  the  late  King,  that  while  his  infant 
son  King  Henry  the  Sixth,  at  this  time  only  nine  months  old, 
was  under  age,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  should  be  appointed 
Regent.  The  English  Parliament,  however,preferred  to  appoint 
a  Council  of  Regency,  with  the  Duke  of  Bedford  at  its  head  : 
to  be  represented,  in  his  absence  only,  by  the  Duke  of  Glou- 
cester. The  Parliament  would  seem  to  have  been  wise  in 
this,  for  Gloucester  soon  showed  himself  to  be  ambitious  and 
troublesome,  and,  in  the  gratification  of  his  own  personal 
schemes,  gave  dangerous  offense  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
which  was  with  difficulty  adjusted. 

As  that  duke  declined  the  Regency  of  France,  it  was  be- 
stowed by  the  poor  French  King  upon  the  Duke  of  Bedford. 
But,  the  French  King  dying  within  two  months,  the  Dauphin 
instantly  asserted  his  claim  to  the  French  throne,  and  was 
actually  crowned  under  the  title  of  Charles  the  Seventh. 
The  Duke  of  Bedford,  to  be  a  match  for  him,  entered  into  a 
friendly  league  with  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy  and  Brittany, 
and  gave  them  his  two  sisters  in  marriage.  War  with  France 
was  immediately  renewed,  and  the  Perpetual  Peace  came  to 
an  untimely  end. 

In  the  first  campaign,  the  English  aided  by  this  alliance, 
were  speedily  successful.  As  Scotland,  however,  had  sent 
the  French  five  thousand  men,  and  might  send  more,  or 
attack  the  North  of  England  while  England  was  busy  with 
France,  it  was  considered  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
offer  the  Scottish  King,  James,  who  had  been  so  long  im- 
prisoned, his  liberty,  on  his  paying  forty  thousand  pounds 
for  his  board  and  lodging  during  nineteen  years,  and  engag- 
ing to  forbid  his  subjects  from  serving  under  the  flag  of 
France.  It  is  pleasant  to  know,  not  only  that  the  amiable 
captive  at  last  regained  his  freedom  upon  these  terms,  but 
that  he  married  a  noble  English  lady,  with  whom  he  had  been 
long  in  love,  and  became  an  excellent  King.  I  am  afraid  we 
have  met  with  some  Kings  in  this  history,  and  shall  meet  with 
some  more,  who  would  have  been  very  much  the  better,  and 


z88        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

would  have  left  the  world  much  happier,  if  they  had  been 
miprisoned  nineteen  years  too. 

In  the  second  campaign,  the  English  gained  a  considerable 
victory  at  Verneuil,  in  a  battle  which  was  chiefly  remarkable, 
otherwise,  for  their  resorting  to  the  odd  expedient  of  tying 
their  baggage-horses  together  by  the  heads  and  tails,  and 
jumbling  them  up  with  the  baggage,  so  as  to  convert  them 
into  a  sort  of  live  fortification — which  was  found  useful  to 
the  troops,  but  which  I  should  think  was  not  agreeable  to 
the  horses.  For  three  years  afterward  very  little  was  done, 
owing  to  both  sides  being  too  poor  for  war,  which  is  a  very 
expensive  entertainment  ;  but,  a  council  was  then  held  in 
Paris,  in  which  it  was  decided  to  lay  seige  to  the  town  of 
Orleans,  which  was  a  place  of  great  importance  to  the  Dau- 
phin's cause.  An  English  army  of  ten  thousand  men  was 
dispatched  on  this  service,  under  the  command  of  the  Earl 
of  Salisbury,  a  general  of  fame.  He  being  unfortunately 
killed  early  in  the  siege,  the  Earl  of  Suffolk  took  his  place  ; 
under  whom  (re-enforced  by  Sir  John  Falstaff,  who  brought 
up  four  hundred  wagons  laden  with  salt  herrings  and  other 
provisions  for  the  troops,  and,  beating  off  the  French  who 
tried  to  intercept  him,  came  victorious  out  of  a  hot  skirmish, 
which  was  afterward  called  in  jest  the  battle  of  the  Herrings), 
the  town  of  Orleans  was  so  completely  hemmed  in,  that  the 
besieged  proposed  to  yield  it  up  to  their  countryman  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy.  The  English  general,  however,  replied 
that  his  English  men  had  won  it,  so  far,  by  their  blood  and 
valor,  and  that  his  English  men  must  have  it.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  hope  for  the  town,  or  for  the  Dauphin,  who  was  so 
dismayed  that  he  even  thought  of  flying  to  Scotland  or  to 
Spain — when  a  peasant  girl  rose  up  and  changed  the  whole 
state  of  affairs. 

The  story  of  this  peasant  girl  I  have  now  to  tell 

Part  the  Second. 

the  story  of  joan  of  arc. 

In  a  remote  village  among  some  wild  hills  in  the  province 
of  Lorraine,  there  lived  a  countryman  whose  name  was 
Jacques  d'Arc.  He  had  a  daughter,  Joan  of  Arc,  who  t^as 
at  this  time  in  her  twentieth  year.  She  had  been  a  solitary 
girl  from  her  childhood  *.  she  had  often  tended  sheep  a*  4 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         189 

cattle  for  whole  days  where  no  human  figure  was  seen  or 
human  voiceheard  ;  and  she  had  often  kneeled,  for  hours  to- 
gether, in  the  gloomy  empty  little  village  chapel,  looking  up 
at  the  altar  and  at  the  dim  lamp  burning  before  it,  until 
she  fancied  that  she  saw  shadowy  figures  standing  there,  and 
even  that  she  heard  them  speak  to  her.  The  people  in  that  part 
of  France  were  very  ignorant  and  superstitious,  and  they  had 
many  ghostly  tales  to  tell  about  what  they  had  dreamed,  and 
what  they  saw  among  the  lonely  hills  when  the  clouds  and 
the  mists  were  resting  on  them.  So  they  easily  believed  that 
Joan  saw  strange  sights,  and  they  whispered  among  them- 
selves that  angels  and  spirits  talked  to  her. 

At  last,  Joan  told  her  father  that  she  had  one  day  been 
surprised  by  a  great  unearthly  light,  and  had  afterward 
heard  a  solemn  voice,  which  said  it  was  Saint  Michael's 
voice,  telling  her  that  she  was  to  go  and  help  the  Dauphin. 
Soon  after  this  (she  said),  Saint  Catherine  and  Saint  Marga- 
ret had  appeared  to  her  with  sparkling  crowns  upon  their 
heads,  and  had  encouraged  her  to  be  virtuous  and  resolute. 
These  visions  had  returned  sometimes  ;  but  the  Voices  very 
often  ;  and  the  voices  always  said,  "  Joan,  thou  art  appointed 
by  Heaven  to  go  and  help  the  Dauphin  !  "  She  almost  always 
heard  them  while  the  chapel  bells  were  ringing. 

There  is  no  doubt  now  that  Joan  believed  she  saw  and 
heard  these  things.  It  is  very  well  known  that  such  delusions 
are  a  disease  which  is  not  by  any  means  uncommon.  It  is 
probable  enough  that  there  were  figures  of  Saint  Michael, 
and  Saint  Catherine,  and  Saint  Margaret,  in  the  little  chapel 
(where  they  would  be  very  likely  to  have  shining  crowns  upon 
their  heads),  and  that  they  first  gave  Joan  the  idea  of  those 
three  personages.  She  had  long  been  a  moping,  fanciful  girl, 
and,  though  she  was  a  very  good  girl,  I  dare  say  she  was  a 
little  vain  and  wishful  for  notoriety. 

Her  father,  something  wiser  than  his  neighbors,  said,  "  I 
tell  thee,  Joan,  it  is  thy  fancy.  Thou  hadst  better  have  a 
kind  husband  to  take  care  of  thee,  girl,  and  work  to  employ 
thy  mind  !  "  But  Joan  told  him  in  reply,  that  she  had  taken 
a  vow  never  to  have  a  husband,  and  that  she  must  go  as 
Heaven  directed  her,  to  help  the  Dauphin. 

It  happened,  unfortunately  for  her  father's  persuasions, 
and  most  unfortunately  for  the  poor  girl,  too.  that  a  party  of 
the  Dauphin's  enemies  found  their  way  into  the  village  while 
Joan's  disorder  was  at  this  point,  and  burned  the  chapel,  and 


i9o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

drove  out  the  inhabitants.  The  cruelties  she  saw  committed, 
touched  Joan's  heart  and  made  her  worse.  She  said  that  the 
voices  and  the  figures  were  now  continually  with  her  ;  that 
they  told  her  she  was  the  girl  who,  according  to  an  old  proph- 
ecy, was  to  deliver  France  ;  and  she  must  go  and  help  the 
Dauphin,  and  must  remain  with  him  until  he  should  be 
crowned  at  Rheims  :  and  that  she  must  travel  a  long  way  to 
a  certain  lord  named  Baudricourt,  who  could  and  would, 
bring  her  into  the  Dauphin's  presence. 

As  her  father  still  said,  "  I  tell  thee,  Joan,  it  is  thy  fancy," 
she  set  off  to  find  out  this  lord,  accompanied  by  an  uncle,  a 
poor  village  wheelwright  and  cart-maker,  who  believed  in  the 
reality  of  her  visions.  They  traveled  a  long  way  and  went 
on  and  on,  over  a  rough  country,  full  of  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy's men,  and  of  all  kinds  of  robbers  and  marauders,  un- 
til they  came  to  where  this  lord  was. 

When  his  servants  told  him  that  there  was  a  poor  peasant 
girl  named  Joan  of  Arc,  accompanied  by  nobody  but  an  old 
village  wheelwright  and  cart-maker,  who  wished  to  see  him 
because  she  was  commanded  to  help  the  Dauphin  and  save 
France,  Baudricourt  burst  out  a-laughing,  and  bade  them 
send  the  girl  away.  But,  he  soon  heard  so  much  about  her 
lingering  in  the  town,  and  praying  in  the  churches,  and  see- 
ing visions,  and  doing  harm  to  no  one,  that  he  sent  for  her, 
and  questioned  her.  As  she  said  the  same  things  after  she 
had  been  well  sprinkled  with  holy  water  as  she  had  said  be- 
fore the  sprinkling,  Baudricourt  began  to  think  there  might 
be  something  in  it  At  all  events,  he  thought  it  worth  while 
to  send  her  on  to  the  town  of  Chinon,  where  the  Dauphin 
was.  So,  he  bought  her  a  horse,  and  a  sword,  and  gave  her 
two  squires  to  conduct  her.  As  the  Voices  had  told  Joan 
that  she  was  to  wear  a  man's  dress,  now,  she  put  one  on,  and 
girded  her  sword  to  her  side,  and  bound  spurs  to  her  heels, 
and  mounted  her  horse  and  rode  away  with  her  two  squires. 
As  to  her  uncle  the  wheelwright,  he  stood  staring  at  his  niece 
in  wonder  until  she  was  out  of  sight — as  well  he  might — and 
then  went  home  again.     The  best  place,  too. 

Joan  and  her  two  squires  rode  on  and  on,  until  they  came 
to  Chinon,  where  she  was,  after  some  doubt,  admitted  into 
the  Dauphin's  presence.  Picking  him  out  immediately  from 
all  his  court,  she  told  him  that  she  came  commanded  by 
Heaven  to  subdue  his  enemies  and  conduct  him  to  his  coro- 
nation at  Rheims.    She  also  told  him  (or  he  pretended  so  af- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         191 

terward,  to  make  the  greater  impression  upon  his  soldiers) 
a  number  of  his  secrets  known  only  to  himself,  and,  further- 
more, she  said  there  was  an  old,  old  sword  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Saint  Catherine  at  Fierbois,  marked  with  five  old  crosses 
on  the  blade,  which  Saint  Catherine  had  ordered  her  to  wear. 

Now,  nobody  knew  any  thing  about  this  old,  old  sword, 
but  when  the  cathedral  came  to  be  examined — which  was 
immediately  done — there,  sure  enough,  the  sword  was  found  I 
The  Dauphin  then  required  a  number  of  grave  priests  and 
bishops  to  give  him  their  opinion  whether  the  girl  derived 
her  power  from  good  spirits  or  from  evil  spirits,  which  they 
held  prodigiously  long  debates  about,  in  the  course  of  which 
several  learned  men  fell  fast  asleep  and  snored  loudly.  At 
last,  when  one  gruff  old  gentleman  had  said  to  Joan,  "  What 
language  do  your  Voices  speak  ? "  and  when  Joan  had  re- 
plied to  the  gruff  old  gentleman,  "  A  pleasanter  language 
than  yours,"  they  agreed  that  it  was  all  correct,  and  that  Joan 
of  Arc  was  inspired  from  Heaven.  This  wonderful  circum- 
stance put  new  heart  into  the  Dauphin's  soldiers  when  they 
heard  of  it,  and  dispirited  the  English  army,  who  took  Joan 
for  a  witch. 

So  Joan  mounted  horse  again,  and  again  rode  on  and  on, 
until  she  came  to  Orleans.  But  she  rode  now,  as  never 
peasant  girl  had  ridden,  yet.  She  rode  upon  a  white  war- 
horse,  in  a  suit  of  glittering  armor  ;  with  the  old,  old  sword 
from  the  cathedral,  newly  burnished,  in  her  belt;  with  a 
white  flag  carried  before  her,  upon  which  were  a  picture  of 
God,  and  the  words  Jesus  Maria.  In  this  splendid  state,  at 
the  head  of  a  great  body  of  troops  escorting  provisions  of 
all  kinds  for  the  starving  inhabitants  of  Orleans,  she  appeared 
before  that  beleaguered  city. 

When  the  people  on  the  walls  beheld  her,  they  cried 
out,  "  The  Maid  is  come  !  The  Maid  of  the  prophecy  is 
come  to  deliver  us  !  "  And  this,  and  the  sight  of  the  Maid 
fighting  at  the  head  of  their  men,  made  the  French  so  bold, 
and  made  the  English  so  fearful,  that  the  English  line  of 
forts  was  soon  broken,  the  troops  and  provisions  were  got 
into  the  town,  and  Orleans  was  saved. 

Joan,  henceforth  called  The  Maid  of  Orleans,  remained 
within  the  walls  for  a  few  days,  and  caused  letters  to  be 
thrown  over,  ordering  Lord  Suffolk  and  his  Englishmen  to 
depart  from  before  the  town  according  to  the  will  of  Heaven. 
As  the  English  general  very  positively  declined  to  believe 


i92        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

that  Joan  knew  any  thing  about  the  will  of  Heaven  (which 
did  not  mend  the  matter  with  his  soldiers,  for  they  stupidly 
said  if  she  were  not  inspired  she  was  a  witch,  and  it  was  of 
no  use  to  fight  against  a  witch),  she  mounted  her  white  war- 
horse  again,  and  ordered  her  white  banner  to  advance. 

The  besiegers  held  the  bridge,  and  some  strong  towers 
upon  the  bridge  ;  and  here  the  Maid  of  Orleans  attacked 
them.  The  fight  was  fourteen  hours  long.  She  planted  a 
scaling  ladder  with  her  own  hands,  and  mounted  a  tower 
wall,  but  was  struck  by  an  English  arrow  in  the  neck,  and 
fell  into  the  trench.  She  was  carried  away  and  the  arrow 
was  taken  out,  during  which  operation  she  screamed  and 
cried  with  the  pain,  as  any  other  girl  might  have  done  ;  but 
presently  she  said  that  the  Voices  were  speaking  to  her  and 
soothing  her  to  rest.  After  a  while,  she  got  up,  and  was 
again  foremost  in  the  fight.  When  the  English  who  had  seen 
her  fall  and  supposed  her  dead,  saw  this,  they  were  troubled 
with  the  strangest  fears,  and  some  of  them  cried  out  that 
they  beheld  Saint  Michael  on  a  white  horse  (probably  Joan 
herself)  fighting  for  the  French.  They  lost  the  bridge,  and 
lost  the  towers,  and  next  day  set  their  chain  of  forts  on  fire, 
and  left  the  place. 

But  as  Lord  Suffolk  himself  retired  no  further  than  the 
town  of  Jargeau,  which  was  only  a  few  miles  off,  the  Maid 
of  Orleans  besieged  him  there,  and  he  was  taken  prisoner. 
As  the  white  banner  scaled  the  wall,  she  was  struck  upon 
the  head  with  a  stone,  and  was  again  tumbled  down  into  the 
ditch  ;  but  she  only  cried  all  the  more,  as  she  lay  there, 
"  On,  on  my  countrymen  !  And  fear  nothing,  for  the  Lord 
hath  delivered  them  into  our  hands  !  "  After  this  new  suc- 
cess of  the  Maid's,  several  other  fortresses  and  places  which 
had  previously  held  out  against  the  Dauphin  were  delivered 
up  without  a  battle  ;  and  at  Patay  she  defeated  the  remain- 
der of  the  English  army,  and  set  up  her  victorious  white 
banner  on  a  field  where  twelve  hundred  Englishmen  lay 
dead. 

She  now  urged  the  Dauphin  (who  always  kept  out  of  the 
way  when  there  was  any  fighting)  to  proceed  to  Rheims,  as 
the  first  part  of  her  mission  was  accomplished  ;  and  to  com- 
plete the  whole  by  being  crowned  there.  The  Dauphin  was 
in  no  particular  hurry  to  do  this,  as  Rheims  was  a  long  way 
off,  and  the  English  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  were  still 
strong  in  the  country  through  which  the  road  lay.  However, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         193 

they  set  forth,  with  ten  thousand  men,  and  again  the  Maid 
of  Orleans  rode  on  and  on,  upon  her  white  war-horse,  and  in 
her  shining  armor.  Whenever  they  came  to  a  town  which 
yielded  readily,  the  soldiers  believed  in  her  ;  -but  whenever 
they  came  to  a  town  which  gave  them  any  trouble,  they  be* 
gan  to  murmur  that  she  was  an  impostor.  The  latter  was 
particularly  the  case  at  Troyes,  which  finally  yielded,  through 
the  persuasion  of  one  Richard,  a  friar  of  the  place.  Friar 
Richard  was  in  the  old  doubt  about  the  Maid  of  Orleans, 
until  he  had  Sprinkled  her  well  with  holy  water,  and  had 
also  well  sprinkled  the  threshold  of  the  gate  by  which  she 
came  into  the  city.  Finding  that  it  made  no  change  in  her 
or  the  gate,  he  said,  as  the  other  grave  old  gentleman  had 
said,  that  it  was  all  right,  and  became  her  great  ally. 

So,  at  last,  and  by  dint  of  riding  on  and  on,  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  and  the  Dauphin,  and  the  ten  thousand  sometimes 
believing  and  sometimes  unbelieving  men,  came  to  Rheims. 
And  in  the  great  cathedral  of  Rheims,  the  Dauphin  actually 
was  crowned  Charles  the  Seventh  in  a  great  assembly  of  the 
people.  Then,  the  Maid,  who  with  her  white  banner  stood 
beside  the  King  in  that  hour  of  his  triumph,  kneeled  down 
upon  the  pavement  at  his  feet,  and  said,  with  tears,  that  what 
she  had  been  inspired  to  do,  was  done,  and  that  the  only 
recompense  che  asked  for,  was,  that  she  should  now  have 
leave  to  go  back  to  her  distant  home,  and  her  sturdily  in- 
credulous father,  and  her  first  simple  escort  the  village  wheel- 
wright and  cart-maker.  But  the  King  said  "  No  !  "  and  made 
her  and  her  family  as  noble  as  a  King  could,  and  settled  upon 
her  the  income  of  a  count. 

Ah  !  happy  had  it  been  for  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  if  she 
had  resumed  her  rustic  dress  that  day,  and  had  gone  home 
to  the  little  chapel  and  the  wild  hills,  and  had  forgotten  all 
these  things,  and  had  been  a  good  man's  wife,  and  had 
heard  no  s\ :  ranger  voices  than  the  voices  of  little  chil- 
dren ! 

It  was  not  to  be,  and  she  continued  helping  the  King  (she 
did  a  world  for  him,  in  alliance  with  Friar  Richard),  and 
trying  to  improve  the  lives  of  the  coarse  soldiers,  and  lead- 
ing a  religious,  an  unselfish,  and  a  modest  life,  herself, 
beyond  any  doubt.  Still,  many  times  she  prayed  the  King 
to  let  her  go  home  ;  and  once  she  even  took  off  her  bright 
armor  and  hung  it  up  in  a  church,  meaning  never  to  wear  it 
more.     But,  the  King  always  won  her  back  again — while  she 


i94       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

was  of  any  use  to  him — and  so  she  went  on  and  on  and  on 
to  her  doom. 

When  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  who  was  a  very  able  man, 
began  to  be  active  for  England,  and,  by  bringing  the  war 
back  into  France  and  by  holding  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  to 
his  faith,  to  distress  and  disturb  Charles  very  much,  Charles 
sometimes  asked  the  Maid  of  Orleans  what  the  Voices  said 
about  it?  But  the  Voices  had  become  (very  like  ordinary 
voices  in  perplexed  times)  contradictory  and  confused,  so 
that  now  they  said  one  thing,  and  now  said  another,  and  the 
Maid  lost  credit  every  day.  Charles  marched  on  Paris, 
which  was  opposed  to  him,  and  attacked  the  suburb  of 
Saint  Honore.  In  this  fight,  being  again  struck  down  into 
the  ditch,  she  was  abandoned  by  the  whole  army.  She  lay 
unaided  among  a  heap  of  dead,  and  crawled  out  how  she 
could.  Then  some  of  her  believers  went  over  to  an  oppo- 
sition Maid,  Catherine  of  La  Rochelle,  who  said  she  was 
inspired  to  tell  where  there  were  treasures  of  buried  money — 
though  she  never  did — and  then  Joan  accidentally  broke  the 
old,  old  sword,  and  others  said  that  her  power  was  broken 
with  it.  Finally,  at  the  siege  of  Compiegne,  held  by  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  where  she  did  valiant  service,  she  was 
basely  left  alone  in  a  retreat,  though  facing  about  and  fight- 
ing to  the  last ;  and  an  archer  pulled  her  off  her  horse. 

0  the  uproar  that  was  made,  and  the  thanksgivings  that 
were  sung,  about  the  capture  of  this  one  poor  country-girl ! 
O  the  way  in  which  she  was  demanded  to  be  tried  for  sor- 
cery and  heresy,  and  any  thing  else  you  like,  by  the  Inquisi- 
tor-General of  France,  and  by  this  great  man,  and  by  that 
great  man,  until  it  is  wearisome  to  think  of  !  She  was 
bought  at  last  by  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  for  ten  thousand 
francs,  and  was  shut  up  in  her  narrow  prison  :  plain  Joan  of 
Arc  again,  and  Maid  of  Orleans  no  more. 

1  should  never  have  done  if  I  were  to  tell  you  how  they 
had  Joan  out  to  examine  her,  and  cross-examine  her,  and  re- 
examine her,  and  worry  her  into  saying  any  thing  and  every 
thing  ;  and  how  all  sorts  of  scholars  and  doctors  bestowed 
their  utmost  tediousness  upon  her.  Sixteen  times  she  was 
brought  out  and  shut  up  again,  and  worried,  and  entrapped, 
and  argued  with,  until  she  was  heart-sick  of  the  dreary 
business.  On  the  last  occasion  of  this  kind  she  was  brought 
into  a  burial-place  at  Rouen,  dismally  decorated  with  a 
scaffold,  and  a  stake  and  faggots,  and  the  executioner,  and 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        tg$ 

a  pulpit  with  a  friar  therein,  and  an  awful  sermon  ready. 
It  is  very  affecting  to  know  that  even  at  that  pass  the  poor 
girl  honored  the  mean  vermin  of  a  King,  who  had  so  used 
her  for  his  purposes  and  so  abandoned  her  ;  and,  that  while 
she  had  been  regardless  of  reproaches  heaped  upon  herself, 
she  spoke  out  courageously  for  him. 

It  was  natural  in  one  so  young  to  hold  to  life.  To  save 
her  life,  she  signed  a  declaration  prepared  for  her — signed 
it  with  a  cross,  for  she  couldn't  write — that  all  her  visions 
and  Voices  had  come  from  the  Devil.  Upon  her  recanting 
the  past,  and  protesting  that  she  would  never  wear  a  man's 
dress  in  future,  she  was  condemned  to  imprisonment  for 
life,  "  on  the  bread  of  sorrow  and  the  water  of  affliction." 

But,  on  the  bread  of  sorrow  and  the  water  of  affliction, 
the  visions  and  the  Voices  soon  returned.  It  was  quite 
natural  that  they  should  do  so,  for  that  kind  of  disease  is 
much  aggravated  by  fasting,  loneliness,  and  anxiety  of  mind. 
It  was  not  only  got  out  of  Joan  that  she  considered  herself 
inspired  again,  but,  she  was  taken  in  a  man's  dress,  which 
had  been  left — to  entrap  her — in  her  prison,  and  which 
she  put  on,  in  her  solitude  ;  perhaps,  in  remembrance  of  her 
past  glories,  perhaps,  because  the  imaginary  Voices  told  her. 
For  this  relapse  into  the  sorcery  and  heresy  and  any  thing 
else  you  like,  she  was  sentenced  to  be  burned  to  death.  And, 
in  the  market-place  of  Rouen,  in  the  hideous  dress  which 
monks  had  invented  for  such  spectacles  ;  with  priests  and 
bishops  sitting  in  a  gallery  looking  on,  though  some  had  the 
Christian  grace  to  go  away,  unable  to  endure  the  infamous 
scene  ;  this  shrieking  girl — last  seen  amidst  the  smoke  and 
fire,  holding  a  crucifix  between  her  hands  ;  last  heard,  call- 
ing upon  Christ — was  burned  to  ashes.  They  threw  her  ashes 
into  the  river  Seine  ;  but  they  will  rise  against  her  murder- 
ers on  the  last  day. 

From  the  moment  of  her  capture  neither  the  French 
King  nor  one  single  man  in  all  his  court  raised  a  finger  to 
save  her.  It  is  no  defense  of  them  that  they  may  have  never 
really  believed  in  her,  or  that  they  may  have  won  her  vic- 
tories by  their  skill  and  bravery.  The  more  they  pretended 
to  believe  in  her,  the  more  they  had  caused  her  to  believe  in 
herself ;  and  she  had  ever  been  true  to  them,  ever  brave, 
ever  nobly  devoted.  But,  it  is  no  wonder,  that  they,  who 
were  in  all  things  false  to  themselves,  false  to  one  another, 
false  to  their  country,  false  to  Heaven,  false  to  Earth,  should 


196        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

be   monsters   of   ingratitude   and   treachery   to   a   helpless 
peasant  girl. 

In  the  picturesque  old  town  of  Rouen,  where  weeds  and 
grass  grow  high  on  the  cathedral  towers,  and  the  venerable 
Norman  streets  are  still  warm  in  the  blessed  sunlight  though 
the  monkish  fire  that  once  gleamed  horribly  upon  them  have 
long  grown  cold,  there  is  a  statue  of  Joan  of  Arc,  in  the 
scene  of  her  last  agony,  the  square  to  which  she  has  given 
its  present  name.  I  know  some  statues  of  modern  times — 
even  in  the  World's  metropolis,  I  think — which  commemo- 
rate less  constancy,  less  earnestness,  smaller  claims  upon  the 
world's  attention,  and  much  greater  impostors. 

Part  the  Third. 

Bad  deeds  seldom  prosper,  happily  for  mankind  ;  and  the 
English  cause  gained  no  advantage  from  the  cruel  death  of 
Joan  of  Arc.  For  a  long  time,  the  war  went  heavily  on. 
The  Duke  of  Bedford  died  ;  the  alliance  with  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy  was  broken  ;  and  Lord  Talbot  became  a  great 
general  on  the  English  side  in  France.  But  two  of  the  con- 
sequences of  wars  are,  Famine — because  the  people  cannot 
peacefully  cultivate  the  ground — and  Pestilence,  which  comes 
of  want,  misery  and  suffering.  Both  these  horrors  broke 
out  in  both  countries,  and  lasted  for  two  wretched  years. 
Then,  the  war  went  on  again,  and  came  by  slow  degrees  to 
be  so  badly  conducted  by  the  English  government,  that, 
within  twenty  years  from  the  execution  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  of  all  the  great  French  conquests,  the  town  of 
Calais  alone  remained  in  English  hands. 

While  these  victories  and  defeats  were  taking  place  in  the 
course  of  time,  many  strange  things  happened  at  home.  The 
young  King,  as  he  grew  up,  proved  to  be  very  unlike  his 
great  father,  and  showed  himself  a  miserable  puny  creature. 
There  was  no  harm  in  him — he  had  a  great  aversion  to 
shedding  blood  :  which  was  something — but,  he  was  a  weak, 
silly,  helpless  young  man,  and  a  mere  shuttlecock  to  the 
great  lordly  battledores  about  the  Court. 

Of  these  battledores,  Cardinal  Beaufort,  a  relation  of  the 
King,  and  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  were  at  first  the  most 
powerful.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester  had  a  wife,  who  was 
nonsensically  accused  of  practicing  witchcraft  to  cause  the 
King's  death  and  lead  to  her  husband's  coming  to  the  throne, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         197 

he  being  the  next  heir.  She  was  charged  with  having,  by 
the  help  of  a  ridiculous  old  woman  named  Margery  (who 
was  called  a  witch),  made  a  little  waxen  doll  in  the  King's 
likeness,  and  put  it  before  a  slow  fire  that  it  might  gradually 
melt  away.  It  was  supposed  in  such  cases,  that  the  death 
of  the  person  whom  the  doll  was  made  to  represent,  was  sure 
to  happen.  Whether  the  duchess  was  as  ignorant  as  the 
rest  of  them,  and  really  did  make  such  a  doll  with  such  an 
intention,  I  don't  know  ;  but,  you  and  I  know  very  well  that 
she  might  have  made  a  thousand  dolls,  if  she  had  been  stupid 
enough,  and  might  have  melted  them  all,  without  hurting  the 
King  or  any  body  else.  However,  she  was  tried  for  it,  and 
so  was  old  Margery,  and  so  was  one  of  the  duke's  chaplains, 
who  was  charged  with  having  assisted  them.  Both  he  and 
Margery  were  put  to  death,  and  the  duchess,  after  being 
taken  on  foot  and  bearing  a  lighted  candle,  three  times  round 
the  city,  as  a  penance,  was  imprisoned  for  life.  The  duke 
himself  took  all  this  pretty  quietly,  and  made  as  little  stir 
about  the  matter  as  if  he  were  rather  glad  to  be  rid  of  the 
duchess. 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  keep  himself  out  of  trouble 
long.  The  royal  shuttlecock  being  three-and-twenty,  the 
battledores  were  very  anxious  to  get  him  married.  The  Duke 
of  Gloucester  wanted  him  to  marry  a  daughter  of  the  Count 
of  Armagnac  ;  but,  the  Cardinal  and  the  Earl  of  Suffolk  were 
all  for  Margaret,  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  Sicily,  who 
they  knew  was  a  resolute  ambitious  woman  and  would  govern 
the  King  as  she  chose.  To  make  friends  with  this  lady,  the 
Earl  of  Suffolk,  who  went  over  to  arrange  the  match,  con- 
sented to  accept  her  for  the  King's  wife  without  any  fortune, 
and  even  to  give  up  the  two  most  valuable  possessions  En- 
gland then  had  in  France.  So,  the  marriage  was  arranged,  on 
terms  very  advantageous  to  the  lady ;  and  Lord  Suffolk 
brought  her  to  England,  and  she  was  married  at  Westmin- 
ster. On  what  pretense  this  queen  and  her  party  charged  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester  with  high  treason  within  a  couple  of 
years,  it  is  impossible  to  make  out,  the  matter  is  so  confused; 
but,  they  pretended  that  the  King's  life  was  in  danger,  and 
they  took  the  duke  prisoner.  A  fortnight  afterward,  he  was 
found  dead  in  bed  (they  said),  and  his  body  was  shown  to 
the  people,  and  Lord  Suffolk  came  in  for  the  best  part  of  his 
estates.  You  know  by  this  time  how  strangely  liable  state 
prisoners  were  to  sudden  death. 


198        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

If  Cardinal  Beaufort  had  any  hand  in  this  matter,  it  did 
him  no  good,  for  he  died  within  six  weeks  ;  thinking  it  very 
hard  and  curious — at  eighty  years  old  ! — that  he  could  not 
live  to  be  Pope. 

This  was  the  time  when  England  had  completed  her  loss  of 
all  her  great  French  conquests.  The  people  charged  the  loss 
principally  upon  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  now  a  duke,  who  had 
made  those  easy  terms  about  the  Royal  Marriage,  and  who, 
they  believed,  had  even  been  bought  by  France.  So  he  was 
impeached  as  a  traitor,  on  a  great  number  of  charges,  but 
chiefly  on  accusations  of  having  aided  the  French  King,  and 
of  designing  to  make  his  own  son  King  of  England.  The 
Commons  and  the  people  being  violent  against  him,  the  King 
was  made  (by  his  friends)  to  interpose  to  save  him,  by  ban- 
ishing him  for  five  years,  and  proroguing  the  Parliament.  The 
duke  had  much  ado  to  escape  from  a  London  mob,  two  thou- 
sand strong,  who  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  St.  Giles's  fields  ; 
but,  he  got  down  to  his  own  estates  in  Suffolk,  and  sailed 
away  from  Ipswich.  Sailing  across  the  Channel,  he  sent 
into  Calais  to  know  if  he  might  land  there  ;  but,  they  kept 
his  boat  and  men  in  the  harbor,  until  an  English  ship,  carry- 
ing a  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  called  the  Nicholas  of  the 
Tower,  came  alongside  his  little  vessel,  and  ordered  him  on 
board.  "  Welcome,  traitor,  as  men  say,"  was  the  captain's 
grim  and  not  very  respectful  salutation.  He  was  kept  on 
board,  a  prisoner,  for  eight  and  forty  hours,  and  then  a  small 
boat  appeared  rowing  toward  the  ship.  As  this  boat  came 
nearer,  it  was  seen  to  have  in  it  a  block,  a  rusty  sword, 
and  an  executioner  in  a  black  mask.  The  duke  was  handed 
down  into  it,  and  there  his  head  was  cut  off  with  six  strokes 
of  the  rusty  sword.  Then,  the  little  boat  rowed  away  to 
Dover  beach,  where  the  body  was  cast  out,  and  left  until 
the  duchess  claimed  it.  By  whom,  high  in  authority,  this 
murder  was  committed,  has  never  appeared.  No  one  was 
ever  punished  for  it. 

There  now  arose  in  Kent  an  Irishman,  who  gave  himself 
the  name  of  Mortimer,  but  whose  real  name  was  Jack  Cade. 
Jack,  in  imitation  of  Wat  Tyler,  though  he  was  a  very 
different  and  inferior  sort  of  man,  addressed  the  Kentish  men 
upon  their  wrongs,  occasioned  by  the  bad  government  of 
England,  among  so  many  battledores  and  such  a  poor  shut- 
tlecock ;  and  the  Kentish  men  rose  up  to  the  number  of 
twenty  thousand.     Their  place  of  assembly  was  Blackheath, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         199 

where,  headed  by  Jack,  they  put  forth  two  papers,  which 
they  called  "  The  Complaint  of  the  Commons  of  Kent,"  and 
"  The  Requests  of  the  Captain  of  the  Great  Assembly  in 
Kent."  They  then  retired  to  Sevenoaks.  The  royal  army 
coming  up  with  them  there,  they  beat  it  and  killed  their  gen- 
eral. Then,  Jack  dressed  himself  in  the  dead  general's 
armor,  and  led  his  men  to  London. 

Jack  passed  into  the  city  from  Southwark,  over  the  bridge, 
and  entered  it  in  triumph,  giving  the  strictest  orders  to  his 
men  not  to  plunder.  Having  made  a  show  of  his  forces 
there,  while  the  citizens  looked  on  quietly,  he  went  back  into 
Southwark  in  good  order,  and  passed  the  night.  Next  day, 
he  came  back  again,  having  got  hold  in  the  meantime  of  Lord 
Say,  an  unpopular  nobleman.  Says  Jack  to  the  Lord  Mayor 
and  judges:  "Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  make  a  tribunal  in 
Guildhall,  and  try  me  this  nobleman  ? "  The  court  being 
hastily  made,  he  was  found  guilty,  and  Jack  and  his  men  cut 
his  head  off  on  Cornhill.  They  also  cut  off  the  head  of  his 
son-in-law,  and  then  went  back  in  good  order  to  Southwark 
again. 

But,  although  the  citizens  could  bear  the  beheading  of  an 
unpopular  lord,  they  could  not  bear  to  have  their  houses  pil- 
laged. And  it  did  so  happen  that  Jack,  after  dinner — per- 
haps he  had  drunk  a  little  too  much — began  to  plunder  the 
house  where  he  lodged  ;  upon  which,  of  course,  his  men  be- 
gan to  imitate  him.  Wherefore,  the  Londoners  took  counsel 
with  Lord  Scales,  who  had  a  thousand  soldiers  in  the  Tower; 
and  defended  London  Bridge,  and  kept  Jack  and  his  people 
out.  This  advantage  gained,  it  was  resolved  by  divers  great 
men  to  divide  Jack's  army  in  the  old  way,  by  making  a  great 
many  promises  on  behalf  of  the  state,  that  were  never  in- 
tended to  be  performed.  This  did  divide  them  ;  some  of 
Jack's  men  saying  that  they  ought  to  take  the  conditions 
which  were  offered,  and  others  saying  that  they  ought  not, 
for  they  were  only  a  snare  ;  some  going  home  at  once  ;  others 
staying  where  they  were  ;  and  all  doubting  and  quarreling 
among  themselves. 

Jack,  who  was  in  two  minds  about  fighting  or  accepting  a 
pardon,  and  who  indeed  did  both,  saw  at  last  that  there  was 
nothing  to  expect  from  his  men,  and  that  it  was  very  likely 
some  of  them  would  deliver  him  up  and  get  a  reward  of  a 
thousand  marks,  which  was  offered  for  his  apprehension. 
So,  after  they  had  traveled  and   quareled  all  the  way  from 


2oo         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Southwark  to  Blackheath,  and  from  Blackheath  to  Rochester, 
he  mounted  a  good  horse  and  galloped  away  into  Sussex. 
But  there  galloped  after  him,  on  a  better  horse,  one  Alexan- 
der Iden,  who  came  up  with  him,  had  a  hard  fight  with  him, 
and  killed  him.  Jack's  head  was  set  aloft  on  London  Bridge, 
with  the  face  looking  towards  Blackheath,  where  he  had 
raised  his  flag ;  and  Alexander  Iden  got  the  thousand 
marks. 

It  is  supposed  by  some,  that  the  Duke  of  York,  who  had 
been  removed  from  a  high  post  abroad  through  the  Queen's 
influence,  and  sent  out  of  the  way,  to  govern  Ireland,  was  at 
the  bottom  of  this  rising  of  Jack  and  his  men,  because  he 
wanted  to  trouble  the  government.  He  claimed  (though  not 
yet  publicly)  to  have  a  better  right  to  the  throne  than  Henry 
of  Lancaster,  as  one  of  the  family  of  the  Earl  of  March, 
whom  Henry  the  Fourth  had  set  aside.  Touching  this  claim, 
which,  being  through  female  relationship,  was  not  according 
to  the  usual  descent,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  Henry  the 
Fourth  was  the  free  choice  of  the  people  and  the  Parliament, 
and  that  his  family  had  now  reigned  undisputed  for  sixty 
years.  The  memory  of  Henry  the  Fifth  was  so  famous,  and 
the  English  people  loved  it  so  much,  that  the  Duke  of  York's 
claim  would,  perhaps,  never  have  been  thought  of  (it  would 
have  been  so  hopeless)  but  for  the  unfortunate  circumstance 
of  the  present  King's  being  by  this  time  quite  an  idiot,  and 
the  country  very  ill  governed.  These  two  circumstances 
gave  the  Duke  of  York  a  power  he  could  not  otherwise  have 
had. 

Whether  the  Duke  knew  any  thing  of  Jack  Cade,  or  not, 
he  came  over  from  Ireland  while  Jack's  head  was  on  Lon- 
don Bridge  ;  being  secretly  advised  that  the  Queen  was 
setting  up  his  enemy,  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  against  him. 
He  went  to  Westminster,  at  the  head  of  four  thousand  men, 
and  on  his  knees  before  the  King,  represented  to  him  the  baa 
state  of  the  country,  and  petitioned  him  to  summon  a  Par- 
liament to  consider  it.  This  the  King  promised.  When  the 
Parliament  was  summoned,  the  Duke  of  York  accused  the 
Duke  of  Somerset,  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset  accused  the 
Duke  of  York  ;  and,  both  in  and  out  of  Parliament,  the  fol- 
lowers of  each  party  were  full  of  violence  and  hatred 
toward  the  other.  At  length  the  Duke  of  York  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  a  large  force  of  his  tenants,  and,  in  arms, 
demanded  the  reformation  of  the  Government.     Being  shut 


THE   DUCHESS   OP    GLOUCESTER   DOING    VKtAHG% 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        201 

out  of  London,  he  encamped  at  Dartford,  and  the  royal 
army  encamped  at  Blackheath.  According  as  either  side 
triumphed,  the  Duke  of  York  was  arrested,  or  the  Duke  of 
Somerset  was  arrested.  The  trouble  ended,  for  the  moment, 
in  the  Duke  of  York  renewing  his  oath  of  allegiance,  and 
going  in  peace  to  one  of  his  own  castles. 

Half  a  year  afterward  the  Queen  gave  birth  to  a  son,  who 
was  very  ill  received  by  the  people,  and  not  believed  to  be 
the  son  of  the  King.  It  shows  the  Duke  of  York  to  have 
been  a  moderate  man,  unwilling  to  involve  England  in  new 
troubles,  that  he  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  general  dis- 
content at  this  time,  but  really  acted  for  the  public  good. 
He  was  made  a  member  of  the  cabinet,  and.  the  King  being 
now  so  much  worse  that  he  could  not  be  carried  about  and 
shown  to  the  people  with  any  decency,  the  Duke  was  made 
Lord  Protector  of  the  kingdom,  until  the  King  should  re- 
cover, or  the  Prince  should  come  of  age.  At  the  same  time 
the  Duke  of  Somerset  was  committed  to  the  Tower.  So, 
now  the  Duke  of  Somerset  was  down,  and  the  Duke  of  York 
was  up.  By  the  end  of  the  year,  however,  the  King  recov- 
ered his  memory  and  some  spark  of  sense  ;  upon  which  the 
Queen  used  her  power — which  recovered  with  him — to  get 
the  Protector  disgraced,  and  her  favorite  released.  So  now 
the  Duke  of  York  was  down,  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
was  up. 

These  ducal  ups  and  downs  gradually  separated  the  whole 
nation  into  the  two  parties  of  York  and  Lancaster,  and  led 
to  those  terrible  civil  wars  long  known  as  the  Wars  of  the 
Red  and  White  Roses,  because  the  red  rose  was  the  badge 
of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  and  the  white  rose  was  the  badge 
of  the  House  of  York. 

The  Duke  of  York,  joined  by  some  other  powerful  noble- 
men of  the  White  Rose  party,  and  leading  a  small  army,  met 
the  King  with  another  small  army  at  St.  Alban's,  and  demand- 
ed that  the  Duke  of  Somerset  should  be  given  up.  The  poor 
King  being  made  to  say  in  answer  that  he  would  sooner 
die,  was  instantly  attacked.  The  Duke  of  Somerset  was 
killed,  and  the  King  himself  was  wounded  in  the  neck,  and 
took  refuge  in  the  house  of  a  poor  tanner.  Whereupon, 
the  Duke  of  York  went  to  him,  led  him  with  great  submis- 
sion to  the  Abbey,  and  said  he  was  very  sorry  for  what  had 
happened.  Having  now  the  King  in  his  possession,  he  got  a 
Parliament  summoned  and  himself  once  more  made  Protec- 


202        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

tor,  but,  only  for  a  few  months  ;  for,  on  the  King  getting  a 
little  better  again,  the  Queen  and  her  party  got  him  into 
their  possession,  and  disgraced  the  Duke  once  more.  So, 
now  the  Duke  of  York  was  down  again. 

Some  of  the  best  men  in  power,  seeing  the  danger  of  these 
constant  changes,  tried  even  then  to  prevent  the  Red  and 
the  White  Rose  Wars.  They  brought  about  a  great  council 
in  London  between  the  two  parties.  The  White  Roses 
assembled  in  Elackfriars,  the  Red  Roses  in  Whitefriars  ;  and 
some  good  priests  communicated  between  them,  and  made 
the  proceedings  known  at  evening  to  the  King  and  the  judges. 
They  ended  in  a  peaceful  agreement  that  there  should  be  no 
more  quarreling  ;  and  there  was  a  great  royal  procession  to 
St.  Paul's,  in  which  the  Queen  walked  arm-in-arm  with  her 
old  enemy,  the  Duke  of  York,  to  show  the  people  how  com- 
fortable they  all  were.  This  state  of  peace  lasted  half  a 
year,  when  a  dispute  between  the  Earl  of  Warwick  (one  of 
the  Duke's  powerful  friends)  and  some  of  the  King's  serv- 
ants at  Court,  led  to  an  attack  upon  that  Earl — who  was  a 
White  Rose — and  to  a  sudden  breaking  out  of  all  old  ani- 
mosities.    So,  here  were  greater  ups  and  downs  than  ever. 

There  were  even  greater  ups  and  downs  than  these,  soon 
after.  After  various  battles,  the  Duke  of  York  fled  to  Ire- 
land, and  his  son  the  Earl  of  March  to  Calais,  with  their 
friends  the  Earls  of  Salisbury  and  Warwick  ;  and  a  Parlia- 
ment was  held  declaring  them  all  traitors.  Little  the  worse 
for  this,  the  Earl  of  Warwick  presently  came  back,  landed  in 
Kent,  was  joined  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  other 
powerful  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  engaged  the  King's 
forces  at  Northampton,  signally  defeated  them,  and  took  the 
King  himself  prisoner,  who  was  found  in  his  tent.  Warwick 
would  have  been  glad,  I  dare  say,  to  have  taken  the  Queen 
and  Prince  too,  but  they  escaped  into  Wales  and  thence  into 
Scotland. 

The  King  was  carried  by  the  victorious  force  straight  to 
London,  and  made  to  call  a  new  Parliament,  which  immedi- 
ately declared  that  the  Duke  of  York  and  those  other  noble- 
men were  not  traitors,  but  excellent  subjects.  Then,  back 
comes  the  Duke  from  Ireland  at  the  head  of  five  hundred 
horsemen,  rides  from  London  to  Westminster,  and  enters 
the  House  of  Lords.  There  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  cloth 
of  gold  which  covered  the  empty  throne,  as  if  he  had  half  a 
mind  to  sit  down  in  it — but  he  did  not.     On  the  Archbishop 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         203 

of  Canterbury  asking  him  if  he  would  visit  the  King,  who 
was  in  his  palace  close  by,  he  replied, "  I  know  nc  on*  m 
this  country,  my  lord,  who  ought  not  to  visit  me"  None  of 
the  lords  present  spoke  a  single  word  ;  so,  the  Duke  went 
out  as  he  had  come  in,  established  himself  royally  in  the 
King's  palace,  and  six  days  afterward,  sent  in  to  the  lords  a 
formal  statement  of  his  claim  to  the  throne.  The  lords 
went  to  the  King  on  this  momentous  subject,  and  after  a 
great  deal  of  discussion,  in  which  the  judges  and  the  other 
law  officers  were  afraid  to  give  an  opinion  on  either  side,  the 
question  was  compromised.  It  was  agreed  that  the  present 
King  should  retain  the  crown  for  his  life,  and  that  it  should 
then  pass  to  the  Duke  of  York  and  his  heirs. 

But,  the  resolute  Queen,  determined  on  asserting  her  son's 
right,  would  hear  of  no  such  thing.  She  came  from  Scotland 
to  the  north  of  England,  where  several  powerful  lords  armed 
in  her  cause.  The  Duke  of  York,  for  his  part,  set  off  with 
some  five  thousand  men,  a  little  time  before  Christmas  Day, 
one  thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty,  to  give  her  battle.  He 
lodged  at  Sandal  Castle,  near  Wakefield,  and  the  Red  Roses 
defied  him  to  come  out  on  Wakefield  Green,  and  fight  them 
then  and  there.  His  generals  said,  he  had  best  wait  until  his 
gallant  son,  the  Earl  of  March,  came  up  with  his  power  ;  but 
he  was  determined  to  accept  the  challenge.  He  did  so,  in  an 
evil  hour.  He  was  hotly  pressed  on  all  sides,  two  thousand 
of  his  men  lay  dead  on  Wakefield  Green,  and  he  himself  was 
taken  prisoner.  They  set  him  down  in  mock  state  on  an  ant- 
hill, and  twisted  grass  about  his  head,  and  pretended  to  pay 
court  to  him  on  their  knees,  saying,  "  O  King,  without  a  king- 
dom, and  Prince  without  a  people,  we  hope  your  gracious 
Majesty  is  very  well  and  happy  !  "  They  did  worse  than 
this  ;  they  cut  his  head  off,  and  handed  it  on  a  pole  to  the 
Queen,  who  laughed  with  delight  when  she  saw  it  (you  recol- 
lect their  walking  so  religiously  and  comfortably  to  St. 
Paul's  !),  and  had  it  fixed,  with  a  paper  crown  upon  its  head, 
on  the  walls  of  York.  The  Earl  of  Salisbury  lost  his  head, 
too  ;  and  the  Duke  of  York's  second  son,  a  handsome  boy 
who  was  flying  with  his  tutor  over  Wakefield  Bridge,  was 
stabbed  in  the  heart  by  a  murderous  lord — Lord  Clifford  by 
name — whose  father  had  been  killed  by  the  White  Roses  in 
the  fight  at  St.  Alban's.  There  was  awful  sacrifice  of  life  in 
this  battle,  for  no  quarter  was  given,  and  the  Queen  was  wild 
for  revenge.     When  men  unnaturally  fight  against  their  own 


204       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

countrymen,  they  are  always  observed  to  be  more  unnaturally 
cruel  and  filled  with  rage  than  they  are  against  any  other . 
enemy. 

But,  Lord  Clifford  had  stabbed  the  second  son  of  the  Duke 
of  York — not  the  first.  The  eldest  son,  Edward  Earl  of 
March,  was  at  Gloucester  ;  and,  vowing  vengeance  for  the 
death  of  his  father,  his  brother,  and  their  faithful  friends,  he 
began  to  march  against  the  Queen.  He  had  to  turn  and 
fight  a  great  body  of  Welsh  and  Irish  first,  who  worried  his 
advance.  These  he  defeated  in  a  great  fight  at  Mortimer's 
Cross,  near  Hereford,  where  he  beheaded  a  number  of  the 
Red  Roses  taken  in  battle,  in  retaliation  for  the  beheading  of 
the  White  Roses  at  Wakefield.  The  Queen  had  the  next  turn 
of  beheading.  Having  moved  toward  London,  and  falling 
in,  between  St.  Alban's  and  Barnet,  with  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  White  Roses  both,  who  were 
there  with  an  army  to  oppose  her,  and  had  got  the  King  with 
them  ;  she  defeated  them  with  great  loss,  and  struck  off  the 
heads  of  two  prisoners  of  note,  who  were  in  the  King's  tent 
with  him,  and  to  whom  the  King  had  promised  his  protec- 
tion. Her  triumph,  however,  was  very  short.  She  had  no 
treasure,  and  her  army  subsisted  by  plunder.  This  caused 
them  to  be  hated  and  dreaded  by  the  people,  and  particularly 
by  the  London  people,  who  were  wealthy.  As  soon  as 
the  Londoners  heard  that  Edward,  Earl  of  March,  united 
with  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  was  advancing  toward  the 
city,  they  refused  to  send  the  Queen  supplies,  and  made  a 
great  rejoicing. 

The  Queen  and  her  men  retreated  with  all  speed,  and  Ed- 
ward and  Warwick  came  on,  greeted  with  loud  acclamations 
on  every  side.  The  courage,  beauty,  and  virtues  of  young 
Edward  could  not  be  sufficiently  praised  by  the  whole 
people.  He  rode  into  London  like  a  conqueror,  and  met 
with  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  A  few  days  afterward,  Lord 
Falconbridge  and  the  Bishop  of  Exeter  assembled  the  citi- 
zens in  St.  John's  Field,  Clerkenwell,  and  asked  them  if  they 
would  have  Henry  of  Lancaster  for  their  King  ?  To  this 
they  all  roared,  "  No,  no,  no  !  "  and  "  King  Edward  !  King 
Edward  !  "  Then,  said  those  noblemen,  would  they  love  and 
serve  young  Edward?  To  this  they  all  cried,  "Yes,  yes  !" 
and  threw  up  their  caps,  and  clapped  their  hands,  and 
cheered  tremendously. 

Therefore,  it  was  declared  that  by  joining  the  Queen  and 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         205 

not  protecting  those  two  prisoners  of  note,  Henry  of  Lan- 
caster had  forfeited  the  crown  ;  and  Edward  of  York  was 
proclaimed  King.  He  made  a  great  speech  to  the  applaud- 
ing people  at  Westminster,  and  sat  down  as  sovereign  of 
England  on  that  throne,  on  the  golden  covering  of  which 
his  father — worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  the  bloody  ax  which 
cut  the  thread  of  so  many  lives  in  England,  through  so  many 
years — had  laid  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    EDWARD    THE    FOURTH. 

King  Edward  the  Fourth  was  not  quite  twenty-one  years 
of  age  when  he  took  that  unquiet  seat  upon  the  throne  of 
England.  The  Lancaster  party,  the  Red  Roses,  were  then 
assembling  in  great  numbers  near  York,  and  it  was  necessary 
to  give  them  battle  instantly.  But,  the  stout  Earl  of  War- 
wick leading  for  the  young  King,  and  the  young  King  him- 
self closely  following  him,  and  the  English  people  crowding 
round  the  Royal  standard,  the  White  and  the  Red  Rosesmeton 
a  wild  March  day  when  the  snow  was  falling  heavily,  at  Tow- 
ton  ;  and  there  such  a  furious  battle  raged  between  them, 
that  the  total  loss  amounted  to  forty  thousand  men — all 
Englishmen,  fighting,  upon  English  ground,  against  one  an- 
other. The  young  King  gained  the  day,  took  down  the, 
heads  of  his  father  and  brother  from  the  walls  of  York,  and 
put  up  the  heads  of  some  of  the  most  famous  noblemen  en- 
gaged in  the  battle  on  the  other  side.  Then,  he  went  to 
London  and  was  crowned  with  great  splendor. 

A  new  Parliament  met.  No  fewer  than  one  hundred  and 
fifty  of  the  principal  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the  Lancas- 
ter side  were  declared  traitors,  and  the  King — who  had  very 
little  humanity,  though  he  was  handsome  in  person  and 
agreeable  in  manners — resolved  to  do  all  he  could  to  pluck 
up  the  Red  Rose  root  and  branch. 

Queen  Margaret,  however,  was  still  active  for  her  young 
son.  She  obtained  help  from  Scotland  and  from  Normandy, 
and  took  several  important  English  castles.  But  Warwick 
soon  retook  them;  the  Queen  lost  all  her  treasure  on  board 
ship  in  a  great  storm  ;  and  both  she  and  her  son  suffered 
great   misfortunes.     Once,   in  the  winter  weather,  as  they 


2o6        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

were  riding  through  a  forest,  they  were  attacked  and  plun- 
dered by  a  party  of  robbers  ;  and,  when  they  had  escaped 
from  these  men  and  were  passing  alone  and  on  foot  through  a 
thick  dark  part  of  the  wood,  they  came,  all  at  once,  upon 
another  robber.  So  the  Queen,  with  a  stout  heart,  took  the 
little  Prince  by  the  hand,  and  going  straight  up  to  that  rob- 
ber, said  to  him,  "  My  friend,  this  is  the  young  son  of  your 
lawful  King  !  I  confide  him  to  your  care."  The  robber  was 
surprised,  but  took  the  boy  in  his  arms,  and  faithfully  re- 
stored him  and  his  mother  to  their  friends.  In  the  end,  the 
Queen's  soldiers  being  beaten  and  dispersed,  she  went  abroad 
again,  and  kept  quiet  for  the  present. 

Now,  all  this  time,  the  deposed  King  Henry  was  concealed 
by  a  Welsh  knight,  who  kept  him  close  in  his  castle.  But, 
next  year,  the  Lancaster  party  recovering  their  spirits,  raised 
a  large  body  of  men,  and  called  him  out  of  his  retirement  to 
put  him  at  their  head.  They  were  joined  by  some  powerful 
noblemen  who  had  sworn  fidelity  to  the  new  King,  but  who 
were  ready,  as  usual,  to  break  their  oaths,  whenever  they 
thought  there  was  any  thing  to  be  got  by  it.  One  of  the 
worst  things  in  the  history  of  the  war  of  the  Red  and  White 
Roses,  is  the  ease  with  which  these  noblemen,  who  should 
have  set  an  example  of  honor  to  the  people,  left  either  side 
as  they  took  slight  offense,  or  were  disappointed  in  their 
greedy  expectations,  and  joined  the  other.  Well !  War- 
wick's brother  soon  beat  the  Lancastrians,  and  the  false 
noblemen,  being  taken,  were  beheaded  without  a  moment's 
loss  of  time.  The  desposed  King  had  a  narrow  escape  ; 
three  of  his  servants  were  taken,  and  one  of  them  bore  his  cap 
of  estate,  which  was  set  with  pearls,  and  embroidered  with 
two  golden  crowns.  However,  the  head  to  which  the  cap  be- 
longed, got  safely  into  Lancashire,  and  lay  pretty  quietly 
there  (the  people  in  the  secret  being  very  true)  for  more  than 
a  year.  At  length,  an  old  monk  gave  such  intelligence  as 
led  to  Henry's  being  taken  while  he  was  sitting  at  dinner  in 
a  place  called  Waddington  Hall.  He  was  immediately  sent 
to  London,  and  met  at  Islington  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  by 
whose  directions  he  was  put  upon  a  horse,  with  his  legs  tied 
under  it,  and  paraded  three  times  round  the  pillory.  Then, 
he  was  carried  off  to  the  Tower,  where  he  was  treated  well 
enough. 

The  White  Rose  being  so  triumphant,  the  young  King 
abandoned  himself  entirely  to  pleasure,  and  led  a  jovial  life. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         207 

But,  thorns  were  springing  up  under  his  bed  of  roses,  as  he 
soon  found  out.  For,  having  been  privately  married  to 
Elizabeth  Woodville,  a  young  widow  lady,  very  beautiful, 
and  very  captivating;  and  at  last  resolving  to  make  his  secret 
known,  and  to  declare  her  his  queen;  he  gave  some  offense  to 
the  Earl  of  Warwick,who  was  usually  called  the  King-Maker, 
because  of  his  power  and  influence,  and  because  of  his  having 
lent  such  great  help  in  placing  Edward  on  the  throne.  This 
offense  was  not  lessened  by  the  jealousy  with  which  the  Nevil 
family  (the  Earl  of  Warwick's),  regarded  the  promotion  of  the 
Woodville  family.  For  the  young  Queen  was  so  bent  on 
providing  for  her  relations,  that  she  made  her  father  an  earl 
and  a  great  officer  of  state  ;  married  her  five  sisters  to  young 
noblemen  of  the  highest  rank;  and  provided  for  her  younger 
brother,  a  young  man  of  twenty,  by  marrying  him  to  an  im- 
mensely rich  old  duchess  of  eighty.  The  Earl  of  Warwick 
took  all  this  pretty  graciously  for  a  man  of  his  proud  temper, 
until  the  question  arose  to  whom  the  King's  sister,  Marga- 
ret, should  be  married.  The  Earl  of  Warwick  said,  "  To 
one  of  the  French  King's  sons,"  and  was  allowed  to  go  over  to 
the  French  King  to  make  friendly  proposals  for  that  purpose, 
and  to  hold  all  manner  of  friendly  interviews  with  him.  But, 
while  he  was  so  engaged,  the  Woodville  party  married  the 
young  lady  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  Upon  this  he  came 
back  in  great  rage  and  scorn,  and  shut  himself  up  discon- 
tented in  his  castle  of  Middleham. 

A  reconciliation,  though  not  a  very  sincere  one,  was 
patched  up  between  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  King,  and 
lasted  until  the  Earl  married  his  daughter,  against  the  King's 
wishes,  to  the  Duke  of  Clarence.  While  the  marriage  was 
being  celebrated  at  Calais,  the  people  in  the  north  of  En- 
gland, where  the  influence  of  the  Nevil  family  was  strongest, 
broke  out  into  rebellion  ;  their  complaint  was,  that  England 
was  oppressed  and  plundered  by  the  Woodville  family  whom 
they  demanded  to  have  removed  from  power.  As  they  were 
joined  by  great  numbers  of  people,  and  as  they  openly 
declared  that  they  were  supported  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick, 
the  King  did  not  know  what  to  do.  At  last,  as  he  wrote 
to  the  Earl  beseeching  his  aid,  he  and  his  new  son-in-law 
came  over  to  England,  and  began  to  arrange  the  business  by 
shutting  the  King  up  in  Middleham  Castle  in  the  safe  keep- 
ing of  the  Archbishop  of  York  ;  so  England  was  not  only  in 
the  strange  position  of  having  two  kings  at  once,  but  they 
were  both  prisoners  at  the  same  time. 


2o8        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Even  as  yet,  however,  the  King-Maker  was  so  far  true  to 
the  King,  that  he  dispersed  a  new  rising  of  the  Lancastrians, 
took  their  leader  prisoner,  and  brought  him  to  the  King,  who 
ordered  him  to  be  immediately  executed.  He  presently 
allowed  the  King  to  return  to  London,  and  there  innumera- 
ble pledges  of  forgiveness  and  friendship  were  exchanged 
between  them,  and  between  the  Nevils  and  the  Woodvilles  : 
the  King's  eldest  daughter  was  promised  in  marriage  to  the 
heir  of  the  Nevil  family  ;  and  more  friendly  oaths  were 
sworn,  and  more  friendly  promises  made,  than  this  book 
would  hold. 

They  lasted  about  three  months.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
the  Archbishop  of  York  made  a  feast  for  the  King,  the  Earl 
of  Warwick,  and  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  at  his  house,  the 
Moor,  in  Hertfordshire.  The  King  was  washing  his  hands 
before  supper,  when  some  one  whispered  him  that  a  body  of 
a  hundred  men  were  lying  in  ambush  outside  the  house. 
Whether  this  were  true  or  untrue,  the  King  took  fright, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  through  the  dark  night  to  Wind- 
sor Castle.  Another  reconciliation  was  patched  up  between 
him  and  the  King-Maker,  but  it  was  a  short  one,  and  it  was 
the  last.  A  new  rising  took  place  in  Lincolnshire,  and  the 
King  marched  to  repress  it.  Having  done  so,  he  proclaimed 
that  both  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
were  traitors,  who  had  secretly  assisted  it,  and  who  had 
been  prepared  publicly  to  join  it  on  the  following  day.  In 
these  dangerous  circumstances  they  both  took  ship  and 
sailed  away  to  the  French  court. 

And  here  a  meeting  took  place  between  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick and  his  old  enemy,  the  Dowager  Queen  Margaret, 
through  whom  his  father  had  had  his  head  struck  off,  and  to 
whom  he  had  been  a  bitter  foe.  But  now,  when  he  said 
that  he  had  done  with  the  ungrateful  and  perfidious  Edward 
of  York,  and  that  henceforth  he  devoted  himself  to  the  res- 
toration of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  either  in  the  person  of 
her  husband  or  of  her  little  son,  she  embraced  him  as  if  he 
had  ever  been  her  dearest  friend.  She  did  more  than  that, 
she  married  her  son  to  his  second  daughter,  the  Lady  Anne. 
However  agreeable  this  marriage  was  to  the  new  friends,  it 
was  very  disagreeable  to  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  who  per- 
ceived that  his  father-in-law,  the  King-Maker,  would  never 
make  him  King,  now.  So,  being  but  a  weak-minded  young 
traitor,  possessed  of  very  little  worth  or  sense,  he  readily 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        209 

listened  to  an  artful  court  lady  sent  over  for  the  purpose, 
and  promised  to  turn  traitor  once  more,  and  go  over  to  his 
brother,  King  Edward,  when  a  fitting  opportunity  should 
come. 

The  Earl  of  Warwick,  knowing  nothing  of  this,  soon  re- 
deemed his  promise  to  the  Dowager  Queen  Margaret,  by  in- 
vading England,  and  landing  at  Plymouth,  where  he  instantly 
proclaimed  King  Henry,  and  summoned  all  Englishmen  be- 
tween the  ages  of  sixteen  and  sixty,  to  join  his  banner. 
Then,  with  his  army  increasing  as  he  marched  along,  he 
went  northward,  and  came  so  near  King  Edward,  who  was  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  that  Edward  had  to  ride  hard  for 
it  to  the  coast  of  Norfolk,  and  thence  to  get  away  in  such 
ships  as  he  could  find,  to  Holland.  Thereupon,  the  trium- 
phant King-Maker,  and  his  false  son-in-law,  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  went  to  London,  took  the  old  King  out  of  the 
Tower,  and  walked  him  in  a  great  procession  to  Saint  Paul's 
Cathedral  with  the  crown  upon  his  head.  This  did  not  im- 
prove the  temper  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  who  saw  himself 
further  off  from  being  King  than  ever  ;  but  he  kept  his  se- 
cret, and  said  nothing.  The  Nevil  family  were  restored  to 
all  their  honors  and  glories,  and  the  Woodvilles  and  the  rest 
were  disgraced.  The  King-Maker,  less  sanguinary  than  the 
King,  shed  no  blood  except  that  of  the  Earl  of  Worcester, 
who  had  been  so  cruel  to  the  people  as  to  have  gained  the 
title  of  the  Butcher.  Him  they  caught  hidden  in  a  tree,  and 
him  they  tried  and  executed.  No  other  death  stained  the 
King-Maker's  triumph. 

To  dispute  this  triumph,  back  came  King  Edward  again, 
next  year,  landing  at  Ravenspur,  coming  on  to  York,  caus- 
ing all  his  men  to  cry,  "  Long  live  King  Henry  !  "  and  swear- 
ing on  the  altar,  without  a  blush,  that  he  came  to  lay  no 
claim  to  the  Crown.  Now  was  the  time  for  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  who  ordered  his  men  to  assume  the  White  Rose, 
and  declare  for  his  brother.  The  Marquis  of  Montague, 
though  the  Earl  of  Warwick's  brother,  also  declining  to 
fight  against  King  Edward,  he  went  on  successfully  to  Lon- 
don, where  the  Archbishop  of  York  let  him  into  the  city, 
and  where  the  people  made  great  demonstrations  in  his  favor. 
For  this  they  had  four  reasons.  Firstly,  there  were  great 
numbers  of  the  King's  adherents  hiding  in  the  city  and 
ready  to  break  out ;  secondly,  the  King  owed  them  a  great 
deal  of  money,  which  thev  could  never  hope  to  get  if  he  were 


zio        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

unsuccessful ;  thirdly,  there  was  a  young  prince  to  inherit 
the  crown  ;  and  fourthly,  the  King  was  gay  and  handsome, 
and  more  popular  than  a  better  man  might  have  been  with  the 
city  ladies.  After  a  stay  of  only  two  days  with  these  wor- 
thy supporters,  the  King  marched  out  to  Barnet  Common  to 
give  the  Earl  of  Warwick  battle.  And  now  it  was  to  be  seen, 
for  the  last  time,  whether  the  King  or  the  King- Maker  was 
to  carry  the  day. 

While  the  battle  was  yet  pending,  the  faint-hearted  Duke 
of  Clarence  began  to  repent,  and  sent  over  secret  messages 
to  his  father-in-law,  offering  his  services  in  mediation  with 
the  King.  But,  the  Earl  of  Warwick  disdainfully  rejected 
them,  and  replied  that  Clarence  was  false  and  perjured, 
and  that  he  would  settle  the  quarrel  by  the  sword.  The 
battle  began  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  lasted  until 
ten,  and  during  the  greater  part  of  the  time  it  was  fought  in 
a  thick  mist — absurdly  supposed  to  be  raised  by  a  magician. 
The  loss  of  life  was  very  great,  for  the  hatred  was  strong 
on  both  sides.  The  King-Maker  was  defeated,  and  the  King 
triumphed.  Both  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  his  brother  were 
slain,  and  their  bodies  lay  in  St.  Paul's  for  some  days  as  a 
spectacle  to  the  people. 

Margaret's  spirit  was  not  yet  broken  even  by  this  great 
blow.  Within  five  days  she  was  in  arms  again,  and  raised 
her  standard  in  Bath,  whence  she  set  off  with  her  army,  to 
try  and  join  Lord  Pembroke,  who  had  a  force  in  Wales. 
But,  the  King,  coming  up  with  her  outside  the  town  of  Tewkes- 
bury, and  ordering  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
who  was  a  brave  soldier,  to  attack  her  men,  she  sustained  an 
entire  defeat,  and  was  taken  prisoner,  together  with  her  son, 
now  only  eighteen  years  of  age.  The  conduct  of  the  King 
to  this  poor  youth  was  worthy  of  his  cruel  character.  He 
ordered  him  to  be  led  into  his  tent.  "  And  what,"  said  he, 
"  brought  you  to  England?"  "  I  came  to  England,"  replied 
the  prisoner,  with  a  spirit  which  a  man  of  spirit  might  have 
admired  in  a  captive,  "  to  recover  my  father's  kingdom, 
which  descended  to  him  as  his  right,  and  from  him  descends 
to  me  as  mine."  The  King,  drawing  off  his  iron  gauntlet, 
struck  him  with  it  in  the  face  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
and  some  other  lords,  who  were  there,  drew  their  noble 
swords,  and  killed  him. 

His  mother  survived  him,  a  prisoner,  for  five  years  ;  after 
her  ransom  by  the  King  of  France,  she  survived  for  six  years 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         211 

more.  Within  three  weeks  of  this  murder,  Henry  died  one 
of  those  convenient  sudden  deaths  which  were  so  common 
in  the  Tower  ;  in  plainer  words,  he  was  murdered  by  the 
King's  order. 

Having  no  particular  excitement  on  his  hands  after  this  great 
defeat  of  the  Lancaster  party,  and  being  perhaps  desirous  to 
get  rid  of  some  of  his  fat  (for  he  was  now  getting  too  corpu- 
lent to  be  handsome),  the  King  thought  of  making  war  on 
France.  As  he  wanted  more  money  for  this  purpose  than 
the  Parliament  could  give  him,  though  they  were  usually 
ready  enough  for  war,  he  invented  a  new  way  for  raising  it, 
by  sending  for  the  principal  citizens  of  London,  and  telling 
them,  with  a  grave  face,  that  he  was  very  much  in  want  of 
cash,  and  would  take  it  very  kind  of  them  if  they  would  lend 
him  some.  It  being  impossible  for  them  safely  to  refuse, 
they  complied,  and  the  moneys  thus  forced  from  them  were 
called — no  doubt  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  King  and 
the  Court — as  if  they  were  free  gifts,  "Benevolences." 
What  with  grants  from  Parliament,  and  what  with  Benevo- 
lences, the  King  raised  an  army  and  passed  over  to  Calais. 
As  nobody  wanted  war,  however,  the  French  King  made 
proposals  of  peace,  which  were  accepted,  and  a  truce  was 
concluded  for  seven  long  years.  The  proceedings  between 
the  Kings  of  France  and  England  on  this  occasion,  were  very 
friendly,  very  splendid,  and  very  distrustful.  They  finished 
with  a  meeting  between  the  two  Kings,  on  a  temporary 
bridge  over  the  river  Somrae,  where  they  embraced  through 
two  holes  in  a  strong  wooden  grating  like  a  lion's  cage,  and 
made  several  bows  and  fine  speeches  to  one  another. 

It  was  time,  now,  that  the  Duke  of  Clarence  should  be 
punished  for  his  treacheries  ;  and  Fate  had  his  punishment 
in  store.  He  was,  probably,  not  trusted  by  the  King— for 
who  could  trust  him  who  knew  him  ! — and  he  had  certainly 
a  powerful  opponent  in  his  brother  Richard,  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter, who,  being  avaricious  and  ambitious,  wanted  to  marry 
that  widowed  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick's  who  had 
been  espoused  to  the  deceased  young  Prince  at  Calais.  Clar- 
ence, who  wanted  all  the  family  wealth  for  himself,  secreted 
this  lady,  whom  Richard  found  disguised  as  a  servant  in  the 
City  of  London,  and  whom  he  married  ;  arbitrators  appoint- 
ed by  the  King,  then  divided  the  property  between  the 
brothers.  This  led  to  ill-will  and  mistrust  between  them. 
Clarence's  wife  dying,  and  he  wishing  to  make  another  mar- 


212        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

riage,  which  was  obnoxious  to  the  King,  his  ruin  was  hurried 
by  that  means,  too.  At  first,  the  Court  struck  at  his  retain- 
ers and  dependents,  and  accused  some  of  them  of  magic  and 
witchcraft,  and  similar  nonsense.  Successful  against  this 
small  game,  it  then  mounted  to  the  Duke  himself,  who  was 
impeached  by  his  brother  the  King,  in  person,  on  a  variety 
of  such  charges.  He  was  found  guilty  and  sentenced  to  be 
publicly  executed.  He  never  was  publicly  executed,  but 
he  met  his  death  somehow,  in  the  Tower,  and,  no  doubt, 
through  some  agency  of  the  King  or  his  brother  Gloucester, 
or  both.  It  was  supposed  at  the  time  that  he  was  told  to 
choose  the  manner  of  his  death,  and  that  he  chose  to  be 
drowned  in  a  butt  of  Malmsey  wine.  I  hope  the  story  may 
be  true,  for  it  would  have  been  a  becoming  death  for  such  a 
miserable  creature. 

The  King  survived  him  some  five  years.  He  died  in  the 
forty-second  year  of  his  life,  and  twenty-third  of  his  reign. 
He  had  a  very  good  capacity  and  some  good  points,  but  he 
was  selfish,  careless,  sensual,  and  cruel.  He  was  a  favorite 
with  the  people  for  his  showy  manners  ;  and  the  people  were 
a  good  example  to  him  in  the  constancy  of  their  attachment. 
He  was  penitent  on  his  death-bed  for  his  "  benevolences," 
and  other  extortions,  and  ordered  restitution  to  be  made  to 
the  people  who  had  suffered  from  them.  He  also  called 
about  his  bed  the  enriched  members  of  the  Woodville  family, 
and  the  proud  lords  whose  honors  were  of  older  date,  and 
endeavored  to  reconcile  them,  for  the  sake  of  the  peaceful 
succession  of  his  son  and  the  tranquillity  of  England. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ENGLAND   UNDER   EDWARD   THE   FIFTH. 

The  late  King's  eldest  son,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  called 
Edward,  after  him,  was  only  thirteen  years  of  age  at  his 
father's  death.  He  was  at  Ludlow  Castle  with  his  uncle, 
the  Earl  of  Rivers.  The  Prince's  brother,  the  Duke  of 
York,  only  eleven  years  of  age,  was  in  London  with  his 
mother.  The  boldest,  most  crafty,  and  most  dreaded  noble- 
man in  England  at  that  time  was  their  uncle  Richard,  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  and  every  body  wondered  how  the  two  poor 
boys  would  fare  with  such  an  uncle,  for  a  friend  or  a  foe. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,        S13 

The  Queen,  their  mother,  being  exceedingly  uneasy  about 
this,  was  anxious  that  instructions  should  be  sent  to  Lord 
Rivers  to  raise  an  army  to  escort  the  young  King  safely  to 
London.  But  Lord  Hastings,  who  was  of  the  court  party 
opposed  to  the  Woodvilles,  and  who  disliked  the  thought  of 
giving  them  that  power,  argued  against  the  proposal,  and 
obliged  the  Queen  to  be  satisfied  with  an  escort  of  two 
thousand  horse.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester  did  nothing,  at 
first,  to  justify  suspicion.  He  came  from  Scotland  (where 
he  was  commanding  an  army)  to  York,  and  was  there  the 
first  to  swear  allegiance  to  his  nephew.  He  then  wrote  a 
condoling  letter  to  the  Queen-mother,  and  set  off  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  coronation  in  London. 

Now,  the  young  King,  journeying  toward  London  too,  with 
Lord  Rivers  and  Lord  Gray,  came  to  Stony  Stratford,  as 
his  uncle  came  to  Northampton,  about  ten  miles  distant  ; 
and  when  those  two  lords  heard  that  the  Duke  of  Gloucester 
was  so  near  they  proposed  to  the  young  King  that  they 
should  go  back  and  greet  him  in  his  name.  The  boy  being 
very  willing  that  they  should  do  so,  they  rode  off  and  were 
received  with  great  friendliness,  and  asked  by  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  to  stay  and  dine  with  him.  In  the  evening, 
while  they  were  merry  together,  up  came  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham with  three  hundred  horsemen  ;  and  next  morning 
the  two  lords  and  the  two  dukes,  and  the  three  hundred 
horsemen,  rode  away  together  to  rejoin  the  King.  Just  as 
they  were  entering  Stony  Stratford,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
checking  his  horse,  turned  suddenly  on  the  two  lords,  charged 
them  with  alienating  from  him  the  affections  of  his  sweet 
nephew,  and  caused  them  to  be  arrested  by  the  three  hund- 
red horsemen  and  taken  back.  Then,  he  and  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  went  straight  to  the  King  (whom  they  had  now 
in  their  power),  to  whom  they  made  a  show  of  kneeling  down, 
and  offering  great  love  and  submission  ;  and  then  they  or- 
dered his  attendants  to  disperse,  and  took  him,  alone  with 
them,  to  Northampton. 

A  few  days  afterward  they  conducted  him  to  London,  and 
lodged  him  in  the  Bishop's  Palace.  But  he  did  not  remain 
there  long  ;  for,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  with  a  tender  face 
made  a  speech  expressing  how  anxious  he  was  for  the  Royal 
boy's  safety,  and  how  much  safer  he  would  be  in  the  Tower 
until  his  coronation,  than  he  could  be  any  where  else.  So,  to 
the  Tower  he  was  taken,  very  carefully,  and  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  was  named  Protector  of  the  State. 


214        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Although  Gloucester  had  proceeded  thus  far  with  a  very 
smooth  countenance — and  although  he  was  a  clever  man, 
fair  of  speech,  and  not  ill-looking,  in  spite  of  one  of  his  shoul- 
ders being  something  higher  than  the  other — and  although 
he  had  come  into  the  city  riding  bare-headed  at  the  King's 
side,  and  looking  very  fond  of  him — he  had  made  the  King's 
mother  more  uneasy  yet ;  and  when  the  Royal  boy  was  taken1* 
to  the  Tower,  she  became  so  alarmed  that  she  took  sanctuary 
in  Westminster  with  her  five  daughters. 

Nor  did  she  do  this  without  reason,  for,  the  Duke  of  Glou- 
cester, finding  that  the  lords  who  were  opposed  to  the  Wood- 
ville  family  were  faithful  to  the  young  King  nevertheless, 
quickly  resolved  to  strike  a  blow  for  himself.  Accordingly, 
while  those  lords  met  in  council  at  the  Tower,  he  and  those 
who  were  in  his  interest  met  in  separate  council  at  his  own 
residence,  Crosby  Palace,  in  Bishopsgate  Street.  Being  at 
last  quite  prepared,  he  one  day  appeared  unexpectedly  at 
the  council  in  the  Tower,  and  appeared  to  be  very  jocular 
and  merry.  He  was  particularly  gay  with  the  Bishop  of 
Ely :  praising  the  strawberries  that  grew  in  his  garden  on 
Holborn  Hill,  and  asking  him  to  have  some  gathered  that  he 
might  eat  them  at  dinner.  The  Bishop,  quite  proud  of  the 
honor,  sent  one  of  his  men  to  fetch  some  ;  and  the  Duke, 
still  very  jocular  and  gay,  went  out ;  and  the  council  all  said 
what  a  very  agreeable  duke  he  was !  In  a  little  time,  how- 
ever, he  came  back  quite  altered — not  at  all  jocular — frown- 
ing and  fierce — and  suddenly  said — 

"  What  do  those  persons  deserve  who  have  compassed  my 
destruction  ;  I  being  the  King's  lawful,  as  well  as  natural, 
protector  ? 

To  this  strange  question,  Lord  Hastings  replied,  that  they 
deserved  death,  whosoever  they  were, 

"  Then,"  said  the  Duke,  "I  tell  you  that  they  are  that 
sorceress  my  brother's  wife  ;  "  meaning  the  Queen  :  "  and 
that  other  sorceress,  Jane  Shore.  Who,  by  witchcraft,  have 
withered  my  body,  and  caused  my  arm  to  shrink  as  I  now 
show  you." 

He  then  pulled  up  his  sleeve  and  showed  them  his  arm, 
which  was  shrunken,  it  is  true,  but  which  had  been  so,  as 
they  all  very  well  knew,  from  the  hour  of  his  birth. 

Jane  Shore,  being  then  the  lover  of  Lord  Hastings,  as  she 
had  formerly  been  of  the  late  King,  that  lord  knew  that  he 
himself  was  attacked.     So,  he  said,  in  some  confusion,  "  Cer- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        215 

tainly,  my  Lord,  if  they  have  done  this,  they  be  worthy  of 
punishment." 

"  If  ?  "  said  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  ;  c'  do  you  talk  to  me 
of  ifs  ?  I  tell  you  that  they  have  so  done,  and  I  will  make  it 
good  upon  thy  body,  thou  traitor  !  " 

With  that  he  struck  the  table  a  great  blow  with  his  fist. 
This  was  a  signal  to  some  of  his  people  outside  to  cry 
"  Treason  !  "  They  immediately  did  so,  and  there  was  a  rush 
into  the  chamber  of  so  many  armed  men  that  it  was  filled  in 
a  moment. 

"First,"  said  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  to  Lord  Hastings, 
"  I  arrest  thee,  traitor  !  And  let  him,"  he  added  to  the  armed 
men  who  took  him,  "  have  a  priest  at  once,  for  by  St.  Paul 
I  will  not  dine  until  I  have  seen  his  head  off  !  " 

Lord  Hastings  was  hurried  to  the  green  by  the  Tower 
chapel,  and  there  beheaded  on  a  log  of  wood  that  happened 
to  be  lying  on  the  ground.  Then,  the  Duke  dined  with  a 
good  appetite,  and  after  dinner  summoning  the  principal 
citizens  to  attend  him,  told  them  that  Lord  Hastings  and  the 
rest  had  designed  to  murder  both  himself  and  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  who  stood  by  his  side,  if  he  had  not  providen- 
tially discovered  their  design.  He  requested  them  to  be 
so  obliging  as  to  inform  their  fellow-citizens  of  the  truth  of 
what  he  said  and  issued  a  proclamation  (prepared  and  neatly 
copied  out  beforehand)  to  the  same  effect. 

On  the  same  day  that  the  Duke  did  these  things  in  the 
Tower,  Sir  Richard  Ratcliffe,  the  boldest  and  most  un- 
daunted of  his  men,  went  down  to  Pontefract  ;  arrested 
Lord  Rivers,  Lord  Gray,  and  two  other  gentlemen  ;  and 
publicly  executed  them  on  the  scaffold,  without  any  trial,  for 
having  intended  the  Duke's  death.  Three  days  afterward 
the  Duke,  not  to  lose  time,  went  down  the  river  to  Westmin- 
ster in  his  barge,  attended  by  divers  bishops,  lords,  and  sol- 
diers, and  demanded  that  the  Queen  should  deliver  her  sec- 
ond son,  the  Duke  of  York,  into  his  safe  keeping.  The 
Queen,  being  obliged  to  comply,  resigned  the  child  after  she 
had  wept  over  him  ;  and  Richard  of  Gloucester  placed  him 
with  his  brother  in  the  Tower.  Then  he  seized  Jane  Shore, 
and,  because  she  had  been  the  lover  of  the  late  King,  confis- 
cated her  property,  and  got  her  sentenced  to  do  public  pen- 
ance in  the  streets  by  walking  in  a  scanty  dress,  with  bare 
feet,  and  carrying  a  lighted  candle,  to  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
through  the  most  crowded  part  of  the  city. 


2i6        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Having  now  all  things  ready  for  his  own  advancement,  ne 
caused  a  friar  to  preach  a  sermon  at  the  cross  which  stood 
in  front  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  in  which  he  dwelt  upon  the 
profligate  manners  of  the  late  King,  and  upon  the  late  shame 
of  Jane  Shore,  and  hinted  that  the  princes  were  not  his  chil- 
dren. "Whereas,  good  people,"  said  the  friar,  whose  name 
was  Shaw,  "my  Lord  the  Protector,  the  noble  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  that  sweet  prince,  the  pattern  of  all  the  noblest 
virtues,  is  the  perfect  image  and  express  likeness  of  his 
father."  There  had  been  a  little  plot  between  the  Duke  and 
the  friar,  that  the  Duke  should  appear  in  the  crowd  at  this 
moment,  when  it  was  expected  that  the  people  would  cry 
"  Long  live  King  Richard  !  "  But,  either  through  the  friar 
saying  the  words  too  soon,  or  through  the  Duke's  coming  too 
late,  the  Duke  and  the  words  did  not  come  together,  and  the 
people  only  laughed,  and  the  friar  sneaked  off  ashamed. 

The  Duke  of  Buckingham  was  a  better  hand  at  such  busi- 
ness than  the  friar,  so  he  went  to  the  Guildhall  the  next  day 
and  addressed  the  citizens  in  the  Lord  Protector's  behalf.  A 
few  dirty  men  who  had  been  hired  and  stationed  there  for 
the  purpose,  crying  when  he  had  done,  "  God  save  King 
Richard  !  "  he  made  them  a  great  bow,  and  thanked  them 
with  all  his  heart.  Next  day,  to  make  an  end  of  it,  he  went 
with  the  mayor  and  some  lords  and  citizens  to  Bayard  Cas- 
tle, by  the  river,  where  Richard  then  was,  and  read  an  ad- 
dress, humbly  entreating  him  to  accept  the  crown  of  En- 
gland. Richard,  who  looked  down  upon  them  out  of  a  win- 
dow and  pretended  to  be  in  great  uneasiness  and  alarm,  as- 
sured them  there  was  nothing  he  desired  less,  and  that  his 
deep  affection  for  his  nephews  forbade  him  to  think  of  it. 
To  this  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  replied,  with  pretended 
warmth,  that  the  free  people  of  England  would  never  sub- 
mit to  his  nephew's  rule,  and  that  if  Richard,  who  was  the 
lawful  heir,  refused  the  Crown,  why  then  they  must  find  some 
one  else  to  wear  it.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester  returned,  that 
since  he  used  that  strong  language,  it  became  his  painful 
duty  to  think  no  more  of  himself,  and  to  accept  the  Crown. 

Upon  that,  the  people  cheered  and  dispersed  ;  and  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester  and  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  passed  a 
pleasant  evening,  talking  over  the  play  they  had  just  acted 
with  so  much  success,  and  every  word  of  which  they  had 
prepared  together. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         217 
CHAPTER  XXV. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    RICHARD    THE    THIRD. 

King  Richard  the  Third  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning, 
arjd  went  to  Westminster  Hall.  In  the  Hall  was  a  marble 
seat,  upon  which  he  sat  himself  down  between  two  great 
noblemen,  and  told  the  people  that  he  began  the  new  reign 
in  that  place,  because  the  first  duty  of  a  sovereign  was  to  ad- 
minister the  laws  equally  to  all,  and  to  maintain  justice.  He 
then  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  back  to  the  city,  where  he 
was  received  by  the  clergy  and  the  crowd  as  if  he  really  had 
a  right  to  the  throne,  and  really  were  a  just  man.  The  clergy 
and  the  crowd  must  have  been  rather  ashamed  or  themselves 
in  secret,  I  think,  for  being  such  poor-spirited  knaves. 

The  new  King  and  his  Queen  were  soon  crowned  with  a 
great  deal  of  show  and  noise,  which  the  people  liked  very 
much  ;  and  then  the  King  set  forth  on  a  royal  progress 
through  his  dominions.  He  was  crowned  a  second  time  at 
York,  in  order  that  the  people  might  have  show  and  noise 
enough  ;  and  wherever  he  went  was  received  with  shouts  of 
rejoicing — from  a  good  many  people  of  strong  lungs,  who 
were  paid  to  strain  their  throats  in  crying,  "  God  save  King 
Richard  !"  The  plan  was  so  successful  that  I  am  told  it  has 
been  imitated  since,  by  other  usurpers,  in  other  progresses 
through  other  dominions. 

While  he  was  on  this  journey,  King  Richard  staid  a  week 
at  Warwick.  And  from  Warwick  he  sent  instructions  home 
for  one  of  the  wickedest  murders  that  ever  was  done — the 
murder  of  the  two  young  princes,  his  nephews,  who  were 
shut  up  in  the  Tower  of  London. 

Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  was  at  that  time  Governor  of  the 
Tower.  To  him,  by  the  hands  of  a  messenger  named  John 
Green,  did  King  Richard  send  a  letter,  ordering  him  by 
some  means  to  put  the  two  young  princes  to  death.  But  Sir 
Robert — I  hope  because  he  had  children  of  his  own,  and 
loved  them — sent  John  Green  back  again,  riding  and  spur- 
ring along  the  dusty  roads,  with  the  answer  that  he  could  not 
do  so  horrible  a  piece  of  work.  The  King,  having  frown- 
ingly  considered  a  little,  called  to  him  Sir  James  Tyrrel,  his 
master  of  the  horse,  and  to  him  gave  authority  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  Tower,  whenever  he  would,  for  twenty-four 


218         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

hours,  and  to  keep  all  the  keys  of  the  Tower  during  that 
space  of  time.  Tyrrel,  well  knowing  what  was  wanted, 
looked  about  him  for  two  hardened  ruffians,  and  chose  John 
Dighton,  one  of  his  own  grooms,  and  Miles  Forest,  who  was 
a  murderer  by  trade.  Having  secured  these  two  assistants, 
he  went,  upon  a  day  in  August,  to  the  Tower,  showed  his 
authority  from  the  King,  took  the  command  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours,  and  obtained  possession  of  the  keys.  And 
when  the  black  night  came,  he  west  creeping,  creeping,  like 
a  guilty  villain  as  he  was,  up  the  dark  stone  winding  stairs, 
and  along  the  dark  stone  passages,  until  he  came  to  the  door 
of  the  room  where  the  two  young  princes,  having  said  their 
prayers,  lay  fast  asleep,  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  And 
while  he  watched  and  listened  at  the  door,  he  sent  in  those 
evil  demons,  John  Dighton  and  Miles  Forest,  who  smoth- 
ered the  two  princes  with  the  bed  and  pillows,  and  carried 
their  bodies  down  the  stairs,  and  buried  them  under  a  great 
heap  of  stones  at  the  staircase  foot.  And  when  the  day 
came,  he  gave  up  the  command  of  the  Tower,  and  restored 
the  keys,  and  hurried  away  without  once  looking  behind 
him  ;  and  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  went  with  fear  and  sad- 
ness to  the  princes'  room,  and  found  the  princes  gone  for- 
ever. 

You  know,  through  all  this  history,  how  true  it  is  that 
traitors  are  never  true,  and  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  soon  turned  against  King 
Richard,  and  joined  a  great  conspiracy  that  was  formed  to 
dethrone  him,  and  to  place  the  crown  upon  its  rightful  own- 
er's head.  Richard  had  meant  to  keep  the  murder  secret ; 
but  when  he  heard  through  his  spies  that  this  conspiracy  ex- 
isted, and  that  many  lords  and  gentlemen  drank  in  secret  to 
the  healths  of  the  two  young  princes  in  the  Tower,  he  made 
it  known  that  they  were  dead.  The  conspirators,  though 
thwarted  for  a  moment,  soon  resolved  to  set  up  for  the 
crown  against  the  murderous  Richard,  Henry  Earl  of  Rich- 
mond, grandson  of  Catherine  :  that  widow  of  Henry  the 
Fifth  who  married  Owen  Tudor.  And  as  Henry  was  of  the 
house  of  Lancaster,  they  proposed  that  he  should  marry  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  King,  now 
the  heiress  of  the  house  of  York,  and  thus  by  uniting  the 
rival  families  put  an  end  to  the  fatal  wars  of  the  P.ed  and 
White  Roses.  AH  being  settled,  a  time  was  appointed  for 
Henry  to  come   over   from    Brittany,  and  for  a  great  rising 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        219 

against  Richard  to  take  place  in  several  parts  of  England  at 
the  same  hour.  On  a  certain  day,  therefore,  in  October,  the 
revolt  took  place  ;  but  unsuccessfully.  Richard  was  pre- 
pared, Henry  was  driven  back  at  sea  by  a  storm,  his  follow- 
ers in  England  were  dispersed,  and  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham was  taken,  and  at  once  beheaded  in  the  market-place  at 
Salisbury. 

The  time  of  his  success  was  a  good  time,  Richard  thought, 
for  summoning  a  Parliament  and  getting  some  money.  So, 
a  Parliament  was  called,  and  it  flattered  and  fawned  upon 
him  as  much  as  he  could  possibly  desire,  and  declared  him 
to  be  the  rightful  King  of  England,  and  his  own  son  Edward, 
then  eleven  years  of  age,  the  next  heir  to  the  throne. 

Richard  knew  full  well  that,  let  the  Parliament  say  what 
it  would,  the  Princess  Elizabeth  was  remembered  by  people 
as  the  heiress  of  the  house  of  York  ;  and  having  accurate  in- 
formation besides,  of  its  being  designed  by  the  conspirators 
to  marry  her  to  Henry  of  Richmond,  he  felt  that  it  would 
much  strengthen  him  and  weaken  them,  to  be  beforehand 
with  them,  and  marry  her  to  his  son.  With  this  view  he  went 
to  the  Sanctuary  at  Westminster,  where  the  late  King's  widow 
and  her  daughter  still  were,  and  besought  them  to  come  to 
Court :  where  (he  swore  by  any  thing  and  every  thing)  they 
should  be  safely  and  honorably  entertained.  They  came, 
accordingly,  but  had  scarcely  been  at  Court  a  month  when 
his  son  died  suddenly — or  was  poisoned — and  his  plan  was 
crushed  to  pieces. 

In  this  extremity,  King  Richard,  always  active,  thought, 
"I  must  make  another  plan."  And  he  made  the  plan  of 
marrying  the  Princess  Elizabeth  himself,  although  she  was 
his  niece.  There  was  one  difficulty  in  the  way:  his  wife,  the 
Queen  Anne,  was  alive.  But,  he  knew  (remembering  his 
nephews)  how  to  remove  that  obstacle,  and  he  made  love  to 
the  Princess  Elizabeth,  telling  her  he  felt  perfectly  confident 
that  the  Queen  would  die  in  February.  The  Princess  was 
not  a  very  scrupulous  young  lady,  for,  instead  of  rejecting 
the  murderer  of  her  brothers  with  scorn  and  hatred,  she 
openly  declared  she  loved  him  dearly  ;  and,  when  February 
came  and  the  Queen  did  not  die,  she  expressed  her  impatient 
opinion  that  she  was  too  long  about  it.  However,  King  Rich- 
ard was  not  so  far  out  in  his  prediction  but  that  she  died  in 
March — he  took  good  care  of  that — and  then  this  precious 
pair  hoped  to  be  married.     But  they  were  disappointed,  for 


22o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  idea  of  such  a  marriage  was  so  unpopular  in  the  country, 
that  the  King's  chief  counselors,  Ratcliffe  and  Catesby, 
would  by  no  means  undertake  to  propose  it,  and  the  King 
was  even  obliged  to  declare  in  public  that  he  had  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing. 

He  was,  by  this  time,  dreaded  and  hated  by  all  classes  of 
his  subjects.  His  nobles  deserted  everyday  to  Henry's  side; 
he  dared  not  call  another  parliament,  lest  his  crimes  should 
be  denounced  there  ;  and  for  want  of  money,  he  was  obliged 
to  get  Benevolences  from  the  citizens,  which  exasperated 
them  all  against  him.  It  was  said  too,  that,  being  stricken 
by  his  conscience,  he  dreamed  frightful  dreams,  and  started 
up  in  the  night-time,  wild  with  terror  and  remorse.  Active 
to  the  last,  through  all  this,  he  issued  vigorous  proclamations 
against  Henry  of  Richmond  and  all  his  followers,  when  he 
heard  that  they  were  coming  against  him  with  a  fleet  from 
France  ;  and  took  the  field  as  fierce  and  savage  as  a  wild 
boar — the  animal  represented  on  his  shield. 

Henry  of  Richmond  landed  with  six  thousand  men  at  Mil- 
ford  Haven,  and  came  on  against  King  Richard,  then  en- 
camped at  Leicester  with  an  army  twice  as  great,  through 
North  Wales.  On  Bosworth  Field  the  two  armies  met ;  and 
Richard,  looking  along  Henry's  ranks,  and  seeing  them 
crowded  with  the  English  nobles  who  had  abandoned  him. 
turned  pale  when  he  beheld  the  powerful  Lord  Stanley  and 
his  son  (whom  he  had  tried  hard  to  retain)  among  them. 
But,  he  was  as  brave  as  he  was  wicked,  and  plunged  into  the 
thickest  of  the  fight.  He  was  riding  hither  and  thither,  laying 
about  him  in  all  directions,  when  he  observed  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland — one  of  his  few  great  allies — to  stand  in- 
active, and  the  main  body  of  his  troops  to  hesitate.  At  the 
same  moment,  his  desperate  glance  caught.  Henry  of  Rich- 
mond among  a  little  group  of  his  knights.  Riding  hard  at 
him,  and  crying  "  Treason  I  "  he  killed  his  standard-bearer, 
fiercely  unhorsed  another  gentleman,  and  aimed  a  powerful 
stroke  at  Henry  himself,  to  cut  him  down.  But,  Sir  William 
Stanley  parried  it  as  it  fell,  and  before  Richard  could  raise 
his  arm  again,  he  was  borne  down  in  a  press  of  numbers,  un- 
horsed, and  killed.  Lord  Stanley  picked  up  the  crown,  all 
bruised  and  trampled,  and  stained  with  blood,  and  put  it 
upon  Henry's  head,  amid  loud  and  rejoicing  cries  of 
"  Long  live  King  Henry  !  ' 

That  night,  a  horse  was  led  up  to  the  church  of  the  Grey 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        221 

Friars  at  Leicester,  across  whose  back  was  tied,  like  some 
worthless  sack,  a  naked  body  brought  there  for  burial.  It 
was  the  body  of  the  last  of  the  Plantagenet  line,  King  Rich- 
ard the  Third,  usurper  and  murderer,  slain  at  the  battle  of 
Bosworth  Field,  in  the  thirty-second  year  of  his  age,  after  a 
reign  of  two  years. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    HENRY    THE    SEVENTH. 

King  Henry  the  Seventh  did  not  turn  out  to  be  as  fine 
a  fellow  as  the  nobility  and  people  hoped,  in  the  first  joy  of 
their  deliverance  from  Richard  the  Third.  He  was  very 
cold,  crafty,  and  calculating,  and  would  do  almost  any  thing 
for  money.  He  possessed  considerable  ability,  but  his  chief 
merit  appears  to  have  been  that  he  was  not  cruel  when  there 
was  nothing  to  be  got  by  it. 

The  new  King  had  promised  the  nobles  who  had  espoused 
his  cause  that  he  would  marry  the  Princess  Elizabeth.  The 
first  thing  he  did,  was,  to  direct  her  to  be  removed  from  the 
castle  of  Sheriff  Hutton  in  Yorkshire,  where  Richard  had 
placed  her,  and  restored  to  "he  care  of  her  mother  in  London. 
The  young  Earl  of  Warwick,  Edward  Plantagenet,  son  and 
heir  of  the  late  Duke  of  Clarence,  had  been  kept  a  prisoner 
in  the  same  old  Yorkshire  Castle  with  her.  This  boy,  who 
was  now  fifteen,  the  new  King  placed  in  the  Tower  for  safety. 
Then  he  came  to  London  in  great  state,  and  gratified  the 
people  with  a  fine  procession  ;  on  which  kind  of  show  he  often 
very  much  relied  for  keeping  them  in  good  humor.  The 
sports  and  feasts  which  took  place  were  followed  by  a  terrible 
fever,  called  the  Sweating  Sickness  ;  of  which  great  numbers 
of  people  died.  Lord  Mayors  and  aldermen  are  thought  to 
have  suffered  most  from  it ;  whether,  because  they  were  in 
habit  of  overeating  themselves,  or  because  they  were  very 
jealous  of  preserving  filth  and  nuisances  in  the  city  (as  they 
have  been  since),  I  don't  know. 

The  King's  coronation  was  postponed  on  account  of  the 
general  ill-health,  and  he  afterwards  deferred  his  marriage, 
as  if  he  were  not  very  anxious  that  it  should  take  place  :  and, 
even  after  that,  deferred  the  Queen's  coronation  so  long  that 
he  gave  offense  to  the  York  party.     However,  lie   set   these 


222         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

things  right  in  the  end,  by  hanging  some  men  and  seizing  on 
the  rich  possessions  of  others  ;  by  granting  more  popular 
pardons  to  the  followers  of  the  late  King  than  could,  at  first, 
be  got  from  him ;  and,  by  employing  about  his  Court,  some 
not  very  scrupulous  persons  who  had  been  employed  in  the 
previous  reign. 

As  this  reign  was  principally  remarkable  for  two  very 
curious  impostures  which  have  become  famous  in  history, 
we  will  make  those  two  stories  its  principal  feature. 

There  was  a  priest  at  Oxford  of  the  name  of  Simons,  who 
had  for  a  pupil  a  handsome  boy  named  Lambert  Simnel,  the 
son  of  a  baker.  Partly  to  gratify  his  own  ambitious  ends, 
and  partly  to  carry  out  the  designs  of  a  secret  party  formed 
against  the  King,  this  priest  declared  that  his  pupil,  the  boy, 
was  no  other  than  the  young  Earl  of  Warwick;  who  (as  every 
body  might  have  known)  was  safely  locked  up  in  the  Tower 
of  London.  The  priest  and  the  boy  went  over  to  Ireland  ; 
and,  at  Dublin,  enlisted  in  their  cause  all  ranks  of  the  people: 
who  seem  to  have  been  generous  enough,  but  exceedingly 
irrational.  The  Earl  of  Kildare,  the  governor  of  Ireland, 
declared  that  he  believed  the  boy  to  be  what  the  priest  repre- 
sented; and  the  boy,  who  had  been  well  tutored  by  the  priest, 
told  them  such  things  of  his  childhood,  and  gave  them  so 
many  descriptions  of  the  Royal  Family,  that  they  were  per- 
petually shouting  and  hurrahing,  and  drinking  his  health,  and 
making  all  kinds  of  noisy  and  thirsty  demonstrations,  to  ex- 
press their  belief  in  him.  Nor  was  this  feeling  confined  to 
Ireland  alone,  for  the  Earl  of  Lincoln — whom  the  late  usurper 
had  named  as  his  successor — went  over  to  the  young  Pre- 
tender ;  and  after  holding  a  secret  correspondence  with  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Burgundy — the  sister  of  Edward  the 
Fourth,  who  detested  the  present  King  and  all  his  race — 
sailed  to  Dublin  with  two  thousand  German  soldiers  of  her 
providing.  In  this  promising  state  of  the  boy's  fortunes,  he 
was  crowned  there,  with  a  crown  taken  off  the  head  of  a  statue 
of  the  Virgin  Mary  ;  and  was  then,  according  to  the  Irish 
custom  in  those  days,  carried  home  on  the  shoulders  of  a  big 
chieftain  possessing  a  great  deal  more  strength  than  sense. 
Father  Simons,  you  may  be  sure,  was  mighty  busy  at  the 
coronation. 

Ten  days  afterward,  the  Germans,  and  the  Irish,  and  the 
priest  and  the  boy,  and  the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  all  landed  in 
Lancashire  to  invade  England.      The  King,  who  had  good 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         223 

intelligence  of  their  movements,  set  up  his  standard  at  Not- 
tingham, where  vast  numbers  resorted  to  him  every  day; 
while  the  Earl  of  Lincoln  could  gain  but  very  few.  With 
this  small  force  he  tried  to  make  for  the  town  of  Newark  ; 
but  the  King's  army  getting  between  him  and  that  place,  he 
had  no  choice  but  to  risk  battle  at  Stoke.  It  soon  ended  in 
the  complete  destruction  of  the  Pretender's  forces ;  one- 
half  of  whom  were  killed  :  among  them  the  Earl  himself. 
The  priest  and  the  baker's  boy  were  taken  prisoners.  The 
priest,  after  confessing  the  trick,  was  shut  up  in  prison, 
where  he  afterward  died— suddenly  perhaps.  The  boy 
was  taken  into  the  King's  kitchen  and  made  a  turnspit.  He 
was  afterward  raised  to  the  station  of  one  of  the  King's 
falconers ;  and  so  ended  this  strange  imposition. 

There  seems  reason  to  suspect  that  the  Dowager  Queen- 
always  a  restless  and  busy  woman — had  had  some  share  in 
tutoring  the  baker's  son.  The  King  was  very  angry  with 
her,  whether  or  no.  He  seized  upon  her  property,  and  shut 
her  up  in  a  convent  at  Bermondsey. 

One  might  suppose  that  the  end  of  this  story  would  have 
put  the  Irish  people  on  their  guard  ;  but  they  were  quite 
ready  to  receive  a  second  impostor,  as  they  had  received  the 
first,  and  that  same  troublesome  Duchess  of  Burgundy  soon 
gave  them  the  opportunity.  All  of  a  sudden  there  appeared 
at  Cork,  in  a  vessel  arriving  from  Portugal,  a  young  man  of 
excellent  abilities,  of  very  handsome  appearance  and  most 
winning  manners,  who  declared  himself  to  be  Richard,  Duke 
of  York,  the  second  son  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth.  "  O," 
said  some,  even  of  those  ready  Irish  believers,  "but  surely 
that  young  Prince  was  murdered  by  his  uncle  in  the 
Tower  !  "— "  It  is  supposed  so,"  said  the  engaging  young 
man  ;  "  and  my  brother  was  killed  in  that  gloomy  prison  : 
but  I  escaped — it  don't  matter  how,  at  present—and  have 
been  wandering  about  the  world  for  seven  long  years."  This 
explanation  being  quite  satisfactory  to  numbers  of  the  Irish 
people,  they  began  again  to  shout  and  to  hurrah,  and  to  drink 
his  health,  and  to  make  the  noisy  and  thirsty  demonstrations 
all  over  again.  And  the  big  chieftain  in  Dublin  began  to 
look  out  for  another  coronation,  and  another  young  King  to 
be  carried  home  on  his  back. 

Now,  King  Henry  being  then  on  bad  terms  with  France, 
the  French  King,  Charles  the  Eighth,  saw  that,  by  pretend- 
ing to  believe  in  the  handsome  young  man,  he  could  trouble 


224        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

his  enemy  sorely.  So,  he  invited  him  over  to  the  French 
Court  and  appointed  him  a  body-guard,  and  treated  him  in 
all  respects  as  it  he  really  were  the  Duke  of  York.  Peace, 
however,  being  soon  concluded  between  the  two  Kings,  the 
pretended  Duke  was  turned  adrift,  and  wandered  for  pro- 
tection to  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy.  She,  after  feigning 
to  inquire  into  the  reality  of  his  claims,  declared  him  to  be 
the  very  picture  of  her  dear  departed  brother  ;  gave  him  a 
body-guard  at  her  Court,  of  thirty  halberdiers  ;  and  called 
him  by  the  sounding  name  of  the  White  Rose  of  England. 

The  leading  members  of  the  White  Rose  party  in  England 
sent  over  an  agent,  named  Sir  Robert  Clifford,  to  ascertain 
whether  the  White  Rose's  claims  were  good  ;  the  King  also 
sent  over  his  agents  to  inquire  into  Rose's  history.  The 
White  Roses  declared  the  young  man  to  be  really  the  Duke 
of  York  ;  the  King  declared  him  to  be  Perkin  Warbeck,  the 
son  of  a  merchant  of  the  city  of  Tournay,  who  had  acquired 
his  knowledge  of  England,  its  language  and  manners,  from 
the  English  merchants  who  traded  in  Flanders  ;  it  was  also 
stated  by  the  Royal  agents,  that  he  had  been  in  the  service 
of  Lady  Brompton,  the  wife  of  an  exiled  English  nobleman, 
and  that  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  had  caused  him  to  be 
trained  and  taught,  expressly  for  this  deception.  The  King 
then  required  the  Archduke  Philip — who  was  the  sovereign 
of  Burgundy — to  banish  this  new  Pretender,  or  to  deliver 
him  up  ;  but  as  the  Archduke  replied  that  he  could  not  con- 
trol the  Duchess  in  her  own  land,  the  King,  in  revenge,  took 
the  market  of  English  cloth  away  from  Antwerp,  and  pre- 
vented all  commercial  intercourse  between  the  two  countries. 

He  also,  by  arts  and  bribes,  prevailed  on  Sir  Robert  Clif- 
ford to  betray  his  employers  ;  and  he  denouncing  several 
famous  English  noblemen  as  being  secretly  the  friends  of 
Perkin  Warbeck,  the  King  had  three  of  the  foremost  exe- 
cuted at  once.  Whether  he  pardoned  the  remainder  because 
they  were  poor,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  it  is  only  too  probable 
that  he  refused  to  pardon  one  famous  nobleman  against 
whom  the  same  Clifford  soon  afterward  informed  separately, 
because  he  was  rich.  This  was  no  other  than  Sir  William 
Stanley,  who  had  saved  the  King's  life  at  the  battle  of  Bos- 
worth  Field.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether  his  treason 
amounted  to  much  more  than  his  having  said,  that  if  he 
were  sure  the  young  man  was  the  Duke  of  York,  he  would 
not  take  arms  against  him.     Whatever  he  had  done  he  ad- 


<  ,         < 


C    C   f  <    c 


LJLMBERT    SIMNEL. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         225 

mitted,  like  an  honorable  spirit ;  and  he  lost  his  head  for  it, 
and  the  covetous  King  gained  all  his  wealth. 

Perkin  Warbeck  kept  quiet  for  three  years,  but,  as  the 
Flemings  began  to  complain  heavily  of  the  loss  of  their 
trade  by  the  stoppage  of  the  Antwerp  market  on  this 
account,  and  that  it  was  not  unlikely  that  they  might  even 
go  so  far  as  to  take  his  life,  or  give  him  up,  he  found  it 
necessary  to  do  something.  Accordingly  he  made  a  des- 
perate sally,  and  landed,  with  only  a  few  hundred  men,  on 
the  coast  of  Deal.  But  he  was  soon  glad  to  get  back  to  the 
place  from  whence  he  came  ;  for  the  country  people  rose 
against  his  followers,  killed  a  great  many,  and  took  a  hund- 
red and  fifty  prisoners  :  who  were  all  driven  to  London, 
tied  together  with  ropes,  like  a  team  of  cattle.  Every  one 
of  them  was  hanged  on  some  part  or  other  of  the  sea-shore  ; 
in  order,  that  if  any  more  men  should  come  over  with  Perkin 
Warbeck,  they  might  see  the  bodies  as  a  warning  before 
they  landed. 

Then  the  wary  King,  by  making  a  treaty  of  commerce 
with  the  Flemings,  drove  Perkin  Warbeck  out  of  that  coun- 
try ;  and,  by  completely  gaining  over  the  Irish  to  his  side, 
deprived  him  of  that  asylum  too.  He  wandered  away  to 
Scotland,  and  told  his  story  at  that  Court.  King  James  the 
Fourth  of  Scotland,  who  was  no  friend^to  King  Henry,  and 
had  had  no  reason  to  be,  (for  King  Henry  had  bribed  his 
Scotch  lords  to  betray  him  more  than  once  ;  but  had  never 
succeeded  in  his  plots)  gave  him  a  great  reception,  called 
him  his  cousin,  and  gave  him  in  marriage  the  Lady  Catherine 
Gordon,  a  beautiful  and  charming  creature  related  to  the 
royal  house  of  Stuart. 

Alarmed  by  this  successful  reappearance  of  the  Pretender, 
the  King  still  undermined,  and  bought,  and  bribed,  and  kept 
his  doings  and  Perkin  Warbeck's  story  in  the  dark,  when  he 
might,  one  would  imagine,  have  rendered  the  matter  clear  to 
all  England.  But,  for  all  this  bribing  of  the  Scotch  lords  at 
the  Scotch  King's  Court,  he  could  not  procure  the  Pretender 
to  be  delivered  up  to  him.  James,  though  not  very  particu- 
lar in  many  respects,  would  not  betray  him  ;  and  the  ever- 
busy  Duchess  of  Burgundy  so  provided  him  with  arms,  and 
good  soldiers,  and  with  money  besides,  that  he  had  soon  a 
little  army  of  fifteen  hundred  men  of  various  nations. 
With  these,  and  aided  by  the  Scottish  King  in  person,  he 
crossed  the  border  into  England,  and  made  a  proclamation 


226        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

to  the  people,  in  which  he  called  the  King  {<  Henry  Tudor  ;  * 
offered  large  rewards  for  any  one  who  should  take  or  distress 
him ;  and  announced  himself  as  King  Richard  the  Fourth 
come  to  receive  the  homage  of  his  faithful  subjects.  His 
faithful  subjects,  however,  cared  nothing  for  him,  and  hated 
his  faithful  troops  :  who,  being  of  different  nations,  quar- 
reled among  themselves.  Worse  than  this,  if  worse  were 
possible,  they  began  to  plunder  the  country  ;  upon  which 
the  White  Rose  said,  that  he  would  rather  lose  his  rights 
than  gain  them  through  the  miseries  of  the  English  people. 
The  Scottish  King  made  a  jest  of  his  scruples  ;  but  they 
and  their  whole  force  went  back  again  without  fighting  a 
battle. 

The  worst  consequence  of  this  attempt  was  that  a  rising 
took  place  among  the  people  of  Cornwall,  who  considered 
themselves  too  heavily  taxed  to  meet  the  charges  of  the  ex- 
pected war.  Stimulated  by  Flammock,  a  lawyer,  and  Joseph, 
a  blacksmith,  and  joined  by  Lord  Audley  and  some  other 
country  gentlemen,  they  marched  on  all  the  way  to  Deptford 
Bridge,  where  they  fought  a  battle  with  the  King's  army. 
They  were  defeated — though  the  Cornish  men  fought  with 
great  bravery — and  the  lord  was  beheaded,  and  the  lawyer 
and  the  blacksmith  were  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  The 
rest  were  pardoned.  The  King,  who  believed  every  man  to 
be  as  avaricious  as  himself,  and  thought  that  money  could 
settle  any  thing,  allowed  them  to  make  bargains  for  their  lib- 
erty with  the  soldiers  who  had  taken  them. 

Perkin  Warbeck,  doomed  to  wander  up  and  down,  and 
never  to  find  rest  any  where — a  sad  fatej  almost  a  suffi- 
cient punishment  for  an  impostor,  which  he  seems  in  time 
to  have  half  believed  himself — lost  his  Scottish  refuge 
through  a  truce  being  made  between  the  two  Kings  ;  and 
found  himself,  once  more,  without  a  country  before  him  in 
which  he  could  lay  his  head.  But  James  (always  honorable 
and  true  to  him,  alike  when  he  melted  down  his  plate,  and 
even  the  great  gold  chain  lie  had  been  used  to  wear,  to  pay 
soldiers  in  his  cause  ;  and  now  when  that  cause  was  lost 
and  hopeless)  did  not  conclude  the  treaty,  until  he  had 
safely  departed  out  of  the  Scotch  dominions.  He,  and  his 
beautiful  wife,  who  was  faithful  to  him  under  all  reverses, 
and  left  her  state  and  home  to  follow  his  poor  fortunes,  were 
put  aboard  ship  with  everything  necessary  for  their  com- 
fort and  protection,  and  sailed  for  Ireland. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        327 

But  the  Irish  people  had  had  enough  of  counterfeit  Earls 
Of  Warwick  and  Dukes  of  York,  for  one  while  ;  and  would 
give  the  White  Rose  no  aid.  So,  the  White  Rose — encir- 
cled by  thorns  indeed — resolved  to  go  with  his  beautiful 
wife  to  Cornwall  as  a  forlorn  resource,  and  see  what  might 
be  made  of  the  Cornish  men  who  had  risen  so  valiantly  a 
little  while  before,  and  had  fought  so  bravely  at  Deptford 
Bridge. 

To  Whitsand  Bay,  in  Cornwall,  accordingly,  came  Perkin 
Warbeck  and  his  wife  ;  and  the  lovely  lady  he  shut  up  for 
safety  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Michael's  Mount,  and  then  marched 
into  Devonshire  at  the  head  of  three  thousand  Cornish  men. 
These  were  increased  to  six  thousand  by  the  time  of  his 
arrival  in  Exeter ;  but  there  the  people  made  a  stout  resist- 
ance and  he  went  on  to  Taunton,  where  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  King's  army.  The  stout  Cornish  men,  although  they 
were  few  in  number,  and  badly  armed,  were  so  bold  that 
they  never  thought  of  retreating  ;  but  bravely  looked  for- 
ward to  a  battle  on  the  morrow.  Unhappily  for  them,  the 
man  who  was  possessed  of  so  many  engaging  qualities,  and 
who  attracted  so  many  people  to  his  side  when  he  had  noth- 
ing else  with  which  to  tempt  them,  was  not  as  brave  as  they. 
In  the  night,  when  the  two  armies  lay  opposite  to  each 
other,  he  mounted  a  swift  horse  and  fled.  When  morning 
dawned,  the  poor  confiding  Cornish  men,  discovering  that 
they  had  no  leader,  surrendered  to  the  King's  power.  Some 
of  them  were  hanged,  and  the  rest  were  pardoned  and  went 
miserably  home. 

Before  the  King  pursued  Perkin  Warbeck  to  the  sanctuary 
of  Beaulieu  in  the  New  Forest,  where  it  was  soon  known  that 
he  had  taken  refuge,  he  sent  a  body  of  horsemen  to  Saint 
Michael's  Mount  to  seize  his  wife.  She  was  soon  taken  and 
brought  as  a  captive  before  the  King.  But  she  was  so  beau- 
tiful, and  so  good,  and  so  devoted  to  the  man  in  whom  she 
believed,  that  the  King  regarded  her  with  compassion,  treated 
her  with  great  respect,  and  placed  her  at  Court,  near  the 
Queen's  person.  And  many  years  after  Perkin  Warbeck  was 
no  more,  and  when  his  strange  story  had  become  like  a  nur- 
sery tale,  she  was  called  the  White  Rose,  by  the  people,  in 
remembrance  of  her  beauty. 

The  sanctuary  at  Beaulieu  was  soon  surrounded  by  the 
King's  men  ;  and  the  King,  pursuing  his  usual  dark  artful 
ways,  sent  pretended  friends  to  Perkin  Warbeck  to  persuade 


228       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

him  to  come  out  and  surrender  himself.  This  he  soon  did  : 
the  King  having  taken  a  good  look  at  the  man  of  whom  he 
had  heard  so  much — from  behind  a  screen — directed  him  to 
be  well  mounted,  and  to  ride  behind  him  at  a  little  distance, 
guarded,  but  not  bound  in  any  way.  So  they  entered  Lon- 
don with  the  King's  favorite  show — a  procession  ;  and  some 
of  the  people  hooted  as  the  Pretender  rode  slowly  through 
the  streets  to  the  Tower  ;  but  the  greater  part  were  quiet, 
and. very  curious  to  see  him.  From  the  Tower,  he  was  taken 
to  the  Palace  at  Westminster,  and  there  lodged  like  a  gen- 
tleman, though  closely  watched.  He  was  examined  every 
now  and  then  as  to  his  imposture  ;  but  the  King  was  so  se- 
cret in  all  that  he  did,  that  even  then  he  gave  it  a  conse- 
quence, which  it  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  in  itself  de- 
served. 

At  last  Perkin  Warbeck  ran  away,  and  took  refuge  in 
another  sanctuary  near  Richmond  in  Surrey.  From  this  he 
was  again  persuaded  to  deliver  himself  up  ;  and,  being  con- 
veyed to  London,  he  stood  in  the  stocks  for  a  whole  day,  out- 
side Westminster  Hall,  and  there  read  a  paper  purporting  to 
be  his  full  confession,  and  relating  his  history  as  the  King's 
agents  had  originally  described  it.  He  was  then  shut  up  in 
the  Tower  again,  in  the  company  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick, 
who  had  now  been  there  for  fourteen  years :  ever  since  his 
removal  out  of  Yorkshire,  except  when  the  King  had  had  him 
at  Court  and  had  shown  him  to  the  people,  to  prove  the  im- 
posture of  the  baker's  boy.  It  is  but  too  probable,  when  we 
consider  the  crafty  character  of  Henry  the  Seventh,  that  these 
two  were  brought  together  for  a  cruel  purpose.  A  plot  was 
soon  discovered  between  them  and  the  keepers  to  murder 
the  Governor,  get  possession  of  the  keys,  and  proclaim  Per- 
kin Warbeck  as  King  Richard  the  Fourth.  That  there  was 
some  such  plot,  is  likely  ;  that  they  were  tempted  into  it,  is 
at  least  as  likely  ;  that  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Warwick — 
last  male  of  the  Plantagenet  line — was  too  unused  to  the 
world,  and  too  ignorant  and  simple  to  know  much  about  it, 
whatever 'it  was,  is  perfectly  certain;  and  that  it  was  the 
King's  interest  to  get  rid  of  him,  is  no  less  so.  He  was  be- 
headed on  Tower  Hill,  and  Perkin  Warbeck  was  hanged  at 
Tyburn. 

Such  was  the  end  of  the  pretended  Duke  ot  York,  whose 
shadowy  history  was  made  more  shadowy — and  ever  will 
be — by  the  mystery  and  craft  of  the  King.  If  he  had  turned 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         229 

his  great  natural  advantages  to  a  more  honest  account,  he 
might  have  lived  a  happy  and  respected  life  even  in  those 
days.  But  he  died  upon  a  gallows  at  Tyburn,  leaving  the 
Scottish  lady  who  had  loved  him  so  well,  kindly  protected  at 
the  Queen's  Court.  After  some  time  she  forgot  her  old  loves 
and  troubles,  as  many  people  do  with  Time's  merciful  assist- 
ance, and  married  a  Welsh  gentleman.  Her  second  hus- 
band, Sir  Matthew  Cradoc,  more  honest  and  more  happy 
than  her  first,  lies  beside  her  in  a  tomb  in  the  old  church  of 
Swansea. 

The  ill-blood  between  France  and  England  in  this  reign, 
arose  out  of  the  continued  plotting  of  the  Duchess  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  disputes  respecting  the  affairs  of  Brittany.  The 
King  feigned  to  be  very  patriotic,  indignant,  and  warlike  : 
but  he  always  contrived  so  as  never  to  make  war  in  reality, 
and  always  to  make  money.  His  taxation  of  the  people,  on 
pretense  of  war  with  France,  involved,  at  one  time,  a  very 
dangerous  insurrection,  headed  by  Sir  John  Egremont,  and 
a  common  man  called  John  a  Chambre.  But  it  was  subdued 
by  the  royal  forces,  under  the  command  of  the  Earl  of  Sur- 
rey. The  knighted  John  escaped  to  the  Duchess  of  Bur- 
gundy, who  was  ever  ready  to  receive  any  one  who  gave  the 
King  trouble  :  and  the  plain  John  was  hanged  at  York  in 
the  midst  of  a  number  of  his  men,  but  on  a  much  higher 
gibbet,  as  being  a  greater  traitor.  Hung  high  or  low,  how* 
ever,  hanging  is  much  the  same  to  the  person  hung. 

Within  a  year  after  her  marriage,  the  Queen  had  given 
birth  to  a  son,  who  was  called  Prince  Arthur,  in  remem- 
brance of  the  old  British  Prince  of  romance  and  story  ;  and 
who,  when  all  these  events  had  happened,  being  then  in  his 
fifteenth  year,  was  married  to  Catherine,  the  daughter  of  the 
Spanish  monarch,  with  great  rejoicings  and  bright  prospects  ; 
but  in  a  very  few  months  he  sickened  and  died.  As  soon  as  the 
King  had  recovered  from  his  grief,  he  thought  it  a  pity  that 
the  fortune  of  the  Spanish  Princess,  amounting  to  two  hund- 
red thousand  crowns,  should  go  out  of  the  family ;  and 
therefore  arranged  that  the  young  widow  should  marry  his 
second  son  Henry,  then  twelve  years  of  age,  when  he  too 
should  be  fifteen.  There  were  objections  to  this  marriage 
on  the  part  of  the  clergy  ;  but,  as  the  infallible  Pope  was 
gained  over,  and,  as  he  must  be  right,  that  settled  the 
business  for  the  time.  The  King's  eldest  daughter  was 
provided  for,  and  a  long  course  of  disturbance  was  eonsid- 


23o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ered  to  be  set  at  rest,  by  her  being  married  to  the  Scottish 
King. 

And  now  the  Queen  died.  When  the  King  had  got  over 
that  grief  too,  his  mind  once  more  reverted  to  his  darling 
money  for  consolation,  and  he  thought  of  marrying  the  Dow- 
ager Queen  of  Naples,  who  was  immensely  rich  :  but,  as  it 
turned  out  not  to  be  practicable  to  gain  the  money,  however 
practicable  it  might  have  been  to  gain  the  lady,  he  gave  up 
the  idea.  He  was  not  so  fond  of  her  but  that  he  soon  pro- 
posed to  marry  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Savoy  ;  and,  soon 
afterward,  the  widow  of  the  King  of  Castile,  who  was  raving 
mad.  But  he  made  a  money-bargain  instead,  and  married 
neither. 

The  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  among  the  other  discontented 
people  to  whom  she  had  given  refuge,  had  sheltered  Edmund 
de  la  Pole  (younger  brother  of  that  Earl  of  Lincoln  who 
was  killed  at  Stoke),  now  Earl  of  Suffolk.  The  King  had 
prevailed  upon  him  to  return  to  the  marriage  of  Prince 
Arthur  ;  but,  he  soon  afterwards  went  away  again  ;  and  then 
the  King,  suspecting  a  conspiracy,  resorted  to  his  favorite 
plan  of  sending  him  some  treacherous  friends,  and  buying 
of  those  scoundrels  the  secrets  they  disclosed  or  invented. 
Some  arrests  and  executions  took  place  in  consequence.  In 
the  end,  the  King,  on  a  promise  of  not  taking  his  life,  ob- 
tained possession  of  the  person  of  Edmund  de  la  Pole,  and 
shut  him  up  in  the  Tower. 

This  was  his  last  enemy.  If  he  had  lived  much  longer  he 
would  have  made  many  more  among  the  people,  by  the 
grinding  exaction  to  which  he  constantly  exposed  them,  and 
by  the  tyrannical  acts  of  his  two  prime  favorites  in  all 
money-raising  matters,  Edmund  Dudley  and  Richard  Emp- 
son.  But  Death — the  enemy  who  is  not  to  be  bought  off  or 
deceived,  and  on  whom  no  money,  and  no  treachery,  has  any 
effect — presented  himself  at  this  juncture,  and  ended  the 
King's  reign.  He  died  of  the  gout,  on  the  twenty-second  of 
April,  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  nine,  and  in  the  fifty- 
third  year  of  his  age,  after  reigning  twenty-four  years  ;  he 
was  buried  in  the  beautiful  Chapel  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
which  he  had  himself  founded,  and  which  still  bears  his 
r.ame. 

It  was  in  this  reign  that  the  great  Christopher  Columbus, 
on  behalf  of  Spain,  discovered  what  was  then  called  The 
New   World,     Great  wonder,    interest,  and   hope  of  wealth 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  'OF  ENGLAND.         231 

being  awakened  in  England  thereby,  the  King  and  the  mer- 
chants of  London  and  Bristol  fitted  out  an  English  expedi- 
tion for  further  discoveries  in  the  New  World,  and  entrusted 
it  to  Sebastian  Cabot,  of  Bristol,  the  son  of  a  Venetian  pilot 
there.  He  was  very  successful  in  his  voyage,  and  gained 
high  reputation,  both  for  himself  and  England. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

england  under  henry  the  eighth,  called  bluff  kxng 
hal  and  burly  king  harry. 

Part  First. 

We  now  come  to  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  whom  it  has  been 
too  much  the  fashion  to  call  "  Bluff  King  Hal,"  and  "  Burly 
King  Harry,"  and  other  fine  names  ;  but  whom  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  to  call,  plainly,  one  of  the  most  detestable  villains 
that  ever  drew  breath.  You  will  be  able  to  judge,  long  be- 
fore we  come  to  the  end  of  his  life,  whether  he  deserves  the 
character. 

He  was  just  eighteen  years  of  age  when  he  came  to  the 
throne.  People  said  he  was  handsome  then  ;  but  I  don't 
believe  it.  He  was  a  big,  burly,  noisy,  small-eyed,  large- 
faced,  double-chinned,  swinish-looking  fellow  in  later  life, 
(as  we  know  from  the  likeness  of  him,  painted  by  the  famous 
Hans  Holbein),  and  it  is  not  easy  to  believe  that  so  bad  a 
character  can  ever  have  been  veiled  under  a  prepossessing 
appearance. 

He  was  anxious  to  make  himself  popular  ;  and  the  peo- 
ple, who  had  long  disliked  the  late  king,  were  very  willing 
to  believe  that  he  deserved  to  be  so.  He  was  extremely  fond 
of  show  and  display,  and  so  were  they.  Therefore  there  was 
great  rejoicing  when  he  married  the  Princess  Catherine,  and 
when  they  were  both  crowned.  And  the  King  fought  at 
tournaments  and  always  came  off  victorious — for  the  cour- 
tiers took  care  of  that — and  there  was  a  general  outcry  that 
he  was  a  wonderful  man.  Empson,  Dudley,  and  their  sup- 
porters were  accused  of  a  variety  of  crimes  they  had  never 
committed,  instead  of  the  offenses  of  which  they  really  had 
been  guilty  ;  and  they  were  pilloried,  and  set  upon  horses 
with  their  faces  to  the   tails,  and  knocked  about  and   be^ 


?32  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

beaded,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  people,  and  the  enrichment 
of  the  King. 

The  Pope,  so  indefatigable  in  getting  the  world  into  trouble, 
had  mixed  himself  up  in  a  war  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
occasioned  by  the  reigning  Princes  of  little  quarreling  states 
in  Italy  having  at  various  times  married  into  other  Royal 
families,  and  so  led  to  their  claiming  a  share  in  those  petty 
Governments.  The  King,  who  discovered  that  he  was  very 
fond  of  the  Pope,  sent  a  herald  to  the  King  of  France,  to  say 
that  he  must  not  make  war  upon  that  holy  personage,  because 
he  was  the  father  of  all  Christians.  As  the  French  King  did 
not  mind  this  relationship  in  the  least,  and  also  refused  to 
admit  a  claim  King  Henry  made  to  certain  lands  in  France, 
war  was  declared  between  the  two  countries.  Not  to  perplex 
this  story  with  an  account  of  the  tricks  and  designs  of  all  the 
sovereigns  who  were  engaged  in  it,  it  is  enough  to  say  that 
England  made  a  blundering  alliance  with  Spain,  and  got 
stupidly  taken  in  by  that  country  ;  which  made  its  own  terms 
with  France  when  it  could,  and  left  England  in  the  lurch. 
Sir  Edward  Howard,  a  bold  Admiral,  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Surrey,  distinguished  himself  by  his  bravery  against  the 
French  in  this  business  ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  more 
brave  than' wise,  for,  skimming  into  the  French  harbor  of 
Brest  with  only  a  few  row-boats,  he  attempted  (in  revenge 
for  the  defeat  and  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Knyvett,  another 
bold  English  admiral)  to  take  some  strong  French  ships,  well 
defended  with  batteries  of  cannon.  The  upshot  was  that  he 
was  left  on  board  of  one  of  them  (in  consequence  of  its 
shooting  away  from  his  own  boat),  with  not  more  than  about 
a  dozen  men,  and  was  thrown  into  the  sea  and  drowned  ; 
though  not  until  he  had  taken  from  his  breast  his  gold  chain 
and  gold  whistle,  which  were  the  signs  of  his  office,  and  had 
cast  them  into  the  sea  to  prevent  their  being  made  a  boast 
of  by  the  enemy.  After  this  defeat — which  was  a  great  one, 
for  Sir  Edward  Howard  was  a  man  of  valor  and  fame — the 
King  took  it  into  his  head  to  invade  France  in  person  ;  first 
executing  that  dangerous  Earl  of  Suffolk  whom  his  father 
had  left  in  the  Tower,  and  appointing  Queen  Catharine  to 
the  charge  of  his  kingdom  in  his  absence.  He  sailed  to  Calais, 
where  he  was  joined  by  Maximilian,  Emperor  of  Germany, 
who  pretended  to  be  his  soldier,  and  who  took  pay  in  his 
service  :  with  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  of  that  sort,  flattering 
enough  to  the  vanity  of  a  vain  blusterer.     The  King  might 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        233 

be  successful  enough  in  sham  fights  ;  but  his  idea  of  real 
battles,  chiefly  consisted  in  pitching  silken,  tents  of  bright 
colors  that  were  ignominiously  blown  down  by  the  wind,  and 
in  making  a  vast  display  of  gaudy  flags  and  golden  curtains. 
Fortune,  however,  favored  him  better  than  he  deserved  ;  for, 
after  much  waste  of  time  in  tent  pitching,  flag  flying,  gold 
curtaining,  and  other  such  masquerading,  he  gave  the  French 
battle  at  a  place  called  Guinegate  :  where  they  took  such  an 
unaccountable  panic,  and  fled  with  such  swiftness,  that  it 
was  ever  afterward  called  by  the  English  the  Battle  of  Spurs. 
Instead  of  following  up  his  advantage,  the  King,  finding  that 
he  had  had  enough  of  real  fighting,  came  home  again. 

The  Scottish  King,  though  nearly  related  to  Henry  by  mar- 
riage, had  taken  part  against  him  in  this  war.  The  Earl  of 
Surrey,  as  the  English  general,  advanced  to  meet  him  when 
he  came  out  of  his  own  dominions  and  crossed  the  river 
Tweed.  The  two  armies  came  up  w^th  one  another  when  the 
Scottish  King  had  also  crossed  the  river  Till,  and  was  en- 
camped upon  the  last  of  the  Cheviot  Hills,  called  the  Hill  of 
Flodden.  Along  the  plain  below  it,  the  English,  when  the 
hour  of  battle  came,  advanced.  The  Scottish  army,  which 
had  been  drawn  up  in  five  great  bodies,  then  came  steadily 
down  in  perfect  silence.  So  they,  in  their  turn,  advanced  to 
meet  the  English  army,  which  came  on  in  one  long  line  ;  and 
they  attacked  it  with  a  body  of  spearmen,  under  Lord  Home. 
At  first  they  had  the  best  of  it ;  but  the  English  recovered 
themselves  so  bravely,  and  fought  with  such  valor,  that,  when 
the  Scottish  King  had  almost  made  his  way  up  to  the  Royal 
standard,  he  was  slain,  and  the  whole  Scottish  power  routed. 
Ten  thousand  Scottish  men  lay  dead  that  day  on  Flodden 
Field  ;  and  among  them,  numbers  of  the  nobility  and  gentry. 
For  a  long  time  afterward,  the  Scottish  peasantry  used  to 
believe  that  their  King  had  not  been  really  killed  in  this  bat- 
tle, because  no  Englishman  had  found  an  iron  belt  he  wore 
about  his  body  as  a  penance  for  having  been  an  unnatural 
and  undutiful  son.  But,  whatever  became  of  his  belt,  the 
English  had  his  sword  and  dagger,  and  the  ring  from  his 
finger,  and  his  body,  too,  covered  with  wounds.  There  is  no 
doubt  of  it  ;  for  it  was  seen  and  recognized  by  English  gen- 
tlemen who  had  known  the  Scottish  King  well. 

When  King  Henry  was  making  ready  to  renew  the  war  in 
France,  the  French  King  was  contemplating  peace.  His 
queen,  dying  at  this  time,  he  proposed,  although  he  was  up- 


234        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ward  of  fifty  years  old,  to  marry  King  Henry's  sister,  the 
Princess  Mary,  who,  besides  being  only  sixteen,  was  betroth- 
ed to  the  Duke  of  Suffolk.  As  the  inclinations  of  young 
Princesses  were  not  much  considered  in  such  matters,  the 
marriage  was  concluded,  and  the  poor  girl  was  escorted  to 
France,  where  she  was  immediately  left  as  the  French  King's 
bride,  with  only  one  of  all  her  English  attendants.  That  one 
Was  a  pretty  young  girl  named  Anne  Boleyn,  niece  of  the 
Earl  of  Surrey,  who  had  been  made  Duke  of  Norfolk,  after 
the  victory  of  Flodden  Field.  Anne  Boleyn's  is  a  name  to 
be  remembered,  as  you  will  presently  find. 

And  now  the  French  King,  who  was  very  proud  of  his 
young  wife,  was  preparing  for  many  years  of  happiness,  and 
she  was  looking  forward,  I  dare  say,  to  many  years  of  misery, 
when  he  died  within  three  months,  and  left  her  a  young 
widow.  The  new  French  monarch,  Francis  the  First,  seeing 
how  important  it  was  to  his  interest  that  she  should  take 
for  her  second  husband  no  one  but  an  Englishman,  advised 
her  first  lover,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  when  King  Henry  sent 
him  over  to  France  to  fetch  her  home,  to  marry  her.  The 
Princess  being  herself  so  fond  of  that  Duke,  as  to  tell  him 
that  he  must  either  do  so  then,  or  forever  lose  her,  they  were 
wedded  ;  and  Henry  afterward  forgave  them.  In  making 
interest  with  the  King,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  had  addressed 
his  most  powerful  favorite  and  adviser,  Thomas  Wolsey — a 
name  very  famous  in  history  for  itc  rise  and  downfall. 

Wolsey  was  the  son  of  a  respectable  butcher  at  Ipswich,  in 
Suffolk,  and  received  so  excellent  an  education  that  he  be- 
came a  tutor  to  the  family  of  the  Marquis  of  Dorset,  who 
afterward  got  him  appointed  one  of  the  late  King's  chap- 
lains. On  the  accession  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  he  was  pro- 
moted and  taken  into  rreat  favor,  He  was  now  Archbishop 
of  York  ;  the  Pope  had  made  him  a  Cardinal  besides  ;  and 
whoever  wanted  influence  in  England  or  favor  with  the  King 
— whether  he  were  a  foreign  monarch  or  an  English  noble- 
man— was  obliged  to  make  a  friend  of  the  great  Cardinal 
Wolsey. 

He  was  a  gay  man,  who  could  dance  and  jest,  and  sing 
and  drink  ;  and  those  were  the  roads  to  so  much,  or  rather 
so  little,  of  a  heart  as  King  Henry  had.  He  was  wonderfully 
fond  of  pomp  and  glitter,  and  so  was  the  King.  He  knew  a 
good  deal  of  the  Church  learning  of  that  time  ;  much  of 
which  consisted  in  finding  artful  excuses  and  pretenses  for 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        235 

almost  any  wrong  thing,  and  in  arguing  that  black  was 
white,  or  any  other  color.  This  kind  of  learning  pleased  the 
King  too.  For  many  such  reasons,  the  Cardinal  was  high  in 
estimation  with  the  King  ;  and,  being  a  man  of  far  greater 
ability,  knew  as  well  how  to  manage  him,  as  a  clever  keeper 
may  know  how  to  manage  a  wolf  or  a  tiger,  or  any  other 
cruel  and  uncertain  beast,  that  may  turn  upon  him  and  tear 
him  any  day.  Never  had  there  been  seen  in  England  such 
state  as  my  Lord  Cardinal  kept.  His  wealth  was  enormous; 
equal,  it  was  reckoned,  to  the  riches  of  the  Crown.  His  pal- 
aces were  as  splendid  as  the  King's,  and  his  retinue  was 
eight  hundred  strong.  He  held  his  Court,  dressed  out  from 
top  to  toe  inflaming  scarlet ;  and  his  very  shoes  were  golden, 
set  with  precious  stones.  His  followers  rode  on  blood  horses; 
while  he,  vith  a  wonderful  affectation  of  humility  in  the 
midst  of  his  great  splendor,  ambled  on  a  mule  with  a  red- 
velvet  saddle  and  bridle  and  golden  stirrups. 

Tnrough  the  influence  of  this  stately  priest,  a  grand  meet- 
ing was  arranged  to  take  place  between  the  French  and  En- 
tt^ons^7eoi  fc*  on  ground  belonging  to  England, 
made  on§  he  occasion  ;  an*?  and  reJ°^ing  was  to  be 
"Jr^S  trumpets  through  all  Were  sent  to  proclaim 
Eui^_,  ,  «»,on  a  certain  day,  the  Kings  of  Fraat^uties  of 
gland  as  company  and  brothers  in  arms,  each  attended  by 
eighteen  followers,  .rould  hold  a  tournament  against  all 
knights  who  might  choo^  t0  come> 

Charles,  the  new  Empero.  of  Germany  (the  old  one  being 
dead),  wanted  to  prevent  too  ~ordial  an  alliance  between 
these  sovereigns,  and  came  over  to  England  before  the  King 
could  repair  to  the  place  of  meeting  ;  qndj  besides  making 
an  agreeable  impression  upon  him,  securer  Wolsey's  interest 
by  promising  that  his  influence  should  make^nT1  Pope  when 
the  next  vacancy  occurred.  On  the  day  when  ive  Emperor 
left  England,  the  King  and  all  the  Court  went' over  ^  Calais, 
and  thence  to  the  place  of  meeting,  between  Ardru  and 
Guisnes,  commonly  called  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gud. 
Here,  all  manner  of  expense  and  prodigality  was  lavished  on 
the  decorations  of  the  show  ;  many  of  the  knights  and  gen- 
tlemen being  so  superbly  dressed  that  it  was  said  they  car- 
ried their  whole  estates  upon  their  shoulders. 

There  were  sham  castles,  temporary  chapels,  fountains  run- 
ning wine,  great  cellars  full  of  wine  free  as  water  to  all  comers, 


236       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

silk  tents,  gold  lace  and  foil,  gilt  lions,  and  such  things 
without  end  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  all,  the  rich  Cardinal 
out-shone  and  out-glittered  all  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
assembled.  After  a  treaty  made  between  the  two  Kings 
with  as  much  solemnity  as  if  they  had  intended  to  keep  it, 
the  lists — nine  hundred  feet  long,  and  three  hundred  and 
twenty  broad — were  opened  for  the  tournament  ;  the  Queens 
of  France  and  England  looking  on  with  great  array  of  lords 
and  ladies.  Then,  for  ten  days,  the  two  sovereigns  fought 
five  combats  every  day,  and  always  beat  th-ir  polite  adver- 
saries; though  they  do  write  that  the  King  of  England,  being 
thrown  in  a  wrestle  one  day  with  the  King  of  France,  lost 
his  kingly  temper  with  his  brother  in  arms,  and  wanted  to 
make  a  quarrel  of  it.  Then,  there  is  a  great  story  belonging 
to  this  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  showing  hov  the  English 
were  distrustful  of  the  French,  and  the  French  o£  the  En- 
glish, until  Francis  rode  alone  one  morning  to  Henrys  tent ; 
and,  going  in  before  he  was  out  of  bed,  told  him  in  ioke 
that  he  was  his  prisoner ;  and  how  Henry  jumped  GUt 
of  bed  and  embraced  Francis  ;  and  ho^  Francis  helped 
Henry  to  dress,  and  ^^^^^o\lL^d\^F^ 
Henry  gave  Francis  a  splen$<Voatly  bracelet  aimm^" 
cis  gave  Henry,, in uS'so  written  about,  and  ?*-**-  ~iai»  ai\d 
a  greata3out  at  that  time  (and,  indeed  s^e  that  time  t00)' 
that  the  world  has  had  good  cause  to  *->  Slck  of  u>  forever- 

Of  course,  nothing  came  of  av  these  fine  d°mgs  but  a 
speedy  renewal  of  the  war  betv~en  England  and  France,  in 
which  the  two  Royal  compa~ons  and  brothers  in  arms  longed 
very  earnestly  to  dama^  on<r  another.  But,  before  it  broke 
out  again,  the  Duke  #1  Buckingham  was  shamefully  executed 
on  Tower  Hill  jn  tne  evidence  of  a  discharged  servant, 
really  for  not1iing>  except  the  folly  of  having  believed  in  a 
friar  of  th^  flame  of  Hopkins,  who  had  pretended  to  be  a 
prophet  and  wno  bad  mumbled  and  jumbled  out  some  non- 
sense about  the  Duke's  son  being  destined  to  be  very  great 
in  ».ne  land.  It  was  believed  that  the  unfortunate  Duke  had 
given  offense  to  the  great  Cardinal  by  expressing  his  mind 
freely  about  the  expense  and  absurdity  of  the  whole  business 
of  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  At  any  rate,  he  was  be- 
headed, as  I  have  said,  for.  nothing.  And  the  people  who 
saw  it  done  were  very  angry,  and  cried  out  that  it  was  the 
work  of  "  the  butcher's  son  !  " 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        237 

The  new  war  was  a  short  one,  though  the  Earl  of  Surrey 
invaded  France  again,  and  did  some  injury  to  that  country. 
It  ended  in  another  treaty  of  peace  between  the  two  king- 
doms, and  in  the  discovery  that  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
was  not  such  a  good  friend  to  England  in  reality,  as  he  pre- 
tended to  be.  Neither  did  he  keep  his  promise  to  Wolsey 
to  make  him  Pope,  though  the  King  urged  it.  Two  Popes 
died  in  pretty  quick  succession  ;  but  the  foreign  priests 
were  too  much  for  the  Cardinal,  and  kept  him  out  of  the 
post.  So  the  Cardinal  and  King  together  found  out  that  the 
Emperor  of  Germany  was  not  a  man  to  keep  faith  with  ; 
broke  off  a  projected  marriage  between  the  King's  daughter 
Mary,  Princess  of  Wales,  and  that  sovereign  ;  and  began  to 
consider  whether  it  might  not  be  well  to  marry  the  young 
lady,  either  to  Francis  himself,  or  to  his  eldest  son. 

There  now  arose  at  Wittenberg,  in  Germany,  the  great 
leader  of  the  mighty  change  in  England  which  is  called  the 
Reformation,  and  which  set  the  people  free  from  their  slavery 
to  the  priests.  This  was  a  learned  Doctor,  named  Martin 
Luther,  who  knew  all  about  them,  for  he  had  been  a  priest, 
and  even  a  monk,  himself.  The  preaching  and  writing  of 
Wickliffe  had  set  a  number  of  men  thinking  on  this  subject  ; 
and  Luther,  finding  one  day  to  his  great  surprise,  that  there 
really  was  a  book  called  the  New  Testament  which  the 
priests  did  not  allow  to  be  read,  and  which  contained  truths 
that  they  suppressed,  began  to  be  very  vigorous  against  the 
whole  body,  from  the  Pope  downward.  It  happened,  while 
he  was  yet  only  beginning  his  vast  work  of  awakening  the 
nation,  that  an  impudent  fellow  named  Tetzel,  a  friar  of 
very  bad  character,  came  into  his  neighborhood  selling  what 
were  called  Indulgences,  by  wholesale,  to  raise  money  for 
beautifying  the  great  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome. 
Whoever  bought  an  Indulgence  of  the  Pope  was  supposed  to 
buy  himself  off  from  the  punishment  of  Heaven  for  his  of- 
fenses. Luther  told  the  people  that  these  Indulgences  were 
worthless  bits  of  paper,  before  God,  and  that  Tetzel  and  his 
masters  were  a  crew  of  impostors  in  selling  them. 

The  King  and  the  Cardinal  were  mighty  indignant  at  this 
presumption  ;  and  the  King  (with  the  help  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  a  wise  man,  whom  he  afterwards  repaid  by  striking  off 
his  head)  even  wrote  a  book  about  it,  with  which  the  Pope 
was  so  well  pleased  that  he  gave  the  King  the  title  of  De- 
fender of  the  Faith.     The  King  and  the  Cardinal  also  issued 


238         A  CHILE'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

flaming  warnings  to  the  people  not  to  read  Luther's  books, 
on  pain  of  excommunication.  But  they  did  read  them  for 
all  that ;  and  the  rumor  of  what  was  in  them  spread  far  and 
wide. 

When  this  great  change  was  thus  going  on,  the  King  be- 
gan to  show  himself  in  his  truest  and  worst  colors.  Anne 
Boleyn,  the  pretty  little  girl  who  had  gone  abroad  to  France 
with  his  sister,  was  by  this  time  grown  up  to  be  very  beauti- 
ful, and  was  one  of  the  ladies  in  attendance  on  Queen 
Catherine.  Now,  Queen  Catherine  was  no  longer  young  or 
handsome,  and  it  is  likely  that  she  was  not  particularly  good- 
tempered  ;  having  been  always  rather  melancholy,  and  hav- 
ing been  made  more  so  by  the  deaths  of  four  of  her  children 
when  they  were  very  young.  So,  the  King  fell  in  love  with 
the  fair  Anne  Boleyn,  and  said  to  himself,  "  How  can  I  be 
best  rid  of  my  own  troublesome  wife  whom  I  am  tired  of, 
and  marry  Anne  ? " 

You  recollect  that  Queen  Catherine  had  been  the  wife  of 
Henry's  brother.  What  does  the  King  do,  after  thinking  it 
over,  but  calls  his  favorite  priests  about  him,  and  says,  O  ! 
his  mind  is  in  such  a  dreadful  state,  and  he  is  so  frightfully 
uneasy,  because  he  is  afraid  it  was  not  lawful  for  him  to  mar- 
ry the  Queen  !  Not  one  of  those  priests  had  the  courage  to 
hint  that  it  was  rather  curious  he  had  never  thought  of  that 
before,  and  that  his  mind  seemed  to  have  been  in  a  tolerably 
jolly  condition  during  a  great  many  years,  in  which  he  cer- 
tainly had  not  fretted  himself  thin  ;  but,  they  all  said,  Ah  ! 
that  was  very  true,  and  it  was  a  serious  business  :  and  per- 
haps the  best  way  to  make  it  right,  would  be  for  his  Majesty 
to  be  divorced  !  The  King  replied,  Yes,  he  thought  that 
would  be  the  best  way,  certainly  ;  so  they  all  went  to 
work. 

If  I  were  to  relate  to  you  the  intrigues  and  plots  that 
took  place  in  the  endeavor  to  get  this  divorce,  you  would 
think  the  History  of  England  the  most  tiresome  book  in  the 
world.  So  I  shall  say  no  more,  than  that  after  a  vast  deal  of  ne- 
gotiation and  evasion,  the  Pope  issued  a  commission  to  Car- 
dinal Wolsey  and  Cardinal  Campeggio  (whom  he  sent  over 
from  Italy  for  the  purpose)  to  try  the  whole  case  in  England. 
It  is  supposed — and  I  think  with  reason — that  Wolsey  was 
the  Queen's  enemy,  because  she  had  reproved  him  for  his 
proud  and  gorgeous  manner  of  life.  But,  he  did  not  at  first 
know  that  the  King  wanted  to  marry  Anne  Boleyn  ;  andl 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        239 

when  he  did  know  it,  he  even  went  down  on  his  knees,  in 
the  endeavor  to  dissuade  him. 

The  Cardinals  opened  their  court  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Black  Friars,  near  to  where  the  bridge  of  that  name  in  Lon- 
don now  stands  ;  and  the  King  and  Queen,  that  they  might 
be  near  it,  took  up  their  lodgings  at  the  adjoining  palace  of 
Bridewell,  of  which  nothing  now  remains  but  a  bad  prison. 
On  the  opening  of  the  court,  when  the  King  and  Queen 
were  called  on  to  appear,  that  poor  ill-used  lady,  with  a  dig- 
nity and  firmness  and  yet  with  a  womanly  affection  worthy 
to  be  always  admired,  went  and  kneeled  at  the  King's  feet, 
and  said  that  she  had  come,  a  stranger,  to  his  dominions  ; 
that  she  had  been  a  good  and  true  wife  to  him  for  twenty 
years  :  and  that  she  could  acknowledge  no  power  in  those 
Cardinals  to  try  whether  she  should  be  considered  his  wife 
after  all  that  time,  or  should  be  put  away.  With  that,  she 
got  up  and  left  the  court,  and  would  never  afterward  come 
back  to  it. 

The  King  pretended  to  be  very  much  overcome,  and  said, 
Oh  !  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  what  a  good  woman  she  was 
to  be  sure,  and  how  delighted  he  would  be  to  live  with  her 
unto  death,  but  for  that  terrible  uneasiness  in  his  mind 
which  was  quite  wearing  him  away  !  So,  the  case  went  on, 
and  there  was  nothing  but  talk  for  two  months.  Then  Car- 
dinal Campeggio,  who,  on  behalf  of  the  Pope,  wanted  noth- 
ing so  much  as  delay,  adjourned  it  for  two  more  months  ; 
and  before  that  time  was  elapsed,  the  Pope  himself  adjourned 
it  indefinitely,  by  requiring  the  King  and  Queen  to  come  to 
Rome  and  have  it  tried  there.  But  by  good  luck  for  the 
King,  word  was  brought  to  him  by  some  of  his  people,  that 
they  had  happened  to  meet  at  supper,  Thomas  Cranmer,  a 
learned  Doctor  of  Cambridge,  who  had  proposed  to  urge  the 
Pope  on,  by  referring  the  case  to  all  learned  doctors  and 
bishops,  here  and  there  and  every  where,  and  getting  their 
opinions  that  the  King's  marriage  was  unlawful.  The  King, 
who  was  now  in  a  hurry  to  marry  Anne  Boleyn,  thought  this 
such  a  good  idea,  that  he  sent  for  Cranmer,  post  haste,  and 
said  to  Lord  Rochfort,  Anne  Boleyn's  father,  "  Take  this 
learned  Doctor  down  to  your  country-house,  and  there  let 
him  have  a  good  room  for  a  study,  and  no  end  of  books  out 
of  which  to  prove  that  I  may  marry  your  daughter."  Lord 
Rochfort,  not  at  all  reluctant,  made  the  learned  Doctor  as 
comfortable  as  he  could  ;  and  the  learned  Doctor  went   to. 


24o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

work  to  prove  his  case.  All  this  time,  the  King  and  Anne 
Boleyn  were  writing  letters  to  one  another  almost  daily,  full 
of  impatience  to  have  the  case  settled  ;  and  Anne  Boleyn  was 
showing  herself  (as  I  think)  very  worthy  of  the  fate  which 
afterward  befell  her. 

It  was  bad  for  Cardinal  Wolsey  that  he  had  left  Cranmer 
to  render  this  help.  It  was  worse  for  him  that  he  had  tried 
to  dissuade  the  King  fromjnarrying  Anne  Boleyn.  Such  a 
servant  as  he,  to  such  a  master  as  Henry,  would  probably 
have  fallen  in  any  case  ;  but,  between  the  hatred  of  the  party 
of  the  Queen  that  was,  and  the  hatred  of  the  party  of  the 
Queen  that  was  to  be,  he  fell  suddenly  and  heavily.  Going 
down  one  day  to  the  Court  of  Chancery,  where  he  now  pre- 
sided, he  was  waited  upon  by  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk,  who  told  him  that  they  brought  an  order  to  him  to 
resign  that  offce,  and  to  withdraw  quietly  to  a  house  he  had 
at  Esher,  in  Surrey.  The  Cardinal  refusing,  they  rode  off  to 
the  King  ;  and  next  day  came  back  with  a  letter  from  him, 
on  reading  which,  the  Cardinal  submitted.  An  inventory 
was  made  out  of  all  the  riches  in  his  palace  at  York  Place 
(now  Whitehall),  and  he  went  sorrowfully  up  the  river,  in  his 
barge,  to  Putney.  An  abject  man  he  was,  in  spite  of  his 
pride  ;  for  being  overtaken,  riding  out  of  that  place  towards 
Esher,  by  one  of  the  King's  chamberlains  who  brought  him 
a  kind  message  and  a  ring,  he  alighted  from  his  mule,  took 
off  his  cap,  and  kneeled  down  in  the  dirt.  His  poor  Fool, 
whom  in  his  prosperous  days  he  had  always  kept  in  his 
palace  to  entertain  him,  cut  a  far  better  figure  than  he  ;  for, 
when  the  Cardinal  said  to  the  chamberlain  that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  send  to  his  lord  the  King  as  a  present,  but  that  jester 
who  was  a  most  excellent  one,  it  took  six  strong  yeomen  to 
remove  the  faithful  fool  from  his  master. 

The  once  proud  Cardinal  was  soon  further  disgraced,  and 
wrote  the  most  abject  letters  to  his  vile  sovereign  ;  who  hum- 
bled him  one  day  and  encouraged  him  the  next,  according  to 
his  humor,  until  he  was  at  last  ordered  to  go  and  reside  in 
his  diocese  of  York.  He  said  he  was  too  poor  ;  but  I  don't 
know  how  he  made  that  out,  for  he  took  a  hundred  and  sixty 
servants  with  him,  and  seventy-two  cart-loads  of  furniture, 
food,  and  wine.  He  remained  in  that  part  of  the  country 
for  the  best  part  of  a  year,  and  showed  himself  so  improved 
by  his  misfortunes,  and  was  so  mild  and  so  conciliating,  that 
he  won  all  hearts.     And  indeed,  even  in  his  proud  days,  he 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         241 

had  done  some  magnificent  things  for  learning  and  educa- 
tion. At  last,  he  was  arrested  for  high  treason  ;  and,  corning 
slowly  on  his  journey  toward  London,  got  as  far  as  Leices- 
ter. Arriving  at  Leicester  Abbey  after  dark,  and  very  ill, 
he  said — when  the  monks  came  out  at  the  gate  with  lighted 
torches  to  receive  him — that  he  had  come  to  lay  his  bones 
among  them.  He  had  indeed  ;  for  he  was  taken  to  a  bed, 
from  which  he  never  rose  again.  His  last  words  were,  "  Had 
I  but  served  God  as  diligently  as  I  have  served  the  King, 
He  would  not  have  given  me  over,  in  my  gray  hairs.  How- 
beit,  this  is  my  just  reward  for  my  pains  and  diligence,  not 
regarding  my  service  to  God,  but  only  my  duty  to  my 
prince."  The  news  of  his  death  was  quickly  carried  to  the 
King,  who  was  amusing  himself  with  archery  in  the  garden 
of  the  magnificent  palace  at  Hampton  Court,  which  that  very 
Wolsey  had  presented  to  him.  The  greatest  emotion  his 
royal  mind  displayed  at  the  loss  of  a  servant  so  faithful  and 
so  ruined,  was  a  particular  desire  to  lay  hold  of  fifteen  hund- 
red pounds  which  the  Cardinal  was  reported  to  have  hidden 
somewhere. 

The  opinions  concerning  the  divorce,  of  the  learned  doc- 
tors and  bishops  and  others,  being  at  last  collected,  and  be- 
ing generally  in  the  King's  favor,  were  forwarded  to  the 
Pope,  with  an  entreaty  that  he  would  now  grant  it.  The 
unfortunate  Pope,  who  was  a  timid  man,  was  half  distracted 
between  his  fear  of  his  authority  being  set  aside  in  En- 
gland if  he  did  not  do  as  he  was  asked,  and  his  dread  of 
offending  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  who  was  Queen  Cather- 
ine's nephew.  In  this  state  of  mind  he  still  evaded  and  did 
nothing.  Then,  Thomas  Cromwell,  who  had  been  one  of 
Wolsey's  faithful  attendants,  and  had  remained  so  even  in 
his  decline,  advised  the  King  to  take  the  matter  into  his 
own  hands,  and  make  himself  the  head  of  the  whole 
Church.  This,  the  King  by  various  artful  means,  began 
to  do  ;  but  he  recompensed  the  clergy  by  allowing  them  to 
burn  as  many  people  as  they  pleased,  for  holding  Luther's 
opinions.  You  must  understand  that  Sir  Thomas  More,  the 
wise  man  who  had  helped  the  King  with  his  book,  had  been 
made  Chancellor  in  Wolsey's  place.  But,  as  he  was  truly 
attached  to  the  Church  as  it  was  even  in  its  abuses,  he,  in 
this  state  of  things  resigned. 

Being  now  quite  resolved  to  get  rid  of  Queen  Catherine, 
and  to  marry  Anne  Boleyn  without  more  ado,  the  King  made 


242        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Cranmer  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  directed  Queen 
Catherine  to  leave  the  Court.  She  obeyed  ;  but  replied 
that  wherever  she  went,  she  was  Queen  of  England  still, 
and  would  remain  so,  to  the  last.  The  King  then  married 
Anne  Boleyn  privately  ;  and  the  new  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, within  half  a  year,  declared  his  marriage  with 
Queen  Catherine  void,  and  crowned  Anne  Boleyn  Queen. 

She  might  have  known  that  no  good  could  ever  come 
from  such  wrong,  and  that  the  coipulent  brute  who  had  been 
so  faithless  and  so  cruel  to  his  first  wife,  could  be  more  faith- 
less and  more  cruel  to  his  second.  She  might  have  known 
that,  even  when  he  was  in  love  with  her,  he  had  been  a  mean 
and  selfish  coward,  running  away,  like  a  frightened  cur,  from 
her  society  and  her  house,  when  a  dangerous  sickness  broke 
broke  out  in  it  and  when  she  might  easily  have  taken  it 
and  died,  as  several  of  the  household  did.  But,  Anne 
Boleyn  arrived  at  all  this  knowledge  too  late,  and  bought 
it  at  a  dear  price.  Her  bad  marriage  with  a  worse  man  came 
to  its  natural  end.  Its  natural  end  was  not,  as  we  shall 
too  soon  see,  a  natural  death  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

england  under  henry  the  eighth. 

Part  the  Second. 

The  Pope  was  thrown  into  a  very  angry  state  of  mind  when 
he  heard  of  the  King's  marriage,  and  fumed  exceedingly. 
Many  of  the  English  monks  and  friars,  seeing  that  their  or- 
der was  in  danger,  did  the  same  ;  some  even  declaimed 
against  the  King  in  church  before  his  face,  and  were  not  to 
be  stopped  until  he  himself  roared  out  "  Silence  !  "  The 
King  not  much  the  worse  for  this,  took  it  pretty  quietly  ; 
and  was  very  glad  when  his  Queen  gave  birth  to  a  daughter, 
who  was  christened  Elizabeth,  and  declared  Princess  of 
Wales  as  her  sister  Mary  had  already  been. 

One  of  the  most  atrocious  features  of  this  reign  was  that 
Henry  the  Eighth  was  always  trimming  between  the  reformed 
religion  and  the  unreformed  one,  so  that  the  more  he  quar- 
reled with  the  Pope,  the  more  of  his  own  subjects  he  roasted 
alive    for  not  holding  the  Pope's    opinions.     Thus,  an  un^ 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        243 

fortunate  student  named  John  Frith,  and  a  poor  simple 
tailor  named  Andrew  Hewet  who  loved  him  very  much,  and 
said  that  whatever  John  Frith  believed  he  believed,  were 
burned  in  Smithfield— to  show  what  a  capital  Christian  the 
King  was. 

_  But,  these  were  speedily  followed  by  two  much  greater 
victims,  Sir  Thomas  More,  and  John  Fisher,  the  Bishop  of 
Rochester.  The  latter,  who  was  a  good  and  amiable  old 
man,  had  committed  no  greater  offense  than  believing  in 
Elizabeth  Barton,  called  the  Maid  of  Kent— another  of 
those  ridiculous  women  who  pretended  to  be  inspired,  and 
to  make  all  sorts  of  heavenly  revelations,  though  they  in- 
deed uttered  nothing  but  evil  nonsense.  For  this  offense — 
as  it  was  pretended,  but  really  for  denying  the  King  to  be 
the  supreme  Head  of  the  church — he  got  into  trouble,  and 
was  put  in  prison  ;  but,  even  then,  he  might  have  been  suf- 
fered to  die  naturally  (short  work  having  been  made  of  ex- 
ecuting the  Kentish  Maid  and  her  principal  followers),  but 
that  the  Pope,  to  spite  the  King,  resolved  to  make  him  a  car- 
dinal. Upon  that  the  King  made  a  ferocious  joke  to  the 
effect  that  the  Pope  might  send  Fisher  a  red  hat — which  is  the 
way  they  make  a  cardinal — but  he  should  have  no  head  on 
which  to  wear  it ;  and  he  was  tried  with  all  unfairness  and 
injustice,  and  sentenced  to  death.  He  died  like  a  noble  and 
virtuous  old  man,  and  left  a  worthy  name  behind  him.  The 
King  supposed,  I  dare  say,  that  Sir  Thomas  More  would  be 
frightened  by  this  example  ;  but  as  he  was  not  to  be  easily 
terrified,  and,  thoroughly  believing  in  the  Pope,  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  King  was  not  the  rightful  Head  of  the 
church,  he  positively  refused  to  say  that  he  was.  For  this 
crime  he  too  was  tried  and  sentenced,  after  having  been  in 
prison  a  whole  year.  When  he  was  doomed  to  death,  and 
came  away  from  his  trial  with  the  edge  of  the  executioner's 
ax  turned  toward  him — as  was  always  done  in  those  times 
when  a  state  prisoner  came  to  that  hopeless  pass — he  bore  it 
quite  serenely,  and  gave  his  blessing  to  his  son,  who  pressed 
through  the  crowd  in  Westminster  Hall  and  kneeled  down  to 
receive  it.  But,  when  he  got  to  the  Tower  Wharf  on  his 
way  back  to  his  prison,  and  his  favorite  daughter,  Margaret 
Pvoper,  a  very  good  woman,  rushed  through  the  guards  again 
<and  again,  to  kiss  him  and  to  weep  upon  his  neck,  he  was 
overcome  at  last.  He  soon  recovered,  and  never  more 
showed  any  feeling  but  cheerfulness  and  courage.     When  he 


244        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

was  going  up  the  steps  of  the  scaffold  to  his  death,  he  said  jok- 
ingly to  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  observing  that  they 
were  weak  and  shook  beneath  his  tread,  "  I  pray  you,  master 
Lieutenant,  see  me  safe  up  ;  and,  for  my  coming  down,  I 
can  shift  for  myself.  "  Also  he  said  to  the  executioner,  after 
he  had  laid  his  head  upon  the  block,  "  Let  me  put  my  beard 
out  of  the  way  ;  for  that,  at  least,  has  never  committed  any 
treason."  Then  his  head  was  struck  off  at  a  blow.  These 
two  executions  were  worthy  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth.  Sir 
Thomas  More  was  one  of  the  most  virtuous  men  in  his  do- 
minions, and  the  Bishop  was  one  of  his  oldest  and  truest 
friends.  But  to  be  a  friend  of  that  fellow  was  almost  as 
dangerous  as  to  be  his  wife. 

When  the  news  of  these  two  murders  got  to  Rome,  the 
Pope  raged  against  the  murderer  more  than  ever  Pope  raged 
since  the  world  began,  and  prepared  a  Bull,  ordering  his  sub- 
jects to  take  arms  against  him  and  dethrone  him.  The  King 
took  all  possible  precautions  to  keep  that  document  out  of 
his  dominions,  and  set  to  work  in  return  to  suppress  a  great 
number  of  the  English  monasteries  and  abbeys. 

This  destruction  was  begun  by  a  body  of  commissioners, 
of  whom  Cromwell  (whom  the  King  had  taken  into  great 
favor)  was  the  head  ;  and  was  carried  on  through  some  few 
years  to  its  entire  completion.  There  is  no  doubt  that  many 
of  these  religious  establishments  were  religious  in  nothing 
but  in  name,  and  were  crammed  with  lazy,  indolent,  and 
sensual  monks.  There  is  no  doubt  that  they  imposed  upon 
the  people  in  every  possible  way  ;  that  they  had  images 
moved  by  wires,  which  they  pretended  were  miraculously 
moved  by  Heaven  ;  that  they  had  among  them  a  whole  tun 
measure  full  of  teeth,  all  purporting  to  have  come  out  of  the 
head  of  one  saint,  who  must  indeed  have  been  a  very  extra- 
ordinary person  with  that  enormous  allowance  of  grinders  ; 
that  they  had  bits  of  coal  which  they  said  had  fried  Saint 
Lawrence,  and  bits  of  toe-nails  which  they  said  belonged  to 
other  famous  saints  ;  penknives,  and  boots,  and  girdles; 
which  they  said  belonged  to  others  ;  and  that  all  these  bits 
of  rubbish  were  called  relics,  and  adored  by  the  ignorant 
people.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  doubt  either, 
that  the  King's  officers  and  men  punished  the  good  monks 
with  the  bad  ;  did  great  injustice  ;  demolished  many  beau- 
tiful things  and  many  valuable  libraries  ,  destroyed  numbers 
of  paintings,  stained   glass  windows,   fine    pavements,  and 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        245 

carvings  ;  and  that  the  whole  court  were  ravenously  greedy 
and  rapacious  for  the  division  of  this  great  spoil  among  them. 
The  King  seems  to  have  grown  almost  mad  in  the  ardor  of 
this  pursuit  ;  for  he  declared  Thomas  a  Becket  a  traitor, 
though  he  had  been  dead  so  many  years,  and  had  his  body 
dug  up  out  of  his  grave.  He  must  have  been  as  miraculous 
as  the  monks  pretended,  if  they  had  told  the  truth,  for  he 
was  found  with  one  head  on  his  shoulders,  and  they  had 
shown  another  as  his  undoubted  and  genuine  head  ever  since 
his  death  ;  it  had  brought  them  vast  sums  of  money,  too. 
The  gold  and  jewels  on  his  shrine  rilled  two  great  chests, 
and  eight  men  tottered  as  they  carried  them  away.  How 
rich  the  monasteries  were  you  may  infer  from  the  fact  that, 
when  they  were  all  suppressed,  one  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  pounds  a  year — in  those  days  an  immense  sum- 
came  to  the  Crown. 

These  things  were  not  done  without  causing  great  discon- 
tent among  the  people.  The  monks  had  been  ^ood^a^J 
lords  and  hospitable  entejta^y-^  ~£r^t  deal  oVcorn,  and 
been  accus£o.g^ ^and  other  things.  In  those  days  it  was 
illricult  to  change  goods  into  money,  in  consequence  of  the 
roads  being  very  few  and  very  bad,  and  the  carts  and  wagons 
of  the  worst  description  ;  and  they  must  either  have  given 
away  some  of  the  good  things  they  possessed  in  enormous 
quantities,  or  have  suffered  them  to  spoil  and  molder.  So, 
many  of  the  people  missed  what  it  was  more  agreeable  to 
get  idly  than  to  work  for  ;  and  the  monks  who  were  driven 
out  of  their  homes  and  wandered  about  encouraged  their 
discontent ;  and  there  were,  consequently,  great  risings  in 
Lincolnshire  and  Yorkshire.  These  were  put  down  by  ter- 
rific executions,  from  which  the  monks  themselves  did  not 
escape,  and  the  King  went  on  grunting  and  growling  in  his 
own  fat  way,  like  a  Royal  pig. 

I  have  told  all  this  story  of  the  religious  houses  at  one 
time,  to  make  it  plainer,  and  to  get  back  to  the  King's 
domestic  affairs. 

The  unfortunate  Queen  Catherine  was  by  this  time  dead  ; 
and  the  King  was  by  this  time  as  tired  of  his  second  Queen 
as  he  had  been  of  his  first.  As  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Anne  when  she  was  in  the  service  of  Catherine,  so  he  now 
fell  in  love  with  another  lady  in  the  service  of  Anne.  See 
how  wicked  deeds  are  punished,  and  how  bitterly  and  self- 


246       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

reproachfully  the  Queen  must  now  have  thought  of  her  owt 
rise  to  the  throne  !  The  new  fancy  was  a  Lady  Jane  Sey- 
mour ;  and  the  King  no  sooner  set  his  mind  on  her,  than  he 
resolved  to  have  Anne  Boleyn's  head.  So,  he  brought  a 
number  of  charges  against  Anne,  accusing  her  of  dreadful 
crimes  which  she  had  never  committed,  and  implicating  in 
them  her  own  brother  and  certain  gentlemen  in  her  service  ; 
among  whom  one  Norris,  and  Mark  Smeaton  a  musician,  are 
best  remembered.  As  the  lords  and  councilors  were  as 
afraid  of  the  King  and  as  subservient  to  him  as  the  meanest 
peasant  in  England  was,  they  brought  in  Anne  Boleyn  guilty, 
and  the  other  unfortunate  persons  accused  with  her,  guilty 
too.  Those  gentlemen  died  like  men,  with  the  exception  of 
Smeaton,  who  had  been  tempted  by  the  King  into  telling 
lies,  which  he  called  confessions,  and  who  had  expected  to 
be  pardoned  ;  but  who,  I  am  very  glad  to  say,  was  not.  ■ 
There  was  then  only  the  Queen  to  dispose  of.  She  had  been 
monstrously  persecuie^w£L  Wlth  women  spies  ;  had  been 
ceived  no  justice.  But  her  spiriWdered  ;  and  had  re- 
tions  :  and,  after  having  in  vain  tried  to  soften*1  CJL  afflic- 
by  writing  an  affecting  letter  to  him  which  still  exists", 
"  from  her  doleful  prison  in  the  Tower,"  she  resigned  her- 
self to  death.  She  said  to  those  about  her,  very  cheerfully, 
that  she  had  heard  say  the  executioner  was  a  good  one, 
and  that  she  had  a  little  neck  (she  laughed  and  clasped 
it  with  her  hands  as  she  said  that),  and  would  soon  be 
out  of  her  pain.  And  she  was  soon  out  of  her  pain, 
poor  creature,  on  the  Green  inside  the  Tower,  and  her  body 
was  flung  into  an  old  box  and  put  away  in  the  ground  under 
the  chapel. 

There  is  a  story  that  the  King  sat  in  his  palace  listening 
very  anxiously  for  the  sound  of  the  cannon  which  was  to 
announce  this  new  murder  ;  and  that,  when  he  heard  it  come 
booming  on  the  air,  he  rose  up  in  great  spirits  and  ordered 
out  his  dogs  to  go  a-hunting.  He  was  bad  enough  to  do  it ; 
but  whether  he  did  it  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  he  married 
Jane  Seymour  the  very  next  day. 

I  have  not  much  pleasure  in  recording  that  she  lived  just 
long  enough  to  give  birth  to  a  son  who  was  christened 
Edward,  and  then  to  die  of  a  fever  :  for,  I  cannot  but  think 
that  any  woman  who  married  such  a  ruffian,  and  knew  what 
innocent   blood  was   on  his   hands,    deserved   the   ax  that 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         247 

would  assuredly  have  fallen  on  the  neck  of  Jane  Seymour, 
if  she  had  lived  much  longer. 

Cranmer  had  done  what  he  could  to  save  some  of  the 
Church  property  for  purposes  of  religion  and  education  ; 
but,  the  great  families  had  been  so  hungry  to  get  hold  of  it, 
that  very  little  could  be  rescued  for  such  objects.  Even 
Miles  Coverdale,  who  did  the  people  the  inestimable  service 
of  translating  the  Bible  into  English  (which  the  unreformed 
religion  never  permitted  to  be  done),  was  left  in  poverty 
while  the  great  families  clutched  the  Church  lands  and 
money.  The  people  had  been  told  that  when  the  Crown 
came  into  possession  of  these  funds,  it  would  not  be  neces- 
sary to  tax  them  ;  but  they  were  taxed  afresh  directly  after- 
ward. It  was  fortunate  for  them,  indeed,  that  so  many 
nobles  were  so  greedy  for  this  wealth  ;  since,  if  it  had  re- 
mained with  the  Crown,  there  might  have  been  no  end  to 
tyranny  for  hundreds  of  years.  One  of  the  most  active 
writers  on  the  Church's  side  against  rh^  ^;r<*  «--.  -  TT^T* 
of  his  own  family—  ct  Sun  ot  distant  cousin,  Reginald  Pole 
Dy  name-  who  attacked  'him  in  the  most  violent  manner 
though  he  received  a  pension  from  him  all  the  time),  and 
fought  for  the  Church  with  his  pen,  day  and  night.  As  he 
was  beyond  the  King's  reach — being  in  Italy — the  King 
politely  invited  him  over  to  discuss  the  subject  ;  but  he, 
knowing  better  than  to  come,  and  wisely  staying  where  he 
was,  the  King's  rage  fell  upon  his  brother  Lord  Montague, 
the  Marquis  of  Exeter,  and  some  other  gentlemen  :  who 
were  tried  for  high  treason  in  corresponding  with  him  and 
aiding  him — which  they  probably  did — and  were  all  exe- 
cuted. The  Pope  made  Reginald  Pole  a  cardinal ;  but,  so 
much  against  his  will,  that  it  is  thought  he  even  aspired  in 
his  own  mind  to  the  vacant  throne  of  England,  and  had 
hopes  of  marrying  the  Princess  Mary.  His  being  made  a 
high  priest,  however,  put  an  end  to  all  that.  His  mother, 
the  venerable  Countess  of  Salisbury— who  was,  unfortu- 
nately for  herself,  within  the  tyrant's  reach — was  the  last  of 
his  relatives  on  whom  his  wrath  fell.  When  she  was  told 
to  lay  her  gray  head  upon  the  block,  she  answered  the 
executioner, "  No  !  My  head  never  committed  treason,  and 
if  you  want  it,  you  shall  seize  it."  So,  she  ran  round  and 
round  the  scaffold  with  the  executioner  striking  at  her,  and 
her  gray  hair  bedabbled  with  blood  ;  and  even  when  they 
held  her  down  upon  the  block  she  moved  her  head  about  to 


248        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  last,  resolved  to  be  no  party  to  her  own  barbarous  mur- 
der. All  this  the  people  bore,  as  they  had  borne  every  thing 
else. 

Indeed  they  bore  much  more  ;  for  the  slow  fires  of  Smith- 
field  were  continually  burning,  and  people  were  constantly 
being  roasted  to  death — still  to  show  what  a  good  Christian 
the  King  was.  He  defied  the  Pope  and  his  Bull,  which  was 
now  issued,  and  had  come  into  England  ;  but  he  burned 
innumerable  people  whose  only  offense  was  that  they  differed 
from  the  Pope's  religious  opinions.  There  was  a  wretched 
man  named  Lambert,  among  others,  who  was  tried  for  this 
before  the  King,  and  with  whom  six  bishops  argued  one 
after  another.  When  he  was  quite  exhausted  (as  well  he 
might  be,  after  six  bishops),  he  threw  himself  on  the  King's 
mercy  ;  but  the  King  blustered  out  that  he  had  no  mercy  ; 
for  heretics.     So,  he  too  fed  the  fire. 

All  this  the  people  bore,  and  more"than  all  this  yet.  The 
iiaii^i^ri  :„:<.  0^™c  to  have  been  banished  from  the  kingdom 
at  this  time.  The  very  peupic  «-ko  w«ro  executed  for  trea- 
son, the  very  wives  and  friends  of  the  "bluff  "  King,  opoko 
of  him  on  the  scaffold  as  a  good  prince,  and  a  gentle  prince 
— just  as  serfs  in  similar  circumstances  have  been  known  to 
do,  under  the  sultans  and  bashaws  of  the  East,  or  under 
the  fierce  old  tyrants  of  Russia,  who  poured  boiling  and 
freezing  water  on  them  alternately,  until  they  died.  The 
Parliament  were  as  bad  as  the  rest,  and  gave  the  King  what- 
ever he  wanted  ;  among  other  vile  accommodations,  they 
gave  him  new  powers  of  murdering,  at  his  will  and  pleasure, 
any  one  whom  he  might  choose  to  call  a  traitor.  But  the 
worst  measure  they  passed  was  an  Act  of  Six  Articles,  com- 
monly called  at  the  time  "  the  whip  with  six  strings  ;  "  which 
punished  offenses  against  the  Pope's  opinions,  without 
mercy,  and  enforced  the  very  worst  parts  of  the  monkish 
religion.  Cranmer  would  have  modified  it,  if  he  could  ; 
but,  being  overborne  by  the  Romish  party,  had  not  the 
power.  As  one  of  the  articles  declared  that  priests  should 
not  marry,  and  as  he  was  married  himself,  he  sent  his  wife 
and  children  into  Germany,  and  began  to  tremble  at  his 
danger  ;  none  the  less  because  he  was,  and  had  long  been, 
the  King's  friend.  This  whip  of  six  strings  was  made  under 
the  King's  own  eye.  It  should  never  be  forgotten  of  him 
how  cruelly  he  supported  the  worst  of  the  Popish  doctrines 
when  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  by  opposing  them. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         249 

This  amiable  monarch  now  thought  of  taking  another  wife. 
He  proposed  to  the  French  King  to  have  some  of  the  ladies 
of  the  French  Court  exhibited  before  him,  that  hemight  make 
his  Royal  choice  ;  but  the  French  King  answered  that  he 
would  rather  not  have  his  ladies  trotted  out  to  be  shown  like 
horses  at 'a  fair.  He  proposed  to  the  Duchess  Dowager  of 
Milan,  who  replied  that  she  might  have  thought  of  such  a 
match  if  she  had  had  two  heads  ;  but,  that  only  owning  one, 
she  mast  beg  to  keep  it  safe.  At  last  Cromwell  represented 
that  there  was  a  Protestant  Princess  in  Germany — those  who 
held  the  reformed  religion  were  called  Protestants,  because 
their  leaders  had  protested  against  the  abuses  and  impositions 
of  the  unreformed  church — named  Anne  of  Cleves,  who 
was  beautiful,  and  would  answer  the  purpose  admirably. 
The  King  said  was  she  a  large  woman,  because  he  must  have 
a  fat  wife  ?  "  O  yes,"  said  Cromwell,  "  she  was  very  large, 
just  the  thing."  On  hearing  this,  the  King  sent  over  his 
famous  painter,  Hans  Holbein,  to  take  her  portrait.  Hans 
made  her  out  to  be  so  good-looking,  that  the  King  was  satis- 
fied, and  the  marriage  was  arranged.  But,  whether  any  body 
had  paid  Hans  to  touch  up  the  picture;  or  whether  Hans,  like 
one  or  two  other  painters,  flattered  a  princess  in  the  ordinary 
way  of  business,  I  cannot  say  :  all  I  know  is,  that  when 
Anne  came  over  and  the  King  went  to  Rochester  to  meet  her, 
and  first  saw  her  without  her  seeing  him,  he  swore  she  was 
"a  great  Flanders  mare,"  and  said  he  would  never  marry 
her.  Being  obliged  to  do  it,  now  matters  had  gone  so  far,  he 
would  not  give  her  the  presents  he  had  prepared,  and  would 
never  notice  her.  He  never  forgave  Cromwell  his  part  in 
the  affair.     His  downfall  dates  from  that  time. 

It  was  quickened  by  his  enemies  in  the  interests  of  the  un- 
reformed religion,  putting  in  the  King's  way,  at  a  state  din- 
ner, a  niece  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  Catherine  Howard,  a 
young  lady  of  fascinating  manners,  though  small  in  stature 
and  not  particularly  beautiful.  Falling  in  love  with  her  on 
the  spot,  the  King  soon  divorced  Anne  of  Cleves  after 
making  her  the  subject  of  much  brutal  talk,  on  pretense  that 
she  had  been  previously  betrothed  to  some  one  else — which 
would  never  do  for  one  of  his  dignity — and  married  Cathe- 
rine. It  is  probable  that  on  his  wedding-day,  of  all  days  in 
the  year,  he  sent  his  faithful  Cromwell  to  the  scaffold  and  had 
his  head  struck  off.  He  further  celebrated  the  occasion  by 
burning  at  one  time,  and  causing  to  be  drawn  to  the  fire  on 


250        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  same  hurdles,  some  Protestant  prisoners  for  denying  the 
Pope's  doctrines,  and  some  Roman  Catholic  prisoners  for 
denying  his  own  supremacy.  Still  the  people  bore  it,  and 
not  a  gentleman  in  England  raised  his  hand. 

But,  by  a  just  retribution,  it  soon  came  out  that  Catherine 
Howard,  before  her  marriage,  had  really  been  guilty  of  such 
crimes  as  the  King  had  falsely  attributed  to  his  second  wife 
Anne  Boleyn  ;  so,  again  the  dreadful  ax  made  the  King  a 
widower,  and  this  Queen  passed  away  as  so  many  in  that 
reign  had  passed  away  before  her.  As  an  appropriate  pur- 
suit under  the  circumstances,  Henry  then  applied  himself  to 
superintending  the  composition  of  a  religious  book  called  "A 
necessary  doctrine  for  any  Christian  Man."  He  must  have 
been  a  little  confused  in  his  mind,  I  think,  at  about  this  pe- 
riod ;  for  he  was  so  false  to  himself  as  to  be  true  to  some 
one:  that  some  one  being  Cranmer,  whom  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk and  others  of  his  enemies  tried  to  ruin  ;  but  to  whom 
the  King  was  steadfast,  and  to  whom  he  one  night  gave  his 
ring,  charging  him  when  he  should  find  himself,  next  day, 
accused  of  treason,  to  show  it  to  the  council  board.  This 
Cranmer  did  to  the  confusion  of  his  enemies.  I  suppose 
the  King  thought  he  might  want  him  a  little  longer. 

He  married  yet  once  more.  Yes,  strange  to  say,  he  found 
in  England  another  woman  who  would  become  his  wife,  and 
she  was  Catherine  Parr,  widow  of  Lord  Latimer.  She 
leaned  toward  the  reformed  religion;  and  it  is  some  comfort 
to  know,  that  she  tormented  the  King  considerably  by  argu- 
ing a  variety  of  doctrinal  points  with  him  on  all  possible 
occasions.  She  had  very  nearly  done  this  to  her  own  de- 
struction. After  one  of  these  conversations,  the  King  in  a 
very  black  mood  actually  instructed  Gardiner,  one  of  his 
bishops  who  favored  the  Popish  opinions,  to  draw  a  bill  of 
accusation  against  her,  which  would  have  inevitably  brought 
her  to  the  scaffold  where  her  predecessors  had  died,  but  that 
one  of  her  friends  picked  up  the  paper  of  instructions  which 
had  been  dropped  in  the  palace,  and  gave  her  timely  notice. 
She  fell  ill  with  terror  ;  but  managed  the  King  so  well  when 
he  came  to  entrap  her  into  further  statements— by  saying 
that  she  had  only  spoken  on  such  subjects  to  divert  his  mind 
and  to  get  some  information  from  his  extraordinary  wisdom — 
that  he  gave  her  a  kiss  and  called  her  his  sweetheart.  And, 
when  the  Chancellor  came  next  day  actually  to  take  her  to 
the  Tower,  the  King  sent  him  about  his  business,  and  hon* 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         251 

.Dred  him  with  the  epithets  of  a  beast,  a  knave,  and  a  fool. 
:So  near  was  Catherine  Parr  to  the  block,  and  so  narrow  was 
her  escape. 

There  was  war  with  Scotland  in  this  reign,  and  a  short 
clumsy  war  with  France  for  favoring  Scotland  ;  but,  the 
events  at  home  were  so  dreadful,  and  leave  such  an  enduring 
stain  on  the  country,  that  I  need  say  no  more  of  what  hap- 
pened abroad. 

A  few  more  horrors,  and  this  reign  is  over.  There  was  a 
lady,  Anne  Askew,  in  Lincolnshire,  who  inclined  to  the 
Protestant  opinions,  and  whose  husband  being  a  fierce  Catho- 
lic, turned  her  out  of  his  house.  She  came  to  London,  and 
was  considered  as  offending  against  the  six  articles,  and  was 
taken  to  the  Tower  and  put  upon  the  rack — probably  be- 
cause it  was  hoped  that  she  might  in  her  agony,  criminate 
some  obnoxious  persons  ;  if  falsely,  so  much  the  better.  She 
was  tortured  without  uttering  a  cry  until  the  Lieutenant  of 
the  Tower  would  suffer  his  men  to  torture  her  no  more;  and 
then  two  priests  who  were  present  actually  pulled  off  their 
robes,  and  turned  the  wheels  of  the  rack  with  their  own 
*iands,  so  rending  and  twisting  and  breaking  her  that  she 
*vas  afterward  carried  to  the  fire  in  a  chair.  She  was  burned 
with  three  others,  a  gentlemen,  a  clergyman,  and  a  tailor; 
and  so  the  world  went  on. 

Either  the  King  became  afraid  of  the  power  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  and  his  son  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  or  they  gave  him 
some  offense,  but  he  resolved  to  pull  them  down,  to  follow  all 
the  rest  who  were  gone.  The  son  was  tried  first — of  course 
for  nothing — and  defended  himself  bravely  ;  but  of  course 
he  was  found  guilty,  and  of  course  he  was  executed.  Then 
his  father  was  laid  hold  of  and  held  for  death  too. 

But  the  King  himself  was  left  for  death  by  a  Greater  King, 
and  the  earth  was  to  be  rid  of  him  at  last.  He  was  now  a 
swollen,  hideous  spectacle,  with  a  great  hole  in  his  leg,  and 
so  odious  to  every  sense  that  it  was  dreadful  to  approach 
him.  When  he  was  found  to  be  dying,  Cranmer  was  sent 
for  from  his  palace  at  Croydon,  and  came  with  all  speed,  but 
found  him  speechless.  Happily,  in  that  hour  he  perished. 
He  was  in  the  fifty-sixth  year  of  his  age,  and  the  thirty- 
eighth  of  his  reign. 

Henry  the  Eighth  has  been  favored  by  some  Protestant 
writers,  because  the  Reformation  was  achieved  in  his  time. 
But  the  mighty  merit  of  it  lies  with  other  men  and  not  with 


252        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

him  ;  and  it  can  be  rendered  none  the  worse  by  this  mon- 
ster's crimes,  and  none  the  better  by  any  defense  of   them. 
The  plain  truth  is  that  he  was  a  most  intolerable  ruffian,   a 
disgrace  to  human  nature,  and  a  blot  of  blood   and   grease 
upon  the  history  of  England. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    EDWARD    THE    SIXTH. 

Henry  the  Eighth  had  made  a  will,  appointing  a  council 
of  sixteen  to  govern  the  kingdom  for  his  son  while  he  was 
under  age  (he  was  now  only  ten  years  old),  and  another 
council  of  twelve  to  help  them.  The  most  powerful  of  the 
first  council  was  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  the  young  King's 
uncle,  who  lost  no  time  in  bringing  -his  nephew  with  great 
state  up  to  Enfield,  and  thence  to  the  Tower.  It  was  con- 
sidered at  the  time  a  striking  proof  of  virtue  in  the  young 
King  that  he  was  sorry  for  his  father's  death  ;  but,  as  com- 
mon subjects  have  that  virtue  too  sometimes,  we  will  say  no 
more  about  it. 

There  was  a  curious  part  of  the  late  King's  will,  requiring 
his  executors  to  fulfill  whatever  promises  he  had  made.  Some 
of  the  court  wondering  what  these  might  be,  the  Earl  of 
Hertford  and  the  other  noblemen  interested,  said  that  they 
were  promises  to  advance  and  enrich  them.  So,  the  Earl  of 
Hertford  made  himself  Duke  of  Somerset,  and  made^  his 
brother  Edward  Seymour  a  baron  ;  and  there  were  various 
similar  promotions,  all  very  agreeable  to  the  parties  con- 
cerned, and  very  dutiful,  no  doubt,  to  the  late  King's  memory. 
To  be  more  dutiful  still,  they  made  themselves  rich  out  of 
the  Church  lands,  and  were  very  comfortable.  The  new 
Duke  of  Somerset  caused  himself  to  be  declared  Protector 
of  the  kingdom,  and  was,  indeed,  the  King. 

As  young  Edward  the  Sixth  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
principles  of  the  Protestant  religion,  every  body  knew  that 
they  would  be  maintained.  But  Cranmer,  to  whom  they  were 
chiefly  intrusted,  advanced  them  steadily  and  temperately. 
Many  superstitions  and  ridiculous  practices  were  stopped  ; 
but  practices  which  were  harmless  were  not  interfered  with. 

The  Duke  of  Somerset,  the  Protector,  was  anxious  to  have 
the  young  King  engaged  in  marriage  to  the  young  Queen  of 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         253 

Scotland,  in  order  to  prevent  that  princess  from  making  an 
alliance  with  any  foreign  power ;  but,  as  a  large  party  in 
Scotland  were  unfavorable  to  this  plan,  he  invaded  that  coun- 
try. His  excuse  for  doing  so  was,  that  the  Border  men-- 
that  is,  the  Scotch  who  lived  in  that  part  of  the  country  where 
England  and  Scotland  joined — troubled  the  English  very 
much.  But  there  were  two  sides  to  this  question  ;  for  the 
English  Border  men  troubled  the  Scotch  too  ;  and,  through 
many  long  years,  there  were  perpetual  border  quarrels  which 
gave  rise  to  numbers  of  old  tales  and  songs.  However,  the 
Protector  invaded  Scotland  ;  and  Arran,  the  Scottish  Regent, 
with  an  army  twice  as  large  as  his,  advanced  to  meet  him. 
They  encountered  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Esk,  within  a  few 
miles  of  Edinburgh  ;  and  there,  after  a  little  skirmish,  the 
Protector  made  such  moderate  proposals,  in  offering  to  retire 
if  the  Scotch  would  only  engage  not  to  marry  their  princess 
to  any  foreign  prince,  that  the  Regent  thought  the  English 
were  afraid.  But  in  this  he  made  a  horrible  mistake  ;  for  the 
English  soldiers  on  land,  and  the  English  sailors  on  the 
water,  so  set  upon  the  Scotch,  that  they  broke  and  fled,  and 
more  than  ten  thousand  of  them  were  killed.  It  was  a  dread- 
ful battle,  for  the  fugitives  were  slain  without  mercy.  The 
ground  for  four  miles,  all  the  way  to  Edinburgh,  was  strewn 
with  dead  men,  and  with  arms,  and  legs,  and  heads.  Some 
hid  themselves  in  streams  and  were  drowned  ;  some  threw 
away  their  armor  and  were  killed  running,  almost  naked  ; 
but  in  this  battle  of  Pinkey  the  English  lost  only  two  or  three 
hundred  men.  They  were  much  better  clothed  than  the 
Scotch  ;  at  the  poverty  of  whose  appearance  and  country  they 
were  exceedingly  astonished. 

A  Parliament  was  called  when  Somerset  came  back,  and  it 
repealed  the  whip  with  six  strings,  and  did  one  or  two  other 
good  things  ;  though  it  unhappily  retained  the  punishment  of 
burning  for  those  people  who  did  not  make  believe  to  believe, 
in  all  religious  matters,  what  the  Government  had  declared 
that  they  must  and  should  believe.  It  also  made  a  foolish 
law  (meant  to  put  down  beggars),  that  any  man  who  lived 
idly  and  loitered  about  for  three  days  together,  should  be 
burned  with  a  hot  iron,  made  a  slave,  and  wear  an  iron  fetter. 
But  this  savage  absurdity  soon  came  to  an  end,  and  went  the 
way  of  a  great  many  other  foolish  laws. 

The  Protector  was  now  so  proud  that  he  sat  in  Parliament 
before  all  the  nobles,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  throne.    Many 


2S4        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

other  noblemen,  who  only  wanted  to  be  as  proud  if  they  cotfltf 
get  a  chance,  became  his  enemies  of  course  ;  and  it  is  sup- 
posed that  he  came  back  suddenly  from  Scotland  because  he 
had  received  news  that  his  brother,  Lord  Seymour,  was  be- 
coming dangerous  to  him.  This  lord  was  now  High  Admiral 
of  England  ;  a  very  handsome  man,  and  a  great  favorite  with 
the  Court  ladies — even  with  the  young  Princess  Elizabeth, 
who  romped  with  him  a  little  more  than  young  princesses  in 
these  times  do  with  any  one.  He  had  married  Catherine 
Parr,  the  late  King's  widow,  who  was  now  dead  ;  and,  to 
strengthen  his  power,  he  secretly  supplied  the  young  King 
with  money.  He  may  even  have  engaged  with  some  of  his 
brother's  enemies  in  a  plot  to  carry  the  boy  off.  On  these 
and  other  accusations,  at  any  rate,  he  was  confined  in  the 
Tower,  impeached,  and  found  guilty  ;  his  own  brother's  name 
being — unnatural  and  sad  to  tell — the  first  signed  to  the 
warrant  for  his  execution.  He  was  executed  on  Tower  Hill, 
and  died  denying  his  treason.  One  of  his  last  proceedings  in 
this  world  was  to  write  two  letters,  one  to  the  Princess  Eliz- 
abeth, and  one  to  the  Princess  Mary,  which  a  servant  of  his 
took  charge  of,  and  concealed  in  his  shoe.  These  letters  are 
supposed  to  have  urged  them  against  his  brother,  and  to  re- 
venge his  death.  What  they  truly  contained  is  not  known  ; 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  had,  at  one  time,  obtained  great 
influence  over  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 

All  this  while,  the  Protestant  religion  was  making  progress. 
The  images  which  the  people  had  gradually  come  to  worship 
were  removed  from  the  churches  ;  the  people  were  informed 
that  they  need  not  confess  themselves  to  priests  unless  they 
chose  ;  a  common  prayer-book  was  drawn  up  in  the  English 
language,  which  all  could  understand  ;  a**d  many  other  im- 
provements were  made  ;  still  moderately.  For  Cranmer  was 
a  very  moderate  man,  and  even  restrained  the  Protestant 
clergy  from  violently  abusing  the  unreformed  religion — as 
they  very  often  did,  and  which  was  not  a  good  example. 
But  the  people  were  at  this  time  in  great  distress.  The  ra- 
pacious nobility  who  had  come  into  possession  of  the  Church 
lands,  were  very  bad  landlords.  They  inclosed  great  quan- 
tities of  ground  for  the  feeding  of  sheep,  which  was  then  more 
profitable  than  the  growing  of  crops  ;  and  this  increased  the 
general  distress.  So  the  people  who  still  understood  little 
of  what  was  going  on  about  them,  and  still  readily  believed 
what  the  homeless  monks  told  them — many  of  whom  had 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        255 

been  their  good  friends  in  their  better  days — took  it  into 
their  heads  that  all  this  was  owing  to  the  reformed  religion, 
and  therefore  rose  in  many  parts  of  the  country. 

The  most  powerful  risings  were  in  Devonshire  and  Norfolk. 
In  Devonshire,  the  rebellion  was  so  strong  that  ten  thousand 
men  united  within  a  few  days,  and  even  laid  siege  to  Exeter. 
But  Lord  Russell,  coming  to  the  assistance  of  the  citizens 
who  defended  that  town,  defeated  the  rebels  ;  and,  not  only 
hanged  the  mayor  of  one  place,  but  hanged  the  vicar  of 
another  from  his  own  church  steeple.  What  with  hanging 
and  killing  by  the  sword,  four  thousand  of  the  rebels  are 
supposed  to  have  fallen  in  that  one  county.  In  Norfolk 
(where  the  rising  was  more  against  the  inclosure  of  open 
lands  than  against  the  reformed  religion),  the  popular  leader 
was  a  man  named  Robert  Ket,  a  tanner  of  Wymondham. 
The  mob  were,  in  the  first  instance,  excited  against  the  tan- 
ner by  one  John  Flowerdew,  a  gentleman  who  owed  him  a 
grudge  :  but  the  tanner  was  more  than  a  match  for  the  gen- 
tleman, since  he  soon  got  the  people  on  his  side,  and  estab- 
lished himself  near  Norwich  with  quite  an  army.  There 
was  a  large  oak-tree  in  that  place,  on  a  spot  called  Mouse- 
hold  Hill,  which  Ket  named  the  Tree  of  Reformation  ;  and 
under  its  green  boughs,  he  and  his  men  sat,  in  the  midsum- 
mer weather,  holding  courts  of  justice,  and  debating  affairs 
of  state.  They  were  even  impartial  enough  to  allow  some 
rather  tiresome  public  speakers  to  get  up  into  this  Tree  of 
Reformation,  and  point  out  their  errors  to  them,  in  long  dis- 
courses, while  they  lay  listening  (not  always  without  some 
grumbling  and  growling),  in  the  shade  below.  At  last,  one 
sunny  July  day,  a  herald  appeared  below  the  tree,  and  pro- 
claimed Ket  and  all  his  men  traitors,  unless  from  that 
moment  they  dispersed  and  went  home  :  in  which  case  they 
were  to  receive  a  pardon.  But  Ket  and  his  men  made  light 
of  the  herald  and  became  stronger  than  ever,  until  the  Earl 
of  Warwick  went  after  them  with  a  sufficient  force,  and  cut 
them  all  to  pieces.  A  few  were  hanged,  drawn,  and  quar- 
tered, as  traitors,  and  their  limbs  were  sent  into  various 
country  places  to  be  a  terror  to  the  people.  Nine  of  them 
were  hanged  upon  nine  green  brances  of  the  Oak  of  Refor- 
mation ;  and  so,  for  the  time,  that  tree  may  be  said  to  have 
withered  away. 

The  Protector,  though   a   haughty  man,  had  compassion 
for  the  real  distresses  of  the  common  people,  and  a  sincere 


256        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

desire  to  help  them.  But  he  was  too  proud  and  too  high  in 
degree  to  hold  even  their  favor  steadily  ;  and  many  of  the 
nobles  always  envied  and  hated  him,  because  they  were  as 
proud  and  not  as  high  as  he.  He  was  at  this  time  building 
a  great  palace  in  the  Strand  :  to  get  the  stone  for  which  he 
blew  up  church  steeples  with  gunpowder,  and  pulled  down 
bishops'  houses  :  thus  making  himself  still  more  disliked. 
At  length,  his  principal  enemy,  the  Earl  of  Warwick — Dud- 
ley by  name,  and  the  son  of  that  Dudley  who  had  made 
himself  so  odious  with  Empson,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Seventh — joined  with  seven  other  members  of  the  Council 
against  him,  formed  a  separate  Council ;  and,  becoming 
stronger  in  a  few  days,  sent  him  to  the  tower  under  twenty- 
nine  articles  of  accusation.  After  being  sentenced  by  the 
Council  to  the  forfeiture  of  all  his  offices  and  lands,  he  was 
liberated  and  pardoned,  on  making  a  very  humble  submis- 
sion. He  was  even  taken  back  into  the  Council  again,  after 
having  suffered  his  fall,  and  married  his  daughter,  Lady 
Anne  Seymour,  to  Warwick's  eldest  son.  But  such  a  recon- 
ciliation was  little  likely  to  last,  and  did  not  outlive  a  year. 
Warwick,  having  got  himself  made  Duke  of  Northumber- 
land, and  having  advanced  the  more  important  of  his 
friends,  then  finished  the  history  by  causing  the  Duke  of 
Somerset  and  his  friend  Lord  Grey,  and  others,  to  be 
arrested  for  treason,  in  having  conspired  to  seize  and  de- 
throne the  King.  They  were  also  accused  of  having  in- 
tended to  seize  the  new  Duke  of  Northumberland,  with  his 
friends  Lord  Northampton  and  Lord  Pembroke  ;  to  murder 
them  if  they  found  need  ;  and  to  raise  the  city  to  revolt. 
All  this  the  fallen  Protector  positively  denied  ;  except  that 
he  confessed  to  having  spoken  of  the  murder  of  those  three 
noblemen,  but  having  never  designed  it.  He  was  acquitted 
of  the  charge  of  treason,  and  found  guilty  of  the  other 
charges  ;  so  when  the  people — who  remembered  his  having 
been  their  friend,  now  that  he  was  disgraced  and  in  danger, 
saw  him  come  out  from  his  trial  with  the  ax  turned  from 
him — they  thought  he  was  altogether  acquitted,  and  set  up 
a  loud  shout  of  joy. 

But  the  Duke  of  Somerset  was  ordered  to  be  beheaded  on 
Tower  Hill,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  proclama- 
tions were  issued  bidding  the  citizens  keep  at  home  until 
after  ten.  They  filled  the  streets,  however,  and  crowded 
the  place  of  execution  as  soon  as  it  was  light ;  and,  with  sad 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         257 

faces  and  sad  hearts,  saw  the  once  powerful  Protector 
ascend  the  scaffold  to  lay  his  head  upon  the  dreadful  block. 
While  he  was  yet  saying  his  last  words  to  them  with  manly 
courage,  and  telling  them,  in  particular,  how  it  comforted 
him,  at  that  pass,  to  have  assisted  in  reforming  the  national 
religion,  a  member  of  the  Council  was  seen  riding  up  on 
horseback.  They  again  thought  that  the  Duke  was  saved 
by  his  bringing  a  reprieve,  and  again  shouted  for  joy.  But 
the  Duke  himself  told  them  they  were  mistaken,  and  laid 
down  his  head  and  had  it  struck  off  at  a  blow. 

Many  of  the  bystanders  rushed  forward  and  steeped  their 
handkerchiefs  in  his  blood,  as  a  mark  of  their  affection.  He 
had,  indeed,  been  capable  of  many  good  acts,  and  one  of 
them  was  discovered  after  he  was  no  more.  The  Bishop  of 
Durham,  a  very  good  man,  had  been  informed  against  to  the 
Council,  when  the  Duke  was  in  power,  as  having  answered  a 
treacherous  letter  proposing  a  rebellion  against  the  reformed 
religion.  As  the  answer  could  not  be  found,  he  could  not 
be  declared  guilty  ;  but  it  was  now  discovered,  hidden  by 
the  Duke  himself  among  some  private  papers,  in  his  regard 
for  that  good  man.  The  Bishop  lost  his  office,  and  was  de- 
prived of  his  possessions. 

It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  know  that  while  his  uncle  lay 
in  prison  under  sentence  of  death,  the  young  King  was  being 
vastly  entertained  by  plays,  and  dances,  and  sham  fights : 
but  there  is  no  doubt  of  it,  for  he  kept  a  journal  himself. 
It  is  pleasanter  to  know  that  not  a  single  Roman  Catholic 
was  burned  in  this  reign  for  holding  that  religion  ;  though 
two  wretched  victims  suffered  for  heresy.  One,  a  woman 
named  Joan  Bocher,  for  professing  some  opinions  that  even 
she  could  only  explain  in  unintelligible  jargon.  The  other, 
a  Dutchman,  named  Von  Paris,  who  practiced  as  a  surgeon 
in  London.  Edward  was,  to  his  credit,  exceedingly-unwill- 
ing to  sign  the  warrant  for  the  woman's  execution  :  shed- 
ding tears  before  he  did  so,  and  telling  Cranmer,  who  urged 
him  to  do  it  (though  Cranmer  really  would  have  spared  the 
woman  at  first,  but  for  her  own  determined  obstinacy),  that 
the  guilt  was  not  his,  but  that  of  the  man  who  so  strongly 
urged  the  dreadful  act.  We  shall  see,  too  soon,  whether  the 
time  ever  came  when  Cranmer  is  likely  to  have  remembered 
this  with  sorrow  and  remorse. 

Cranmer  and  Ridley  (at  first  Bishop  of  Rochester  and 
afterward  Bishop   of   London)   were  the  most  powerful  ©f 


258        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  clergy  of  this  reign.  Others  were  imprisoned  and  de- 
prived of  their  property  for  still  adhering  to  the  unreformed 
religion  ;  the  most  important  among  whom  were  Gardiner, 
Bishop  of  Winchester,  Heath,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  Day, 
Bishop  of  Chichester,  and  Bonner,  that  Bishop  of  London 
who  was  superseded  by  Ridley.  The  Princess  Mary,  who 
inherited  her  mother's  gloomy  temper,  and  hated  the  re- 
formed religion  as  connected  with  her  mother's  wrongs  and 
sorrows — she  knew  nothing  else  about  it,  always  refusing  to 
read  a  single  book  in  which  it  was  truly  described — held  by 
the  unreformed  religion  too,  and  was  the  only  person  in  the 
kingdom  for  whom  the  old  Mass  was  allowed  to  be  per- 
formed ;  nor  would  the  young  King  have  made  that  excep- 
tion even  in  her  favor,  but  for  the  strong  persuasions  of 
Cranmer  and  Ridley.  He  always  viewed  it  with  horror  ; 
and  when  he  fell  into  a  sickly  condition,  after  having  been 
very  ill,  first  of  the  measles  and  then  of  the  small-pox,  he  was 
greatly  troubled  in  mind  to  think  that  if  he  died,  and  she, 
the  next  heir  to  the  throne,  succeeded,  the  Roman  Catholic 
religion  would  be  set  up  again. 

This  uneasiness  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  was  not  slow 
to  encourage  :  for,  if  the  Princess  Mary  came  to  the  throne, 
he,  who  had  taken  part  with  the  Protestants,  was  sure  to  be 
disgraced.  Now,  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  was  descended  from 
King  Henry  the  Seventh  ;  and,  if  she  resigned  what  little  or 
no  right  she  had,  in  favor  of  her  daughter  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
that  would  be  the  succession  to  promote  the  Duke's  great- 
ness ;  because  Lord  Guilford  Dudley,  one  of  his  sons,  was, 
at  this  very  time,  newly  married  to  her.  So,  he  worked 
upon  the  King's  fears,  and  persuaded  him  to  set  aside  both 
the  Princess  Mary  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  assert  his 
right  to  appoint  his  successor.  Accordingly  the  young  King 
handed  to  the  Crown  lawyers  a  writing  signed  half  a  dozen 
times  over  by  himself,  appointing  Lady  Jane  Grey  to  succeed 
to  the  Crown,  and  requiring  them  to  have  his  will  made  out 
according  to  law.  They  were  much  against  it  at  first,  and 
told  the  King  so  ;  but  the  Duke  of  Northumberland— being 
so  violent  about  it  that  the  lawyers  even  expected  him  to 
beat  them,  and  hotly  declaring  that,  stripped  to  his  shirt,  he 
would  fight  any  man  in  such  a  quarrel — they  yielded. 
Cranmer,  also,  at  first  hesitated  ;  pleading  that  he  had  sworn 
to  maintain  the  succession  of  the  Crown  to  the  Prin- 
cess Mary  ;  but,  he  was  a  weak  man    in   his    resolutions, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         259 

and  afterward  signed  the  document  with  the  rest  of  the 
council. 

It  was  completed  none  too  soon  ;  for  Edward  was  now 
sinking  in  a  rapid  decline  ;  and  by  way  of  making  him  bet- 
ter, they  handed  him  over  to  a  woman-doctor  who  pretended 
to  be  able  to  cure  it.  He  speedily  got  worse.  On  the  sixth 
of  July,  in  the  year  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  fifty-three, 
he  died,  very  peaceably  and  piously,  praying  God,  with  his 
last  breath,  to  protect  the  reformed  religion. 

This  King  died  in  the  sixteenth  year  of  his  age,  and  in  the 
seventh  of  his  reign.  It  is  difficult  to  judge  what  the  char- 
acter of  one  so  young  might  afterward  have  become  among 
so  many  bad,  ambitious,  quarreling  nobles.  But  he  was 
an  amiable  boy,  of  very  good  abilities,  and  had  nothing 
coarse  or  cruel  or  brutal  in  his  disposition — which  in  the'son 
of  such  a  father  is  rather  surprising. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ENGLAND  UNDER  MARY. 

The  Duke  of  Northumberland  was  very  anxious  to  keep 
the  young  King's  death  a  secret,  in  order  that  he  might  get 
the  two  Princesses  into  his  power.  But  the  Princess  Mary, 
being  informed  of  that  event  as  she  was  on  her  way  to 
London  to  see  her  sick  brother,  turned  her  horse's  head,  and 
rode  away  into  Norfolk.  The  Earl  of  Arundel  was  her 
friend,  and  it  was  he  who  sent  her  warning  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

As  the  secret  could  not  be  kept,  the  Duke  of  Northum- 
berland and  the  council  sent  for  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London 
and  some  of  the  aldermen,  and  made  a  merit  of  telling  it  to 
them.  Then,  they  made  it  known  to  the  people,  and  set  off 
to  inform  Lady  Jane  Grey  that  she  was  to  be  Queen. 

She  was  a  pretty  girl  of  only  sixteen,  and  was  amiable, 
learned  and  clever.  When  the  lords  who  came  to  her,  fell 
on  their  knees  before  her,  and  told  her  what  tidings  they 
brought,  she  was  so  astonished  that  she  fainted.  On  recov- 
ering, she  expressed  her  sorrow  for  the  young  King's  death, 
and  said  that  she  knew  she  was  unfit  to  govern  the  kingdom  ; 
but  that  if  she  must  be  Queen,  she  prayed  God  to  direct  her. 
She  was  then  at  Sion  House  near  Brentford  ;  and  the  lords 


260        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

took  her  down  the  river  in  state  to  the  Tower,  that  she  might 
remain  there  (as  the  custom  was)  until  she  was  crowned. 
But  the  people  were  not  at  all  favorable  to  Lady  Jane,  con- 
sidering that  the  right  to  be  Queen  was  Mary's,  and  greatly 
disliking  the  Duke  of  Northumberland.  They  were  not  put 
into  a  better  humor  by  the  Duke's  causing  a  vintner's  serv- 
ant, one  Gabriel  Pot,  to  be  taken  up  for  expressing  his  dis~ 
satisfaction  among  the  crowd,  and  to  have  his  ears  nailed 
to  the  pillory,  and  cut  off.  Some  powerful  men  among  the 
nobility  declared  on  Mary's  side.  They  raised  troops  to  sup- 
port her  cause,  had  her  proclaimed  Queen  at  Norwich,  and 
gathered  around  her  at  the  castle  of  Framlingham,  which 
belonged  to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  For  she  was  not  con- 
sidered so  safe  as  yet,  but  that  it  was  best  to  keep  her  in  a 
castle  on  the  sea-coast,  from  whence  she  might  be  sent 
abroad,  if  necessary. 

The  Council  would  have  dispatched  Lady  Jane's  father, 
the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  as  the  general  of  the  army  against 
this  force  ;  but,  as  Lady  Jane  implored  that  her  father 
might  remain  with  her,  and  as  he  was  known  to  be  but 
a  weak  man,  they  told  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  that 
he  must  take  the  command  himself.  He  was  not  very 
ready  to  do  so,  as  he  mistrusted  the  Council  much ; 
but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  he  set  forth  with  a 
heavy  heart,  observing  to  a  lord  who  rode  beside  him 
through  Shoreditch  at  the  head  of  the  troops,  that  although 
the  people  pressed  in  great  numbers  to  look  at  them,  they 
were  terribly  silent. 

And  his  fears  for  himself  turned  out  to  be  well  founded. 
While  he  was  waiting  at  Cambridge  for  further  help  from  the 
Council,  the  Council  took  it  into  their  heads  to  turn  their 
backs  on  Lady  Jane's  cause,  and  to  take  up  the  Princess 
Mary's.  This  was  chiefly  owing  to  the  before-mentioned 
Earl  of  Arundel,  who  represented  to  the  Lord  Mayor  and 
aldermen,  in  a  second  interview  with  those  sagacious  per- 
sons, that,  as  for  himself,  he  did  not  perceive  the  Reformed 
religion  to  be  in  much  danger — which  Lord  Pembroke  backed 
by  flourishing  his  sword  as  another  kind  of  persuasion.  The 
Lord  Mayor  and  aldermen,  thus  enlightened,  said  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  the  Princess  Mary  ought  to  be  Queen.  So, 
she  was  proclaimed  at  the  Cross  by  St.  Paul's,  and  barrels  of 
wine  were  given  to  the  people,  and  they  got  very  drunk, 
and  danced   round   blazing    bonfire — little   thinking,   poor 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         261 

wretches,  what  other  bonfires  would  soon  be  blazing  in  Queen 
Mary's  name. 

After  a  ten  days'  dream  of  royalty,  Lady  Jane  Grey  re- 
signed the  Crown  with  great  willingness,  saying  that  she  had 
only  accepted  in  obedience  to  her  father  and  mother  ;  and 
went  gladly  back  to  her  pleasant  house  by  the  river,  and  her 
books.  Mary  then  came  on  toward  London  ;  and  at  Wan- 
stead  in  Essex,  was  joined  by  her  half-sister,  the  Princess 
Elizabeth.  They  passed  through  the  streets  of  London  to 
the  Tower,  and  there  the  new  Queen  met  some  eminent 
prisoners  then  confined  in  it,  kissed  them,  and  gave  them 
their  liberty.  Among  these  was  that  Gardiner,  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  who  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  last  reign  for 
holding  to  the  unreformed  religion.  Him  she  soon  made 
chancellor. 

The  Duke  of  Northumberland  had  been  taken  prisoner, 
and,  together  with  his  son  and  five  others,  was  quickly  brought 
before  the  Council.  He,  not  unnaturally,  asked  that  Council, 
in  his  defense,  whether  it  was  treason  to  obey  orders  that 
had  been  issued  under  the  great  seal ;  and,  if  it  were,  whether 
they,  who  had  obeyed  them  too,  ought  to  be  his  judges  ? 
But  they  made  light  of  these  points ;  and,  being  resolved  to 
have  him  out  of  the  way,  soon  sentenced  him  to  death.  He 
had  risen  into  power  upon  the  death  of  another  man,  and 
made  but  a  poor  show  (as  might  be  expected)  when  he  him- 
self lay  low.  He  entreated  Gardiner  to  let  him  live,  if  it 
were  only  in  a  mouse's  hole ;  and,  when  he  ascended  the 
scaffold  to  be  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill,  addressed  the  people 
in  a  miserable  way,  saying  that  he  had  been  incited  by  others, 
and  exhorting  them  to  return  to  the  unreformed  religion, 
which  he  told  them  was  his  faith.  There  seems  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  expected  a  pardon  even  then,  in  return  for 
this  confession ;  but  it  matters  little  whether  he  did  or  not. 
His  head  was  struck  off. 

Mary  was  now  crowned  Queen.  She  was  thirty-seven 
years  of  age,  short  and  thin,  wrinkled  in  the  face,  and  very 
unhealthy.  But  she  had  a  great  liking  for  show  and  for  bright 
colors,  and  all  the  ladies  of  her  Court  were  magnificently 
dressed.  She  had  a  great  liking  too  for  old  customs,  without 
much  sense  in  them  ;  and  she  was  oiled  in  the  oldest  way, 
and  blessed  in  the  oldest  way,  and  done  all  manner  of  things 
in  the  oldest  way,  at  her  coronation.  I  hope  they  did  her 
good. 


262         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

She  soon  began  to  show  her  desire  to  put  down  the  Re- 
formed religion,  and  put  up  the  unreformed  one  :  though  it 
was  dangerous  work  as  yet,  the  people  being  something  wiser 
than  they  used  to  be.  They  even  cast  a  shower  of  stones — 
and  among  them  a  dagger — at  one  of  the  royal  chaplains 
who  attacked  the  Reformed  religion  in  a  public  sermon.  But 
the  Queen  and  her  priests  went  steadily  on.  Ridley,  the 
powerful  bishop  of  the  last  reign,  was  seized  and  sent  to  the 
Tower.  Latimer,  also  celebrated  among  the  clergy  of  the 
last  reign,  was  likewise  sent  to  the  Tower,  and  Cranmer 
speedily  followed.  Latimer  was  an  aged  man  ;  and,  as  his 
guards  took  him  through  Sraithfield,  he  looked  round  it,  and 
said,  "  This  is  a  place  that  hath  long  groaned  for  me."  For  he 
knew  well,  what  kind  of  bonfires  wrould  soon  be  burning. 
Nor  was  the  knowledge  confined  to  him.  The  prisons  were 
fast  filled  with  the  chief  Protestants,  who  were  there  left 
rotting  in  darkness,  hunger,  dirt,  and  separation  from 
their  friends  ;  many,  who  had  time  left  them  for  escape,  fled 
from  the  kingdom  ;  and  the  dullest  of  the  people  began,  now, 
to  -see  what  was  coming. 

It  came  on  fast.  A  Parliament  was  got  together  ;  not 
without  strong  suspicion  of  unfairness  ;  and  they  annulled 
the  divorce,  formerly  pronounced  by  Cranmer  between  the 
Queen's  mother  and  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  unmade 
all  the  laws  on  the  subject  of  religion  that  had  been  made  in 
the  last  King  Edward's  reign.  They  began  their  proceed- 
ings, in  violation  of  the  law,  by  having  the  old  mass  said  be- 
fore them  in  Latin,  and  by  turning  out  a  bishop  who  would 
not  kneel  down.  They  also  declared  guilty  of  treason,  Lady 
Jane  Grey  for  aspiring  to  the  Crown  ;  her  husband,  for  being 
her  husband  ;  and  Cranmer,  for  not  believing  in  the  mass 
aforesaid.  They  then  prayed  the  Queen  graciously  to  choose 
a  husband  for  herself,  as  soon  as  might  be. 

Now,  the  question  who  should  be  the  Queen's  husband 
had  given  rise  to  a  great  deal  of  discussion,  and  to  several 
contending  parties.  Some  said  Cardinal  Pole  was  the  man — 
but  the  Queen  was  of  opinion  that  he  was  not  the  man,  he 
being  too  old  and  too  much  of  a  student.  Others  said  that 
the  gallant  young  Courtenay,  whom  the  Queen  had  made  Earl 
of  Devonshire,  was  the  man — and  the  Queen  thought  so  too, 
for  a  while  ;  but  she  changed  her  mind.  And  at  last  it  ap- 
peared that  Philip,  Prince  of  Spain,  was  certainly  the  man — 
though  certainly  not  the  people's  man  ;  for  they  detested  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         263 

idea  of  such  a  marriage  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and 
murmured  that  the  Spaniard  would  establish  in  England,  by 
the  aid  of  foreign  soldiers,  the  worst  abuses  of  the  Popish 
religion,  and  even  the  terrible  Inquisition  itself. 

These  discontents  gave  rise  to  a  conspiracy  for  marrying 
young  Courtenay  to  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  setting  them 
up,  with  popular  tumults  all  over  the  kingdom,  against  the 
Queen.  This  was  discovered  in  time  by  Gardiner ;  but  in 
Kent,  the  bold  old  county,  the  people  rose  in  their  old  bold 
way.  Sir  Thomas  Wyat,  a  man  of  great  daring,  was  their  leader. 
He  raised  his  standard  at  Maidstone,  marched  on  to  Roches- 
ter, established  himself  in  the  old  castle  there,  and  prepared 
to  hold  out  against  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  who  came  against 
him  with  a  party  of  the  Queen's  Guards,  and  a  body  of  five 
hundred  London  men.  The  London  men,  however,  were  all 
for  Elizabeth,  and  not  at  all  for  Mary.  They  declared,  under 
the  castle  walls,  for  Wyat ;  the  Duke  retreated ;  and  Wyat 
came  on  to  Deptford,  at  the  head  of  fifteen  thousand  men. 

But  these,  in  their  turn,  fell  away.  When  he  came  to 
Southwark,  there  were  only  two  thousand  left.  Not  dis- 
mayed by  finding  the  London  citizens  in  arms,  and  the  guns 
at  the  Tower  ready  to  oppose  his  crossing  the  river  there, 
Wyat  led  them  off  to  Kingston-upon-Thames,  intending  to 
cross  the  bridge  that  he  knew  to  be  in  that  place,  and  so  to 
work  his  way  round  to  Ludgate,  one  of  the  old  gates  of  the 
city.  He  found  the  bridge  broken  down,  but  mended  it, 
came  across,  and  bravely  fought  his  way  up  Fleet  Street  to 
Ludgate  Hill.  Finding  the  gate  closed  against  him,  he 
fought  his  way  back  again,  sword  in  hand,  to  Temple  Bar. 
Here,  being  overpowered,  he  surrendered  himself,  and  three 
or  four  hundred  of  his  men  were  taken,  besides  a  hundred 
killed.  Wyat,  in  a  moment  of  weakness  (and  perhaps  of 
torture)  was  afterwards  made  to  accuse  the  Princess  Eliza- 
beth as  his  accomplice  to  some  very  small  extent.  But  his 
manhood  soon  returned  to  him,  and  he  refused  to  save  his 
life  by  making  any  more  false  confessions.  He  was  quartered 
and  distributed  in  the  usual  brutal  way,  and  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  of  his  followers  were  hanged.  The  rest  were  led 
out,  with  halters  round  their  necks,  to  be  pardoned  and  to 
make  a  parade  of  crying  out,  "  God  save  Queen  Mary ! " 

In  the  danger  of  this  rebellion,  the  Queen  showed  herself 
to  be  a  woman  of  courage  and  spirit.  She  disdained  to  re- 
treat to  any  place  of  safety,  and  went  down  to  the  Guildhall, 


264         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

scepter  in  hand,  and  made  a  gallant  speech  to  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  citizens.  But  on  the  day  after  Wyat's  defeat,  she 
did  the  most  cruel  act  even  of  her  cruel  reign,  in  signing  the 
warrant  for  the  execution  of  Lady  Jane  Grey. 

They  tried  to  persuade  Lady  Jane  to  accept  the  uni- 
formed religion  ;  but  she  steadily  refused.  On  the  morning 
when  she  was  to  die,  she  saw  from  her  window  the  bleeding 
and  headless  body  of  her  husband  brought  back  in  a  cart 
from  the  scaffold  on  Tower  Hill  where  he  had  laid  down  his 
life.  But,  as  she  had  declined  to  see  him  before  his  execu- 
tion, lest  she  should  be  overpowered  and  not  make  a  good 
end,  so,  she  even  now  showed  a  constancy  and  calmness  that 
will  never  be  forgotten.  She  came  up  to  the  scaffold  with  a 
firm  step  and  a  quiet  face,  and  addressed  the  bystanders  in  a 
steady  voice.  They  were  not  numerous  ;  for  she  was  too 
young,  too  innocent  and  fair,  to  be  murdered  before  the  peo- 
ple on  Tower  Hill,  as  her  husband  had  just  been  ;  so,  the 
place  of  her  execution  was  within  the  Tower  itself.  She 
said  that  she  had  done  an  unlawful  act  in  taking  what  was 
Queen  Mary's  right ;  but  she  had  done  so  with  no  bad  intent, 
and  that  she  died  a  humble  Christian.  She  begged  the  ex- 
ecutioner to  despatch  her  quickly,  and  she  asked  him,  "  Will 
you  take  my  head  off  before  I  lay  me  down  ?  "  He  answered, 
"  No,  Madam,"  and  then  she  was  very  quiet  while  they  band- 
aged her  eyes.  Being  blinded,  and  unable  to  see  the  block 
on  which  she  was  io  lay  her  young  head,  she  was  seen  to  feel 
about  for  it  with  her  hands,  and  was  heard  to  say,  confused, 
"  O  ^-hat  shall  I  do  !  Where  is  it  ? "  Then  they  guided  her 
to  th  i  right  place,  and  the  executioner  struck  off  her  head. 
You  know  too  well,  now,  what  dreadful  deeds  the  execu- 
tioner did  in  England,  through  many,  many  years,  and  how 
his  ax  descended  on  the  hateful  block  through  the  necKS  of 
some  of  the  bravest,  wisest,  and  best  in  the  land.  But  it 
never  struck  so  cruel  and  so  vile  a  blow  as  this. 

The  father  of  Lady  Jane  soon  followed,  but  was  little 
pitied.  Queen  Mary's  next  object  was  to  lay  hold  of  Eliza- 
beth, and  this  was  pursued  with  great  eagerness.  Five  hund- 
red men  were  sent  to  her  retired  house  at  Ashridge,  by 
Berkhampstead,  with  orders  to  bring  her  up,  alive  or  dead. 
They  got  there  at  ten  at  night,  when  she  was  sick  in  bed. 
But  their  leaders  followed  her  lady  into  her  bedchamber, 
whence  she  was  brought  out  betimes  next  morning,  and  put 
into  a  litter  to  be  conveyed  to  London.  She  was  so  weak  and 


A  CHILD  S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        265 

ill,  that  she  was  five  days  on  the  road;  still,  ihewas  so  re- 
solved to  be  seen  by  the  people  that  she  had  the  cuiiains  of 
the  litter  opened  ;  and  so,  very  pale  and  sickly,  passed  through 
the  streets.  She  wrote  to  her  sister,  saying  she  was  innocent 
of  any  crime,  and  asking  why  she  was  made  a  prisoner  ;  but 
she  got  no  answer,  and  was  ordered  to  the  Tower.  They 
took  her  in  by  the  Traitor's  Gate,  to  which  she  objected,  but 
in  vain.  One  of  the  lords  who  conveyed  her  offered  to  cover 
her  with  his  cloak,  as  it  was  raining,  but  she  put  it  away 
from  her,  proudly  and  scornfully,  and  passed  into  the 
Tower,  and  sat  down  in  a  courtyard  on  a  stone.  They  be- 
sought her  to  come  in  out  of  the  wet ;  but  she  answered 
that  it  was  better  sitting  there,  than  in  a  worse  place.  At 
length  she  went  to  her  apartment,  where  she  was  kept  a 
prisoner,  though  not  so  close  a  prisoner  as  at  Woodstock, 
whither  she  was  afterwards  removed,  and  where  she  is  said 
to  have  one  day  envied  a  milkmaid  whom  she  heard  singing 
in  the  sunshine  as  she  went  through  the  green  fields. 
Gardiner,  than  whom  there  were  not  many  worse  men 
among  the  fierce  and  sullen  priests,  cared  little  to  keep 
secret  his  stern  desire  for  her  death  ;  being  used  to  say  that 
it  was  of  little  service  to  shake  off  the  leaves,  and  lop  the 
branches  of  the  tree  of  heresy,  if  its  root,  the  hope  of 
heretics,  were  left.  He  failed,  however,  in  his  benevolent 
design.  Elizabeth  was,  at  length,  released  ;  and  Hatfield 
House  was  assigned  to  her  as  a  residence,  under  the  care  of 
one  Sir  Thomas  Pope. 

It  would  seem  that  Philip,  the  Prince  of  Spain,  was  a 
main  cause  of  this  change  in  Elizabeth's  fortunes.  He  was 
not  an  amiable  man,  being,  on  the  contrary,  proud,  over- 
bearing, and  gloomy  ;  but  he  and  the  Spanish  lords  who 
came  over  with  him,  assuredly  did  discountenance  the  idea 
of  doing  any  violence  to  the  Princess.  It  may  have  been 
mere  prudence,  but  we  will  hope  it  was  manhood  and  honor. 
The  Queen  had  been  expecting  her  husband  with  great  im- 
patience, and  at  length  he  came,  to  her  great  joy,  though  he 
never  cared  much  for  her.  They  were  married  by  Gardiner, 
at  Winchester,  and  there  was  more  holiday-making  among 
the  people  ;  but  they  had  their  old  distrust  of  this  Spanish 
marriage,  in  which  even  the  Parliament  shared.  Though 
the  members  of  that  Parliament  were  far  from  honest,  and 
were  strongly  suspected  to  have  been  bought  with  Spanish 
monev,  they  would  pass  no  bill  to  enable  the  Queen  to 


t66        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

set  aside  the  Princess  Elizabeth  and  appoint  her  own  sue 
cessor. 

Although  Gardiner  failed  in  this  object,  as  well  as  in  the 
darker  one  of  bringing  the  Princess  to  the  scaffold,  he  went 
on  at  a  great  pace  in  the  revival  of  the  unreformed  religion. 
A  new  Parliament  was  packed,  in  which  there  were  no 
Protestants.  Preparations  were  made  to  receive  Cardinal 
Pole  in  England  as  the  Pope's  messenger,  bringing  his  holy 
declaration  that  all  the  nobility  who  had  acquired  Church 
property,  should  keep  it — which  was  done  to  enlist  their  selfish 
interest  on  the  Pope's  side.  Then  a  great  scene  was  en- 
acted, which  was  the  triumph  of  the  Queen's  plans.  Cardinal 
Pole  arrived  in  great  splendor  and  dignity,  and  was  received 
with  great  pomp.  The  Parliament  joined  in  a  petition  ex- 
pressive of  their  sorrow  at  the  change  in  the  national 
religion,  and  praying  him  to  receive  the  country  again  into 
the  Popish  Church.  With  the  Queen  sitting  on  her  throne, 
and  the  King  on  one  side  of  her,  and  the  Cardinal  on  the 
other,  and  the  Parliament  present,  Gardiner  read  the  peti- 
tion aloud.  The  Cardinal  then  made  a  great  speech,  and 
was  so  obliging  as  to  say  that  all  was  forgotten  and  for- 
given, and  that  the  kingdom  was  solemnly  made  Roman 
Catholic  again. 

Every  thing  was  now  ready  for  the  lighting  of  the  terrible 
bonfires.  The  Queen  having  declared  to  the  Council,  in 
writing,  that  she  would  wish  none  of  her  subjects  to  be 
burned  without  some  of  the  Council  being  present,  and  that 
she  would  particularly  wish  there  to  be  good  sermons  at  all 
burnings,  the  Council  knew  pretty  well  what  was  to  be  done 
next.  So,  after  the  Cardinal  had  blessed  all  the  bishops  as 
a  preface  to  the  burnings,  the  Chancellor  Gardiner  opened  a 
High  Court  at  Saint  Mary  Overy,  on  the  Southwark  side  of 
London  Bridge,  for  the  trial  of  heretics.  Here,  two  of  the 
late  Protestant  clergymen,  Hooper,  Bishop  of  Gloucester, 
and  Rogers,  a  Prebendary  of  St.  Paul's,  were  brought  to  be 
tried.  Hooper  was  tried  first  for  being  married,  though  a 
priest,  and  for  not  believing  in  the  mass.  He  admitted  both 
of  these  accusations,  and  said  that  the  mass  was  a  wicked 
imposition.  Then  they  tried  Rogers,  who  said  the  same. 
Next  morning  the  two  were  brought  up  to  be  sentenced  ; 
and  then  Rogers  said  that  his  poor  wife,  being  a  German 
woman  and  a  stranger  in  the  land,  he  hoped  might  be 
allowed  to  come  to  speak  to  him  before  he  died.     To  this 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         267 

the  inhuman  Gardiner  replied,  that  she  was  not  his  wife. 
"  Yea,  but  she  is,  my  lord,"  said  Rogers,  "and  she  hath  been 
my  wife  these  eighteen  years."  His  request  was  still  re- 
fused, and  they  were  both  sent  to  Newgate  ;  all  those  who 
stood  in  the  streets  to  sell  things,  being  ordered  to  put  out 
their  lights  that  the  people  might  not  see  them.  But  the 
people  stood  at  their  doors  with  candles  in  their  hands,  and 
prayed  for  them  as  they  went  by.  Soon  afterward,  Rogers 
was  taken  out  of  jail  to  be  burned  in  Smithfield  ;  and  in  the 
crowd  as  he  went  along,  he  saw  his  poor  wife  and  his  ten 
children,  of  whom  the  youngest  was  a  little  baby.  And  so 
he  was  burned  to  death. 

The  next  day,  Hooper,  who  was  to  be  burned  at  Gloucester, 
was  brought  out  to  take  his  last  journey,  and  was  made  to 
wear  a  hood  over  his  face  that  he  might  not  be  known  by 
the  people.  But  they  did  know  him  for  all  that,  down  in 
his  own  part  of  the  country  ;  and,  when  he  came  near 
Gloucester,  they  lined  the  road,  making  prayers  and  lamen- 
tations. His  guards  took  him  to  a  lodging,  where  he  slept 
soundly  all  night.  At  nine  o'clock  next  morning  he  was 
brought  forth  leaning  on  a  staff ;  for  he  had  taken  cold  in 
prison,  and  was  infirm.  The  iron  stake,  and  the  iron  chain 
which  was  to  bind  him  to  it,  were  fixed  up  near  a  great  elm- 
tree  in  a  pleasant  open  place  before  the  cathedral,  where,  on 
peaceful  Sundays,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  preach  and  to 
pray,  when  he  was  bishop  of  Gloucester.  This  tree,  which 
had  no  leaves  then,  it  being  February,  was  filled  with 
people  ;  and  the  priests  of  Gloucester  College  were  looking 
complacently  on  from  a  window,  and  there  was  a  great  con- 
course of  spectators  in  every  spot  from  which  a  glimpse  of 
the  dreadful  sight  could  be  beheld.  When  the  old  man 
kneeled  down  on  the  small  platform  at  the  foot  of  the  stake, 
and  prayed  aloud,  the  nearest  people  were  observed  to  be  so 
attentive  to  his  prayers  that  they  were  ordered  to  stand 
further  back  ;  for  it  did  not  suit  the  Romish  Church  to  have 
those  Protestant  words  heard.  His  prayers  concluded,  he 
went  up  to  the  stake  and  was  stripped  to  his  shirt,  and 
chained  ready  for  the  fire.  One  of  his  guards  had  such 
compassion  on  him  that,  to  shorten  his  agonies,  he  tied 
some  packets  of  gunpowder  about  him.  Then  they  heaped 
up  wood  and  straw  and  reeds,  and  set  them  all  alight.  But, 
unhappily,  the  wood  was  green  and  damp,  and  there  was  a 
wind  blowing  that  blew  what  flame  there  was  away.     Thus, 


268        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

through  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  the  good  old  man  was 
scorched  and  roasted  and  smoked,  as  the  fire  rose  and  sank ; 
and  all  that  time  they  saw  him,  as  he  burned,  moving  his 
lips  in  prayer,  and  beating  his  breast  with  one  hand,  even 
after  the  other  was  burned  away  and  had  fallen  off. 

Cranmer,  Ridley,  and  Latimer,  were  taken  to  Oxford  to 
dispute  with  a  commission  of  priests  and  doctors  about  the 
mass.  They  were  shamefully  treated  ;  and  it  is  reported 
that  the  Oxford  scholars  hissed  and  howled  and  groaned, 
and  misconducted  themselves  in  any  thing  but  a  scholarly 
way.  The  prisoners  were  taken  back  to  jail,  and  afterward 
tried  in  St.  Mary's  Church.  They  were  all  found  guilty. 
On  the  sixteenth  of  the  month  of  October,  Ridley  and 
Latimer  were  brought  out,  to  make  another  of  the  dreadful 
bonfires. 

The  scene  of  the  suffering  of  these  two  good  Protestant 
men  was  in  the  City  ditch,  near  Baliol  College.  On  coming 
to  the  dreadful  spot,  they  kissed  the  stakes,  and  then  em- 
braced each  other.  And  then  a  learned  doctor  got  up  into 
a  pulpit  which  was  placed  there,  and  preached  a  sermon  from 
the  text,  "  Though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have 
not  charity,  it  profiteth  me  nothing."  When  you  think  of 
the  charity  of  burning  men  alive,  you  may  imagine  that  this 
learned  doctor  had  a  rather  brazen  face.  Ridley  would  have 
answered  his  sermon  when  it  came  to  an  end,  but  was  not 
allowed.  When  Latimer  was  stripped,  it  appeared  that  he 
had  dressed  himself  under  his  other  clothes,  in  a  new  shroud ; 
and,  as  he  stood  in  it  before  all  the  people,  it  was  noted  of 
him,  and  long  remembered,  that,  whereas,  he  had  been  stoop- 
ing and  feeble  but  a  few  minutes  before,  he  now  stood  up- 
right and  handsome,  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  dying  for 
a  just  and  a  great  cause.  Ridley's  brother-in-law  was  there 
with  bags  of  gunpowder  ;  and  when  they  were  both  chained 
up,  he  tied  them  around  their  bodies.  Then,  a  light  was 
thrown  upon  the  pile  to  fire  it.  "  Be  of  good  comfort,  Mas- 
ter Ridley,"  said  Latimer,  at  that  awful  moment,  "  and  play 
the  man  !  We  shall  this  day  light  such  a  candle,  by  God's 
grace,  in  England,  as  I  trust  shall  never  be  put  out."  And 
then  he  was  seen  to  make  motions  with  his  hands  as  if  he 
were  washing  them  in  the  flames,  and  to  stroke  his  aged  face 
with  them,  and  was  heard  to  cry,  "  Father  of  Heaven,  re- 
ceive my  soul  !  "  He  died  quickly,  but  the  fire,  after  having 
burned  the  legs  of  Ridley,  sunk.     There  he  lingered,  chained 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         269 

to  the  iron  post,  and  crying,  "  O  !  I  cannot  burn  !  O  !  for 
Christ's  sake,  let  the  fire  come  unto  me  !  "  And  still,  when 
his  brother-in-law  had  heaped  on  more  wood,  he  was  heard 
through  the  blinding  smoke,  still  dismally  crying,  "  O  !  I 
cannot  burn,  I  cannot  burn  ! "  At  last,  the  gunpowder 
caught  fire  and  ended  his  miseries. 

Five  days  after  this  fearful  scene,  Gardiner  went  to  his 
tremendous  account  before  God,  for  the  cruelties  he  had  so 
much  assisted  in  committing. 

Cranmer  remained  still  alive  and  in  prison.  He  was 
brought  out  again  in  February,  for  more  examining  and  try- 
ing, by  Bonner,  Bishop  of  London  ;  another  man  of  blood, 
who  had  succeeded  to  Gardiner's  work,  even  in  his  lifetime, 
when  Gardiner  was  tired  of  it.  Cranmer  was  now  degraded 
as  a  priest,  and  left  for  death  ;  but  if  the  Queen  hated  any 
one  on  earth,  she  hated  him,  and  it  was  resolved  that  he 
should  be  ruined  and  disgraced  to  the  utmost.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  Queen  and  her  husband  personally  urged  on 
these  deeds,  because  they  wrote  to  the  Council,  urging  them 
to  be  active  in  the  kindling  of  the  fearful  fires.  As  Cranmer 
was  known  not  to  be  a  firm  man,  a  plan  was  laid  for  sur- 
rounding him  with  artful  people,  and  inducing  him  to  recant 
to  the  unreformed  religion.  Deans  and  friars  visited  him, 
played  at  bowls  with  him,  showed  him  various  attentions^ 
talked  persuasively  with  him,  gave  him  money  for  his  prison 
comforts,  and  induced  him  to  sign,  I  fear  as  many  as  six 
recantations.  But  when,  after  all,  he  was  taken  out  to  be 
burned,  he  was  nobly  true,to  his  better  self,  and  made  a  glo- 
rious end. 

After  prayers  and  a  sermon,  Dr.  Cole,  the  preacher  of  the 
day  (who  had  been  one  of  the  artful  priests  about^  Cranmer 
in  prison),  required  him  to  make  a  public  confession  of  his 
faith  before  the  people.  This  Cole  did,  expecting  that  he 
would  declare  himself  a  Roman  Catholic.  "  I  will  make  a 
profession  of  my  faith,"  said  Cranmer,  "  and  with  a  good 
will  too." 

Then,  he  arose  before  them  all,  and  took  from  the  sleeve  of 
his  robe  a  written  prayer  and  read  it  aloud.  That  done,  he 
kneeled  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  all  the  people  joining  ; 
and  then  he  arose  again  and  told  them  that  he  believed  in  the 
Bible,  and  that  in  what  he  had  lately  written,  he  had  written 
what  was  not  the  truth,  and  that,  because  his  right  hand  had 
signed  those  papers,  he  would  barn  his  right  hand  first  when 


270         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

he  came  to  the  fire.  As  for  the  Pope,  he  did  refuse  him  and 
denounce  him  as  the  enemy  of  Heaven.  Hereupon  the  pious 
Dr.  Cole  cried  out  to  the  guards  to  stop  that  heretic's  mouth 
and  take  him  away. 

So  they  took  him  away,  and  chained  him  to  the  stake, 
where  he  hastily  took  off  his  own  clothes  to  make  ready  for 
the  flames.  And  he  stood  before  the  people  with  a  bald  head 
and  a  white  and  flowing  beard.  He  was  so  firm  now,  when 
the  worst  was  come^  that  he  again  declared  against  his  re- 
cantation, and  was  so  impressive  and  so  undismayed,  that  a 
certain  lord,  who  was  one  of  the  directors  of  the  execution, 
called  out  to  the  men  to  make  haste  !  When  the  fire  was 
lighted,  Cranmer,  true  to  his  latest  word,  stretched  out  his 
right  hand,  and  crying  out,  "  This  hand  hath  offended  !  " 
held  it  among  the  flames,  until  it  blazed  and  burned  away. 
His  heart  was  found  entire  among  his  ashes,  and  he  left  at 
last  a  memorable  name  in  English  history.  Cardinal  Pole 
celebrated  the  day  by  saying  his  first  mass,  and  next  day  he 
was  made  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  in  Cranmer's  place. 

The  Queen's  husband,  who  was  now  mostly  abroad  in  his 
own  dominions,  and  generally  made  a  coarse  jest  of  her  to 
his  more  familiar  courtiers,  was  at  war  with  France,  and 
came  over  to  seek  the  assistance  of  England.  England  was 
very  unwilling  to  engage  in  a  French  war  for  his  sake  ;  but  it 
happened  that  the  King  of  France,  at  this  very  time,  aided 
a  descent  upon  the  English  coast.  Hence,  war  was  declared, 
greatly  to  Philip's  satisfaction;  and  the  Queen  raised  a  sum 
of  money  with  which  to  carry  it  on,  by  every  unjustifiable 
means  in  her  power.  It  met  with  no  profitable  return,  for 
the  French  Duke  of  Guise  surprised  Calais,  and  the  English 
sustained  a  complete  defeat.  The  losses  they  met  with  in 
France  greatly  mortified  the  national  pride,  and  the  Queen 
never  recovered  the  blow. 

There  was  a  bad  fever  raging  in  England  at  this  time,  and 
I  am  glad  to  write  that  the  Queen  took  it,  and  the  hour  of 
her  death  came.  "  When  I  am  dead  and  my  body  is  opened," 
she  said  to  those  around  her,  "  ye  shall  find  Calais  written 
on  my  heart."  I  should  have  thought,  if  any  thing  were 
written  on  it,  they  would  have  found  the  words — Jane  Grey, 
Hooper,  Rogers,  Ridley,  Latimer,  Cranmer,  and  three  hund- 
red people  burned  alive  within  four  years  of  my  wicked 
reign,  including  sixty  women  and  forty  little  children. 
But  it  is  enough  that  their  deaths  were  written  in  Heaven. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        271 

The  Queen  died  on  the  seventeenth  of  November,  fifteen 
hundred  and  fifty-eight,  after  reigning  not  quite  five  years  and 
a  half,  and  in  the  forty-fourth  year  of  her  age.  Cardinal 
Pole  died  of  the  same  fever  next  day. 

As  Bloody  Queen  Mary,  this  woman  has  become  famous, 
and  as  Bloody  Queen  Mary,  she  will  ever  be  justly  remem- 
bered with  horror  and  detestation  in  Great  Britain.  Her 
memory  has  been  held  in  such  abhorrence  that  some  writers 
have  arisen  in  later  years  to  take  her  part,  and  to  show  that 
she  was,  upon  the  whole,  quite  an  amiable  and  cheerful 
sovereign  !  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them,"  said  Our 
Saviour.  The  stake  and  the  fire  were  the  fruits  of  this  reign, 
and  you  will  judge  this  Queen  by  nothing  else. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    ELIZABETH. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  all  over  the  land  when  the  Lords 
of  the  Council  went  down  to  Hatfield,  to  hail  the  Princess 
Elizabeth  as  the  new  Queen  of  England.  Weary  of  the  bar- 
barities of  Mary's  reign,  the  people  looked  with  hope  and 
gladness  to  the  new  Sovereign.  The  nation  seemed  to  wake 
from  a  horrible  dream  ;  and  heaven,  so  long  hidden  by  the 
smoke  of  the  fires  that  roasted  men  and  women  to  death, 
appeared  to  brighten  once  more. 

Queen  Elizabeth  was  five-and-twenty  years  of  age  when 
she  rode  through  the  streets  of  London,  from  the  Tower  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  to  be  crowned.  Her  countenance  was 
strongly  marked,  but  on  the  whole,  commanding  and  digni- 
fied ;  her  hair  was  red,  and  her  nose  something  too  long  and 
sharp  for  a  woman's.  She  was  not  the  beautiful  creature  her 
courtiers  made  out  ;  but  she  was  well  enough,  and  no  doubt 
looked  all  the  better  for  coming  after  the  dark  and  gloomy 
Mary.  She  was  well  educated,  but  a  roundabout  writer,  and 
rather  a  hard  swearer  and  coarse  talker.  She  was  clever,  but 
cunning  and  deceitful,  and  inherited  much  of  her  father's 
violent  temper.  I  mention  this  now,  because  she  has  been 
so  overpraised  by  one  party,  and  so  over-abused  by  another, 
that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  understand  the  greater  part  of 
her  reign  without  first  understanding  what  kind  of  a  woman 
she  really  was. 


272        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

She  began  her  reign  with  the  great  advantage  of  having  a 
very  wise  and  careful  Minister,  Sir  William  Cecil,  whom 
she  afterward  made  Lord  Burleigh.  Altogether,  the  peo- 
ple had  greater  reason  for  rejoicing  than  they  usually  had, 
when  there  were  processions  in  the  streets  ;  and  they  were 
happy  with  some  reason.  All  kinds  of  shows  and  images 
were  set  up  ;  Gog  and  Magog  were  hoisted  to  the  top  of 
Temple  Bar  ;  and  (which  was  more  to  the  purpose)  the  Cor- 
poration dutifully  presented  the  young  Queen  with  the  sum 
of  a  thousand  marks  in  gold — so  heavy  a  present  that  she 
was  obliged  to  take  it  into  her  carriage  with  both  hands. 
The  coronation  was  a  great  success  ;  and,  on  the  next  day, 
one  of  the  courtiers  presented  a  petition  to  the  new  Queen, 
praying  that  as  it  was  the  custom  to  release  some  prisoners 
on  such  occasions,  she  would  have  the  goodness  to  release 
the  four  Evangelists,  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  and 
also  the  Apostle  St.  Paul,  who  had  been  for  some  time 
shut  up  in  a  strange  language  so  that  the  people  could  not 
get  at  them. 

To  this,  the  Queen  replied  that  it  would  be  better  first  to 
inquire  of  themselves  whether  they  desired  to  be  released  or 
not ;  and,  as  a  means  of  finding  out,  a  great  public  discussion 
— a  sort  of  religious  tournament — was  appointed  to  take 
place  between  certain  champions  of  the  two  religions,  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  You  may  suppose  that  it  was  soon 
made  pretty  clear  to  common  sense,  that  for  people  to  benefit 
by  what  they  repeat  or  read,  it  is  rather  necessary  they  should 
understand  something  about  it.  Accordingly,  a  Church  Serv- 
ice in  plain  English  was  settled,  and  other  laws  and  regula- 
tions were  made,  completely  establishing  the  great  work  of 
the  Reformation.  The  Romish  bishops  and  champions  were 
not  harshly  dealt  with,  all  things  considered  ;  and  the  Queen's 
Ministers  were  both  prudent  and  merciful. 

The  one  great  trouble  of  this  reign,  and  the  unfortunate 
cause  of  the  greater  part  of  such  turmoil  and  bloodshed  as 
occurred  in  it,  was  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots.  We  will 
try  to  understand,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  who  Mary 
was,  what  she  was,  and  how  she  came  to  be  a  thorn  in  the 
royal  pillow  of  Elizabeth. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  the  Queen  Regent  of  Scotland, 
Mary  of  Guise.  She  had  been  married,  when  a  mere  child, 
to  the  Dauphin,  the  son  and  heir  of  the  King  of  France. 
The  Pope,  who  pretended  that  no  one  could  rightfully  wear 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         273 

the  crown  of  England  without  his  gracious  permission,  was 
strongly  opposed  to  Elizabeth,  who  had  not  asked  for  the 
said  gracious  permission.  And  as  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
would  have  inherited  the  English  crown  in  right  of  her  birth, 
supposing  the  English  Parliament  not  to  have  altered  the 
succession,  the  Pope  himself,  and  most  of  the  discontented 
who  were  followers  of  his,  maintained  that  Mary  was  the 
rightful  Queen  of  England,  and  Elizabeth  the  wrongful 
Queen.  Mary  being  so  closely  connected  with  France,  and 
France  being  jealous  of  England,  there  was  far  greater  dan- 
ger in  this  than  there  would  have  been  if  she  had  had  no 
alliance  with  that  great  power.  And  when  her  young  hus- 
band, on  the  death  of  his  father,  became  Francis  the  Sec- 
ond, King  of  France,  the  matter  grew  very  serious.  For, 
the  young  couple  styled  themselves  King  and  Queen  of  En- 
gland, and  the  Pope  was  disposed  to  help  them  by  doing  all 
the  mischief  he  could. 

Now,  the  reformed  religion,  under  the  guidance  of  a  stern 
and  powerful  preacher,  named  John  Knox,  and  other  such 
men,  had  been  making  fierce  progress  in  Scotland.  It  was 
still  a  half  savage  country,  where  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
murdering  and  rioting  continually  going  on  ;  and  the  Reform- 
ers, instead  of  reforming  those  evils  as  they  should  have 
done,  went  to  work  in  the  ferocious  old  Scottish  spirit,  lay- 
ing churches  and  chapels  waste,  pulling  down  pictures  and 
altars,  and  knocking  about  the  Gray  Friars,  and  the  Black 
Friars,  and  the  White  Friars,  and  the  friars  of  all  sorts  of 
colors,  in  all  directions.  This  obdurate  and  harsh  spirit  of 
the  Scottish  Reformers  (the  Scotch  have  always  been  rather 
a  sullen  and  frowning  people  in  religious  matters)  put  up  the 
blood  of  the  Romish  French  court,  and  caused  France  to  send 
troops  over  to  Scotland,  with  the  hope  of  setting  the  friars  of 
all  sorts  and  colors  on  their  legs  again  ;  of  conquering  that 
country  first,  and  England  afterward  ;  and  so  crushing  the 
Reformation  all  to  pieces.  The  Scottish  Reformers,  who  had 
formed  a  great  league  which  they  called  The  Congregation  of 
the  Lord,  secretly  represented  to  Elizabeth  that,  if  the  re- 
formed religion  got  the  worst  of  it  with  them,  it  would  be 
likely  to  get  the  worst  of  it  in  England  too.  And  thus  Eliza- 
beth, though  she  had  a  high  notion  of  the  rights  of  Kings  and 
Queens  to  do  any  thing  they  liked,  sent  an  army  to  Scotland 
to  support  the  Reformers,  who  were  in  arms  against  their 
sovereign.     All  these  proceedings  led  to  a  treaty  of  peace 


£74        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

at  Edinburgh,  under  which  the  French  consented  to  depart 
from  the  kingdom.  By  a  separate  treaty,  Mary  and  her  young 
husband  engaged  to  renounce  their  assumed  title  of  King 
and  Queen  of  England.  But  this  treaty  they  never  ful- 
filled. 

It  happened,  soon  after  matters  had  got  to  this  state,  that 
the  young  French  King  died,  leaving  Mary  a  young  widow. 
She  was  then  invited  by  her  Scottish  subjects  to  return  home 
and  reign  over  them  ;  and  as  she  was  not  now  happy  where 
she  was,  she,  after  a  little  time,  complied. 

Elizabeth  had  been  Queen  three  years,  when  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots  embarked  at  Calais  for  her  own  rough  quarreling 
country.  As  she  came  out  of  the  harbor,  a  vessel  was  lost 
before  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  "  O  !  good  God  !  what  an 
omen  this  is  for  such  a  voyage  !  "  She  was  very  fond  of 
France,  and  sat  on  the  deck,  looking  back  at  it  and  weeping, 
until  it  was  quite  dark.  When  she  went  to  bed,  she  directed 
to  be  called  at  daybreak,  if  the  French  coast  were  still  visible, 
that  she  might  behold  it  for  the  last  time.  As  it  proved  to 
be  a  clear  morning,  this  was  done,  and  she  again  wept  for 
the  country  she  was  leaving,  and  said  many  times,  "  Fare- 
well, France  !  Farewell,  France  !  I  shall  never  see  thee 
again  !  "  All  this  was  long  remembered  aftenvard  as  sor- 
rowful and  interesting  in  a  fair  young  princess  of  nineteen. 
Indeed,  I  am  afraid  it  gradually  came,  together  with  her 
other  distresses,  to  surround  her  with  greater  sympathy  than 
she  deserved. 

When  she  came  to  Scotland  and  took  up  her  abode  at  the 
palace  of  Holyrood  in  Edinburgh,  she  found  herself  among 
uncouth  strangers  and  wild  uncomfortable  customs  very  dif- 
ferent from  her  experiences  in  the  Court  of  France.  The 
very  people  who  were  disposed  to  love  her,  made  her  head 
ache  when  she  was  tired  out  by  her  voyage,  with  a  serenade 
of  discordant  music — a  fearful  concert  of  bagpipes,  I  sup- 
pose— and  brought  her  and  her  train  home  to  her  palace  on 
miserable  little  Scotch  horses  that  appeared  to  be  half 
starved.  Among  the  people  who  were  not  disposed  to  love 
her,  she  found  the  powerful  leaders  of  the  Reformed  Church, 
who  were  bitter  upon  her  amusements,  however  innocent,  and 
denounced  music  and  dancing  as  works  of  the  devil.  John 
Knox  himself  often  lectured  her,  violently  and  angrily,  and 
did  much  to  make  her  life  unhappy.  All  these  reasons  con- 
firmed her  old  attachment  to  the  Romish  religion,  and  caused 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         275 

her,  there  is  no  doubt,  most  imprudently  and  dangerously 
both  for  herself  and  for  England  too,  to  give  a  solemn  pledge 
to  the  heads  of  the  Romish  Church  that  if  she  ever  succeeded 
to  the  English  crown,  she  would  set  up  that  religion  again. 
In  reading  her  unhappy  history,  you  must  always  remember 
this  ;  and  also  that  during  her  whole  life  she  was  constantly 
put  forward  against  the  Queen,  in  some  form  or  other,  by 
the  Romish  party. 

That  Elizabeth,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  inclined  to 
like  her,  is  pretty  certain.  Elizabeth  was  very  vain  and 
jealous,  and  had  an  extraordinary  dislike  to  people  being 
married.  She  treated  Lady  Catherine  Grey,  sister  of  the 
beheaded  Lady  Jane,  with  such  shameful  severity,  for  no 
other  reason  than  her  being  secretly  married,  that  she  died 
and  her  husband  was  ruined  ;  so,  when  a  second  marriage 
for  Mary  began  to  be  talked  about,  probably  Elizabeth  dis- 
liked her  more.  Not  that  Elizabeth  wanted  suitors  of  her 
own,  for  they  started  up  from  Spain,  Austria,  Sweden,  and 
England.  Her  English  lover  at  this  time,  and  one  whom  she 
much  favored  too,  was  Lord  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter— himself  secretly  married  to  Amy  Robsart,  the  daughter 
of  an  English  gentleman,  and  whom  he  was  strongly  sus- 
pected of  causing  to  be  murdered,  down  at  his  country  seat, 
Cumnor  Hall  in  Berkshire,  that  he  might  be  free  to  marry 
the  Queen.  Upon  this  story,  the  great  writer,  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  has  founded  one  of  his  best  romances.  But  if  Eliza- 
beth knew  how  to  lead  her  handsome  favorite  on,  for  her 
own  vanity  and  pleasure,  she  knew  how  to  stop  him  for  her 
own  pride  ;  and  his  love,  and  all  the  other  proposals,  came 
to  nothing.  The  Queen  always  declared  in  good  set  speech- 
es, that  she  would  never  be  married  at  all,  but  live  and  die 
a  Maiden  Queen.  It  was  a  very  pleasant  and  meritorious 
declaration  I  suppose  ;  but  it  has  been  puffed  and  trumpeted 
so  much,  that  I  am  rather  tired  of  it  myself. 

Divers  princes  proposed  to  marry  Mary,  but  the  English 
court  had  reasons  of  being  jealous  of  them  all,  and  even 
proposed  as  a  matter  of  policy  that  she  should  marry  that 
very  Earl  of  Leicester  who  had  aspired  to  be  the  husband  of 
Elizabeth.  At  last  Lord  Darnley,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Lennox, 
and  himself  descended  from  the  Royal  Family  of  Scotland, 
went  over  with  Elizabeth's  consent  to  try  his  fortune  at  Holy- 
rood.  He  was  a  tall  simpleton  ;  and  could  dance  and  play 
the  guitar  ;  but  I  know  of  nothing  else  he  could  do,  unless 


276        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

it  were  to  get  drunk,  and  eat  gluttonously,  and  make 
a  contemptible  spectacle  of  himself  in  many  mean  and 
vain  ways.  However,  he  gained  Mary's  heart,  not  dis- 
daining in  the  pursuit  of  his  object  to  ally  himself  with 
one  of  her  secretaries,  David  Rizzio,  who  had  great  in- 
fluence with  her.  He  soon  married  the  Queen.  This 
marriage  does  not  say  much  for  her,  but  what  followed 
will  presently  say  less. 

Mary's  brother,  the  Earl  of  Murray,  and  head  of  the 
Protestant  party  in  Scotland,  had  opposed  this  marriage, 
partly  on  religious  grounds,  and  partly  perhaps  from  person- 
al dislike  of  the  very  contemptible  bridegroom.  When  it 
had  taken  place,  through  Mary's  gaining  over  to  it  the  more 
powerful  of  the  lords  about  her,  she  banished  Murray  for 
his  pains  ;  and  when  he  and  some  other  nobles  rose  in  arms 
to  support  the  reformed  religion,  she  herself,  within  a  month 
of  her  wedding  day,  rode  against  them  in  armor  with  loaded 
pistols  in  her  saddle.  Driven  out  of  Scotland,  they  presented 
themselves  before  Elizabeth — who  called  them  traitors  in 
public,  and  assisted  them  in  private,  according  to  her 
crafty  nature. 

Mary  had  been  married  but  a  little  while,  when  she  began 
to  hate  her  husband,  who,  in  his  turn,  began  to  hate  that 
David  Rizzio,  with  whom  he  had  leagued  to  gain  her  favor, 
and  whom  he  now  believed  to  be  her  lover.  He  hated  Riz- 
zio to  that  extent,  that  he  made  a  compact  with  Lord  Ruth- 
ven  and  three  other  lords  to  get  rid  of  him  by  murder.  This 
wicked  agreement  they  made  in  solemn  secrecy  upon  the 
first  of  March,  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-six,  and  on  the 
night  of  Saturday  the  ninth,  the  conspirators  were  brought 
by  Darnley  up  a  private  staircase,  dark  and  steep,  into  a 
range  of  rooms  where  they  knew  that  Mary  was  sitting  at 
supper  with  her  sister,  Lady  Argyle,  and  this  doomed  man. 
When  they  went  into  the  room,  Darnley  took  the  Queen 
round  the  waist,  and  Lord  Ruthven,  who  had  risen  from  a 
bed  of  sickness  to  do  this  murder,  came  in,  gaunt  and 
ghastly,  leaning  on  two  men.  Rizzio  ran  behind  the  Queen 
for  shelter  and  protection.  "  Let  him  come  out  of  the 
room,"  said  Ruthven.  "  He  shall  not  leave  the  room,"  re- 
plied the  Queen  ;  "  I  read  his  danger  in  your  face,  and  it  is 
my  will  that  he  remain  here."  They  then  set  upon  him, 
struggled  with  him,  overturned  the  table,  dragged  him  out, 
and  killed  him  with  fifty-six  stabs.     When  the  Queen  heard 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        277 

that  he  was  dead,  she  said,  "  No  more  tears.  I  will  think 
now  of  revenge  !  " 

Within  a  day  or  two  she  gained  her  husband  over,  and 
prevailed  on  the  tall  idiot  to  abandon  the  conspirators  and 
fly  with  her  to  Dunbar.  There,  he  issued  a  proclamation, 
audaciously  and  falsely  denying  that  he  had  any  knowledge 
of  the  late  bloody  business  ;  and  there  they  were  joined  by 
the  Earl  Bothwell  and  some  other  nobles.  With  their  help, 
they  raised  eight  thousand  men,  returned  to  Edinburgh,  and 
drove  the  assassins  into  England.  Mary  soon  afterward 
gave  birth  to  a  son — still  thinking  of  revenge. 

That  she  should  have  had  a  greater  scorn  for  her  husband 
after  his  late  cowardice  and  treachery  than  she  had  had  before, 
was  natural  enough.  There  is  little  doubt  that  she  now  be- 
gan to  love  Bothwell  instead,  and  to  plan  with  him  means  of 
getting  rid  of -Darnley.  Bothwell  had  such  power  over  her 
that  he  induced  her  even  to  pardon  the  assassins  of  Rizzio. 
The  arrangements  for  the  christening  of  the  young  Prince 
were  intrusted  to  him,  and  he  was  one  of  the  most  import- 
ant people  at  the  ceremony,  where  the  child  was  named 
James  :  Elizabeth  being  his  godmother,  though  not  present 
on  the  occasion.  A  week  afterward,  Darnley,  who  had 
left  Mary  and  gone  to  his  father's  house  at  Glasgow,  being 
taken  ill  with  the  small- pox,  she  sent  her  own  physician  to 
attend  him.  But  there  is  reason  to  apprehend  that  this  was 
merely  a  show  and  a  pretense,  and  that  she  knew  what  was 
doing,  when  Bothwell  within  another  month  proposed  to  one 
of  the  late  conspirators  against  Rizzio,  to  murder  Darnley, 
"for  that  it  was  the  Queen's  mind  that  he  should  be  taken 
away."  It  is  certain  that  on  that  very  day  she  wrote  to  her 
ambassador  in  France,  complaining  of  him,  and  yet  went 
immediately  to  Glasgow,  feigning  to  be  very  anxious  about 
him,  and  to  love  him  very  much.  If  she  wanted  to  get  him 
in  her  power  she  succeeded  to  her  heart's  content ;  for  she 
induced  him  to  go  back  with  her  to  Edinburgh,  and  to  oc- 
cupy, instead  of  the  palace,  a  lone  house  outside  the  city 
called  the  Kirk  of  Field.  Here  he  lived  for  about  a  week. 
One  Sunday  night,  she  remained  with  him  until  ten  o'clock, 
and  then  left  him,  to  go  to  Holyrood  to  be  present  at  an 
entertainment  given  in  celebration  of  the  marriage  of  one  of 
her  favorite  servants.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
city  was  shaken  by  a  great  explosion,  and  the  Kirk  of  Field 
was  blown  to  atoms. 


27S        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Darnley's  body  was  found  next  day  lying  under  a  tree  at 
some  distance.  How  it  came  there,  undisfigured  and  un- 
scorched  by  gunpowder,  and  how  this  crime  came  to  be  so 
clumsily  and  strangely  committed,  it  is  impossible  to  dis- 
cover. The  deceitful  character  of  Mary,  and  the  deceitful 
character  of  Elizabeth,  have  rendered  almost  every  part  of 
their  joint  history  uncertain  and  obscure.  But,  I  fear  that 
Mary  was  unquestionably  a  party  to  her  husband's  murder, 
and  that  this  was  the  revenge  she  had  threatened.  The 
Scotch  people  universally  believed  it.  Voices  cried  out  in 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  for  justice 
on  the  murderess.  Placards  were  posted  by  unknown  hands 
in  the  public  places  denouncing  Bothwell  as  the  murderer, 
and  the  Queen  as  his  accomplice  ;  and,  when  he  afterwards 
married  her  (though  himself  already  married),  previously 
making  a  show  of  taking  her  prisoner  by  force,  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  people  knew  no  bounds.  The  women  particularly 
are  described  as  having  been  quite  frantic  against  the  Queen, 
and  to  have  hooted  and  cried  after  her  in  the  streets  with 
terrific  vehemence. 

Such  guilty  unions  seldom  prosper.  This  husband  and 
wife  had  lived  together  but  a  month,  when  they  were  sepa- 
rated forever  by  the  successes  of  a  band  of  Scotch  nobles 
who  associated  against  them  for  the  protection  of  the  young 
Prince  :  whom  Bothwell  had  vainly  endeavored  to  lay  hold 
of,  and  whom  he  would  certainly  have  murdered,  if  the  Earl 
of  Mar,  in  whose  hands  the  boy  was,  had  not  been  firmly  and 
honorably  faithful  to  his  trust.  Before  this  angry  power, 
Bothwell  fled  abroad,  where  he  died,  a  prisoner  and  mad, 
nine  miserable  years  afterward.  Mary  being  found  by  the 
associated  lords  to  deceive  them  at  every  turn,  was  sent  a 
prisoner  to  Lochleven  Castle  ;  which,  as  it  stood  in  the  midst 
of  a  lake,  could  only  be  approached  by  boat.  Here,  one 
Lord  Lindsay,  who  was  so  much  of  a  brute  that  the  nobles 
would  have  done  better  if  they  had  chosen  a  mere  gentleman 
for  their  messenger,  made  her  sign  her  abdication,  and  ap- 
point Murray,  Regent  of  Scotland.  Here,  too,  Murray  saw 
her  in  a  sorrowing  and  humbled  state. 

She  had  better  have  remained  in  the  castle  of  Lochleven, 
dull  prison  as  it  was,  with  the  rippling  of  the  lake  against  it, 
and  the  moving  shadows  of  the  water  on  the  room-walls  ;  but 
she  could  not  rest  there,  and  more  than  once  tried  to  escape. 
The  first  time  she  had  nearly  succeeded,  dressed  in  the  clothes 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         279 

of  her  own  washerwoman,  but,  putting  up  her  hand  to  pre- 
vent one  of  the  boatmen  from  lifting  her  veil,  the  men  sus- 
pected her,  seeing  how  white  it  was,  and  rowed  her  back 
again.  A  short  time  afterward,  her  fascinating  manners  en- 
listed in  her  cause  a  boy  in  the  Castle,  called  the  little  Doug- 
las, who,  while  the  family  were  at  supper,  stole  the  keys  of 
the  great  gate,  went  softly  out  with  the  Queen,  locked  the 
gate  on  the  outside,  and  rowed  her  away  across  the  lake, 
sinking  the  keys  as  they  went  along.  On  the  opposite  shore 
she  was  met  by  another  Douglas,  and  some  few  lords  ;  and, 
so  accompanied,  rode  away  on  horseback  to  Hamilton,  where 
they  raised  three  thousand  men.  Here,  she  issued  a  procla- 
mation declaring  that  the  abdication  she  had  signed  in  her 
prison  was  illegal,  and  requiring  the  Regent  to  yield  to  his 
lawful  Queen.  Being  a  steady  soldier,  and  in  no  way  dis- 
composed although  he  was  without  an  army,  Murray  pre- 
tended to  treat  with  her,  until  he  had  collected  a  force  about 
half  equal  to  her  own,  and  then  he  gave  her  battle.  In  one 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  cut  down  all  her  hopes.  She  had  an- 
other weary  ride  on  horseback  of  sixty  long  Scotch  miles, 
and  took  shelter  at  Dundrennan  Abbey,  whence  she  fled  for 
safety  to  Elizabeth's  dominions. 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots  came  to  England — to  her  own  ruin, 
the  trouble  of  the  kingdom,  and  the  misery  and  death  of  many 
— in  the  year  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  sixty-eight. 
How  she  left  it  and  the  world,  nineteen  years  afterward,  we 
have  now  to  see. 

Second  Part. 

When  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  arrived  in  England,  without 
money  and  even  without  any  other  clothes  than  those  she 
wore,  she  wrote  to  Elizabeth,  representing  herself  as  an  inno- 
cent and  injured  piece  of  Royalty,  and  entreating  her  assist- 
ance to  oblige  her  Scottish  subjects  to  take  her  back  again 
and  obey  her.  But,  as  her  character  was  already  known  in 
England  to  be  a  very  different  one  from  what  she  made  it  out 
to  be,  she  was  told  in  answer  that  she  must  first  clear  herself. 
Made  uneasy  by  this  condition,  Mary,  rather  than  stay  in 
England,  would  have  gone  to  Spain,  or  to  France,  or  would 
even  have  gone  back  to  Scotland.  But,  as  her  doing  either 
would  have  been  likely  to  trouble  England  afresh,  it  was 
decided  that  she  should  be  detained  here.     She  first  came  to 


28o        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Carlisle,  and,  after  that,  was  moved  about  from  castle  to 
castle,  as  was  considered  necessary  ;  but  England  she  never 
left  again. 

After  trying  very  hard  to  get  rid  of  the  necessity  of  clear- 
ing herself,  Mary,  advised  by  Lord  Herries,  her  best  friend 
in  England,  agreed  to  answer  the  charges  against  her,  if  the 
Scottish  noblemen  who  made  them  would  attend  to  maintain 
them  before  such  English  noblemen  as  Elizabeth  might  ap- 
point for  that  purpose.  Accordingly,  such  an  assembly, 
under  the  name  of  a  conference,  met,  first  at  York,  and  after- 
ward at  Hampton  Court.  In  its  presence  Lord  Lennox, 
Darnley's  father,  openly  charged  Mary  with  the  murder  of 
his  son  ;  and  whatever  Mary's  friends  may  now  say  or  write 
in  her  behalf,  there  is  no  doubt  that,  when  her  brother  Murray 
produced  against  her  a  casket  containing  certain  guilty  letters 
and  verses  which  he  stated  to  have  passed  between  her  and 
Bothwell,  she  withdrew  from  the  inquiry.  Consequently,  it 
is  to  be  supposed  that  she  was  then  considered  guilty  by  those 
who  had  the  best  opportunities  of  judging  of  the  truth,  and 
that  the  feeling  which  afterward  arose  in  her  behalf  was  a 
very  generous  but  not  a  very  reasonable  one. 

However,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  an  honorable  but  rather 
weak  nobleman,  partly  because  Mary  was  captivating,  partly 
because  he  was  ambitious,  partly  because  he  was  over-per- 
suaded by  artful  plotters  against  Elizabeth,  conceived  a  strong 
idea  that  he  would  like  to  marry  the  Queen  of  Scots — though 
he  was  a  little  frightened,  too,  by  the  letters  in  the  casket. 
This  idea  being  secretly  encouraged  by  some  of  the  noblemen 
of  Elizabeth's  court,  and  even  by  the  favorite  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter (because  it  was  objected  to  by  other  favorites  who  were  his 
rivals),  Mary  expressed  her  approval  of  it,  and  the  King  of 
France  and  the  King  of  Spain  are  supposed  to  have  done  the 
same.  It  was  not  so  quietly  planned,  though,  but  that  it 
came  to  Elizabeth's  ears,  who  warned  the  Duke  "  to  be  care- 
ful what  sort  of  pillow  he  was  going  to  lay  his  head  upon." 
He  made  an  humble  reply  at  the  time;  but  turned  sulky  soon 
afterward,  and,  being  considered  dangerous,  was  sent  to  the 
Tower. 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  Mary's  coming  to  England  she 
began  to  be  the  center  of  plots  and  miseries. 

A  rise  of  the  Catholics  in  the  north  was  the  next  of  these, 
and  it  was  only  checked  by  many  executions  and  much 
bloodshed.  It  was  followed  by  a  great  conspiracy  of  the  Pope 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         281 

and  some  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns  of  Europe  to  depose 
Elizabeth,  place  Mary  on  the  throne,  and  restore  the  uni- 
formed religion.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  doubt  that  Mary 
knew  and  approved  of  this  ;  and  the  Pope  himself  was  so  hot 
in  the  matter  that  he  issued  a  bull,  in  which  he  openly  called 
Elizabeth  the  "  pretended  Queen  "  of  England,  excommuni- 
cated her,  and  excommunicated  all  her  subjects  who  should 
continue  to  obey  her.  A  copy  of  this  miserable  paper  got 
into  London,  and  was  found  one  morning  publicly  posted  on 
the  Bishop  of  London's  gate.  A  great  hue  and  cry  being 
raised,  another  copy  was  found  in  the  chamber  of  a  student 
of  Lincoln's  Inn,  who  confessed,  being  put  upon  the 
rack,  that  he  had  received  it  from  one  John  Felton,  a 
rich  gentleman  who  lived  across  the  Thames,  near 
Southwark.  This  John  Felton,  being  put  upon  the 
rack  too,  confessed  that  he  had  posted  the  placard  on 
the  Bishop's  gate.  For  this  offense  he  was,  within  four 
days,  taken  to  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  there  hanged  and 
quartered.  As  to  the  Pope's  bull,  the  people  by  the  Refor- 
mation having  thrown  off  the  Pope,  did  not  care  much,  you 
may  suppose,  for  the  Pope's  throwing  off  them.  It  was  a 
mere  dirty  piece  of  paper,  and  not  half  so  powerful  as  a 
street  ballad. 

On  the  very  day  when  Felton  was  brought  to  his  trial,  the 
poor  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  released.  It  would  have  been 
well  for  him  had  he  kept  away  from  the  Tower  evermore,  and 
from  the  snares  that  had  taken  him  there.  But,  even  while 
he  was  in  that  dismal  place  he  corresponded  with  Mary,  and 
as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  it,  he  began  to  plot  again.  Being 
discovered  in  correspondence  with  the  Pope,  with  a  view  to  a 
rising  in  England  which  should  force  Elizabeth  to  consent 
to  his  marriage  with  Mary  and  to  repeal  the  laws  against  the 
Catholics,  he  was  recommitted  to  the  Tower  and  brought  to 
trial.  He  was  found  guilty  by  the  unanimous  verdict  of  the 
lords  who  tried  him,  and  was  sentenced  to  the  block. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  make  out,  at  this  distance  of  time, 
and  between  opposite  accounts,  whether  Elizabeth  really  was 
a  humane  woman,  or  desired  to  appear  so,  or  was  fearful  of 
shedding  the  blood  of  people  of  great  name  who  were  popu- 
lar in  the  country.  Twice  she  commanded  and  counter- 
manded the  execution  of  this  Duke,  and  it  did  not  take  place 
until  five  months  after  his  trial.  The  scaffold  was  erected 
pn  Tower  Hill,  and  there  he  died  like  a  brave  man.     He  re- 


282        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

fused  to  have  his  eyes  bandaged,  saying  that  he  was  not  at  all 
afraid  of  death  ;  and  he  admitted  the  justice  of  his  sentence, 
and  was  much  regretted  by  the  people. 

Although  Mary  had  shrunk  at  the  most  important  time 
*rom  disproving  her  guilt,  she  was  very  careful  never  to  do 
any  thing  that  would  admit  it.  All  such  proposals  as  were 
made  to  her  by  Elizabeth  for  her  release,  required  that  admis- 
sion in  some  form  or  other,  and  therefore  came  to  nothing. 
Moreover,  both  women  being  artful  and  treacherous,  and 
neither  ever  trusting  the  other,  it  was  not  likely  that  they 
could  ever  make  an  agreement.  So,  the  Parliament,  aggra- 
vated by  what  the  Pope  had  done,  made  new  and  strong  laws 
against  the  spreading  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  England, 
and  declared  it  treason  in  any  one  to  say  that  the  Queen  and 
her  successors  were  not  the  lawful  sovereigns  of  England. 
It  would  have  done  more  than  this,  but  for  Elizabeth's  mod- 
eration. 

Since  the  Reformation,  there  had  come  to  be  three  great 
sects  of  religious  people — or  people  who  called  themselves 
so — in  England  ;  that  is  to  say,  those  who  belonged  to  the 
Reformed  Church,  those  who  belonged  to  the  Unreformed 
Church,  and  those  who  were  called  the  Puritans,  because  they 
said  that  they  wanted  to  have  every  thing  very  pure  and  plain 
in  all  the  Church  service.  These  last  were  for  the  most  part 
an  uncomfortable  people,  who  thought  it  highly  meritorious 
to  dress  in  a  hideous  manner,  talk  through  their  noses,  and 
oppose  all  harmless  enjoyments.  But  they  were  powerful 
too,  and  very  much  in  earnest,  and  they  were  one  and  all  the 
determined  enemies  of  the  Queen  of  Scots.  The  Protestant 
feeling  in  England  was  further  strengthened  by  the  tremen- 
dous cruelties  to  which  Protestants  were  exposed  in  France 
and  in  the  Netherlands.  Scores  of  thousands  of  them  were 
put  to  death  in  those  countries  with  every  cruelty  that  can  be 
imagined,  and  at  last,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  and  seventy-two,  one  of  the  greatest  bar- 
barities ever  committed  in  the  world  took  place  at  Paris. 

It  is  called  in  history,  The  Massacre  of  Saint  Barthol- 
omew, because  it  took  place  on  St.  Bartholomew's  Eve. 
The  day  fell  on  Saturday  the  twenty-third  of  August.  On  that 
day  all  the  great  leaders  of  the  Protestants  (who  were  there 
called  Huguenots)  were  assembled  together,  for  the  purpose, 
as  was  represented  to  them,  of  doing  honor  to  the  marriage 
of  their  chief,  the  young  King  of  Navarre,  with  the  sister  of 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         283 

Charles  the  Ninth :  a  miserable  young  King  who  then- 
occupied  the  French  throne.  This  dull  creature  was  made 
to  believe  by  his  mother  and  other  fierce  Catholics  about  him 
that  the  Huguenots  meant  to  take  his  life  ;  and  he  was  per- 
suaded to  give  secret  orders  that,  on  the  tolling  of  a  great 
bell,  they  should  be  fallen  upon  by  an  overpowering  force  of 
armed  men,  and  slaughtered  wherever  they  could  be  found. 
When  the  appointed  hour  was  close  at  hand,  the  stupid 
wretch,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  was  Aiken  into  a  balcony 
by  his  mother  to  see  the  atrocious  work  begun.  The  moment 
the  bell  tolled,  the  murderers  broke  forth.  During  all  that 
night  and  the  two  next  days,  they  broke  into  the  houses, 
fired  the  houses,  shot  and  stabbed  the  Protestants,  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  flung  their  bodies  into  the  streets. 
They  were  shot  at  in  the  streets  as  they  passed  along,  and 
their  blood  ran  down  the  gutters.  Upward  of  ten  thousand 
Protestants  were  killed  in  Paris  alone  ;  in  all  France  four  or 
five  times  that  number.  To  return  thanks  to  Heaven  for 
these  diabolical  murders,  the  Pope  and  his  train  actually 
went  in  public  procession  at  Rome,  and  as  if  this  were  not 
shame  enough  for  them,  they  had  a  medal  struck  to  com- 
memorate the  event.  But,  however  comfortable  the  whole- 
sale murders  were  to  these  high  authorities,  they  had  not  that 
soothing  effect  upon  the  doll-King.  I  am  happy  to  state  that 
he  never  knew  a  moment's  peace  afterward  ;  that  he  was 
continually  crying  out  that  he  saw  the  Huguenots  covered 
with  blood  and  wounds  falling  dead  before  him  ;  and  that  he 
died  within  a  year,  shrieking  and  yelling  and  raving  to  that 
degree,  that  if  all  the  Popes  who  had  ever  lived  had  been 
rolled  into  one,  they  would  not  have  afforded  His  guilty 
Majesty  the  slightest  consolation. 

When  the  terrible  news  of  the  massacre  arrived  in  En- 
gland, it  made  a  powerful  impression  indeed  upon  the  people. 
If  they  began  to  run  a  little  wild  against  the  Catholics  at 
about  this  time,  this  fearful  reason  for  it,  coming  so  soon 
after  the  days  of  bloody  Queen  Mary,  must  be  remembered 
in  their  excuse.  The  Court  was  not  quite  so  honest  as  the 
people — but  perhaps  it  sometimes  is  not.  It  received  the 
French  ambassador,  with  all  the  lords  and  ladies  dressed  in 
deep  mourning,  and  keeping  a  profound  silence.  Never- 
theless, a  proposal  of  marriage  which  he  had  made  to  Eliza- 
beth only  two  days  before  the  eve  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  on 
behalf  of  the  Duke  of  Alencon,  the  French  King's  brother, 


284        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

a  boy  of  seventeen,  still  went  on  ;  while  on  the  other  hand, 
in  her  usual  crafty  way,  the  Queen  secretly  supplied  the 
Huguenots  with  money  and  weapons. 

I  must  say  that  for  a  Queen  who  made  all  those  fine 
speeches,  of  which  I  have  confessed  myself  to  be  rather  tired, 
about  living  and  dying  a  Maiden  Queen,  Elizabeth  was 
"  going  "  to  be  married  pretty  often.  Besides  always  having 
some  English  favorite  or  other  whom  she  by  turns  encour- 
aged and  swore  at  and  knocked  about — for  the  maiden  Queen 
was  very  free  with  her  fists — she  held  this  French  Duke  off 
and  on  through  several  years.  When  he  at  last  came  over 
to  England,  the  marriage  articles  were  actually  drawn  up, 
and  it  was  settled  that  the  wedding  should  take  place  in  six 
weeks.  The  Queen  was  then  so  bent  upon  it,  that  she 
prosecuted  a  Puritan  named  Stubbs,  and  a  poor  bookseller 
named  Page,  for  writing  and  publishing  a  pamphlet  against 
it.  Their  right  hands  were  chopped  off  for  this  crime  ;  and 
poor  Stubbs — more  loyal  than  I  should  have  been  myself 
under  the  circumstances — immediately  pulled  off  his  hat 
with  his  left  hand,  and  cried,  "  God  save  the  Queen  ! " 
Stubbs  was  cruelly  treated  ;  for  the  marriage  never  took 
place  after  all,  though  the  Queen  pledged  herself  to  the 
Duke  with  a  ring  from  her  own  finger.  He  went  away  no 
better  than  he  came,  when  the  courtship  had  lasted  some  ten 
years  altogether  ;  and  he  died  a  couple  of  years  afterward, 
mourned  by  Elizabeth,  who  appears  to  have  been  really  fond 
of  him.  It  is  not  much  to  her  credit,  for  he  was  a  bad 
enough  member  of  a  bad  family. 

To  return  to  the  Catholics.  There  arose  two  orders  of 
priests  who  were  very  busy  in  England,  and  who  were  much 
dreaded.  These  were  the  Jesuits  (who- were  every  where  in 
all  sorts  of  disguises),  and  the  Seminary  Priests.  The 
people  had  a  great  horror  of  the  first,  because  they  were 
known  to  have  taught  that  murder  was  lawful  if  it  were  done 
with  an  object  of  which  they  approved  ;  and  they  had  a  great 
horror  of  the  second,  because  they  came  to  teach  the  old 
religion,  and  to  be  the  successors  of  "  Queen  Mary's  priests," 
as  those  yet  lingering  in  England  were  called,  when  they 
should  die  out.  The  severest  laws  were  made  against  them, 
and  were  most  unmercifully  executed.  Those  who  sheltered 
them  in  their  houses  often  suffered  heavily  for  what  was  an 
act  of  humanity  ;  and  the  rack,  that  cruel  torture  which  tore 
men's  limbs  asunder,  was  constantly  kept  going.  What  these 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        285 

unhappy  men  confessed  or  what  was  ever  confessed 
by  any  one  under  that  agony,  must  always  be  received  with 
great  doubt,  as  it  is  certain  that  people  have  frequently 
owned  to  the  most  absurd  and  impossible  crimes  to  escape 
such  dreadful  suffering.  But  I  cannot  doubt  it  to  have  been 
proved  by  papers,  that  there  were  many  plots,  both  among 
the  Jesuits,  and  with  France,  and  with  Scotland,  and  with 
Spain,  for  the  destruction  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  the  plac- 
ing of  Mary  on  the  throne,  and  for  the  revival  of  the  old 
religion. 

If  the  English  people  were  too  ready  to  believe  in  plots, 
there  were,  as  I  have  said,  good  reasons  for  it.  When  the 
massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew  was  yet  fresh  in  their  recol- 
lection, a  great  Protestant  Dutch  hero,  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
was  shot  by  an  assassin,  who  confessed  that  he  had  been 
kept  and  trained  for  the  purpose  in  a  college  of  Jesuits.  The 
Dutch,  in  this  surprise  and  distress,  offered  to  make  Eliza- 
beth their  sovereign,  but  she  declined  the  honor,  and  sent 
them  a  small  army  instead,  under  the  command  of  the  Earl 
of  Leicester,  who,  although  a  capital  court  favorite,  was  not 
much  of  a  general.  He  did  so  little  in  Holland,  that  his 
campaign  there  would  probably  have  been  forgotten,  but  for 
its  occasioning  the  death  of  one  of  the  best  writers,  the  best 
knights,  and  the  best  gentlemen  of  that  or  any  age.  This 
was  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  was  wounded  by  a  musket  ball 
in  the  thigh  as  he  mounted  a  fresh  horse,  after  having  had 
his  own  killed  under  him.  He  had  to  ride  back  wounded,  a 
long  distance,  and  was  very  faint  with  fatigue  and  loss  of 
blood,  when  some  water,  for  which  he  had  eagerly  asked, 
was  handed  to  him.  But  he  was  so  good  and  gentle  even  then, 
that  seeing  a  poor  badly  wounded  common  soldier  lying  on 
the  ground,  looking  at  the  water  with  longing  eyes,  he  said, 
"  Thy  necessity  is  greater  than  mine,"  and  gave  it  up  to 
him.  This  touching  action  of  a  noble  heart  is  perhaps  as  well 
known  as  any  incident  in  history — is  as  famous  far  and  wide 
as  the  blood-stained  Tower  of  London,  with  its  ax,  and 
block,  and  murders  out  of  number.  So  delightful  is  an  act 
of  true  humanity,  and  so  glad  are  mankind  to  remember  it. 

At  home,  intelligence  of  plots  began  to  thicken  every  day. 
I  suppose  the  people  never  did  live  under  such  continual 
terrors  as  those  by  which  they  were  possessed  now,  of  Cath- 
olic risings,  and  burnings,  and  poisonings,  and  I  don't 
know  what.     Still,  we  must  always  remember  that  they  lived 


286        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

near  and  close  to  awful  realities  of  that  kind,  and  that  with 
their  experience  it  was  not  difficult  to  believe  in  any  enor- 
mity. The  government  had  the  same  fear,  and  did  not  take 
the_  best  means  of  discovering  the  truth — for,  besides  tor- 
turing the  suspected,  it  employed  paid  spies,  who  will  al- 
ways lie  for  their  own  profit.  It  even  made  some  of  the 
conspiracies  it  brought  to  light,  by  sending  false  letters  to 
disaffected  people,  inviting  them  to  join  in  pretended  plots, 
which  they  too  readily  did. 

But,  one  great  real  plot  was  at  length  discovered,  and  it 
ended  the  career  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  A  seminary 
priest  named  Ballard,  and  a  Spanish  soldier  named  Savage, 
set  on  and  encouraged  by  certain  French  priests,  imparted 
a  design  to  one  Antony  Babington — a  gentleman  of  for- 
tune in  Derbyshire,  who  had  been  for  some  time  a  secret 
agent  of  Mary's — for  murdering  the  Queen.  Babington 
then  confided  the  scheme  to  some  other  Catholic  gentlemen 
who  were  his  friends,  and  they  joined  in  it  heartily.  They 
were  vain  weak-headed  young  men,  ridiculously  confident, 
and  preposterously  proud  of  their  plan ;  for  they  got  a  gim- 
crack  painting  made,  of  the  six  choice  spirits  who  were  to 
murder  Elizabeth,  with  Babington  in  an  attitude  for  the  cen- 
ter figure.  Two  of  their  number,  however,  one  of  whom 
was  a  priest,  kept  Elizabeth's  wisest  minister,  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham,  acquainted  with  the  whole  project  from  the 
first.  The  conspirators  were  completely  deceived  to  the 
final  point,  when  Babington  gave  Savage,  because  he  was 
shabby,  a  ring  from  his  finger,  and  some  money  from  his 
purse,  wherewith  to  buy  himself  new  clothes  in  which  to  kill 
the  Queen.  Walsingham,  having  the  full  evidence  against 
the  whole  band,  and  two  letters  of  Mary's  besides,  resolved 
to  seize  them.  Suspecting  something  wrong,  they  stole  out 
of  the  city  one  by  one,  and  hid  themselves  in  St.  John's 
Wood,  and  other  places,  which  really  were  hiding  places 
then  ;  but  they  were  all  taken  and  all  executed.  When 
they  were  seized,  a  gentleman  was  sent  from  Court  to  in- 
form Mary  of  the  fact,  and  of  her  being  involved  in  the 
discovery.  Her  friends  have  complained  that  she  was  kept 
in  very  hard  and  severe  custody.  It  does  not  appear  very 
likely,  for  she  was  going  out  hunting  that  very  morning. 

Queen  Elizabeth  had  been  warned  long  ago,  by  one  in 
France  who  had  good  information  of  what  was  secretly  do- 
ing, that  in  holding  Mary  alive,    she  held  "the  wolf  who 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        287 

would  devour  her."  The  Bishop  of  London  had,  more 
lately,  given  the  Queen's  favorite  minister  the  advice  in 
writing,  "forthwith  to  cut  off  the  Scottish  Queen's  head." 
The  question  now  was,  what  to  do  with  her  ?  The  Earl  of 
Leicester  wrote  a  little  note  home  from  Holland,  recommend- 
ing that  she  should  be  quietly  poisoned  ;  that  noble  favor- 
ite having  accustomed  his  mind,  it  is  possible,  to  remedies 
of  that  nature.  His  black  advice,  however,  was  disregarded, 
and  she  was  brought  to  trial  at  Fotheringay  Gastle  in  North- 
amptonshire, before  a  tribunal  of  forty,  composed  of  both 
religions.  There,  and  in  the  Star  Chamber  at  Westminster, 
the  trial  lasted  a  fortnight.  She  defended  herself  with  great 
ability,  but  could  only  deny  the  confessions  that  had  been 
made  by  Babington  and  others  ;  could  only  call  her  own  let- 
ters, produced  against  her  by  her  own  secretaries,  forgeries; 
and,  in  short,  could  only  deny  every  thing.  She  was  found 
guilty,  and  declared  to  have  incurred  the  penalty  of  death. 
The  Parliament  met,  approved  the  sentence,  and  prayed  the 
Queen  to  have  it  executed.  The  Queen  replied  that  she 
requested  them  to  consider  whether  no  means  could  be  found 
of  saving  Mary's  life  without  endangering  her  own.  The 
Parliament  rejoined,  No  ;  and  the  citizens  illuminated  their 
houses  and  lighted  bonfires,  in  token  of  their  joy  that  all 
these  plots  and  troubles  were  to  be  ended  by  the  death  of 
the  Queen  of  Scots. 

She,  feeling  sure  that  her  time  was  now  come,  wrote  a  let- 
ter to  the  Queen  of  England,  making  three  entreaties  ;  first, 
that  she  might  be  buried  in  France  ;  secondly,  that  she  might 
not  be  executed  in  secret,  bat  before  her  servants  and  some 
others  ;  thirdly,  that  after  her  death,  her  servants  should  not 
be  molested,  but  should  be  suffered  to  go  home  with  the  leg- 
acies she  left  them.  It  was  an  affecting  letter,  and  Elizabeth 
shed  tears  over  it,  but  sent  no  answer.  Then  came  a  special 
ambassador  from  France,  and  another  from  Scotland,  to  in- 
tercede for  Mary's  life  ;  and  then  the  nation  began  to  clamor, 
more  and  more,  for  her  death. 

What  the  real  feelings  or  intentions  of  Elizabeth  were,  can 
never  be  known  now  ;  but  I  strongly  suspect  her  of  only 
wishing  one  thing  more  than  Mary's  death,  and  that  was  to 
keep  free  of  the  blame  of  it.  On  the  first  of  February,  one 
thousand  five  hundred  and  eighty-seven,  Lord  Burleigh  hav- 
ing drawn  out  the  warrant  for  the  execution,  the  Queen 
sent  to  the  secretary  Davison  to  bring  it  to  her,  that  she  might 


288        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

sign  it  :  which  she  did.  Next  day,  when  Davison  told  her 
it  was  sealed,  she  angrily  asked  him  why  such  haste  was 
necessary  !  Next  day  but  one,  she  joked  about  it,  and  swore 
a  little.  Again,  next  day  but  one,  she  seemed  to  complain 
that  it  was  not  yet  done,  but  still-  she  would  not  be  plain 
with  those  about  her.  So,  on  the  seventh,  the  Earls  of  Kent 
and  Shrewsbury,  with  the  Sheriff  of  Northamptonshire,  came 
with  the  warrant  to  Fotheringay,  to  tell  the  Queen  of  Scots 
to  prepare  for  death. 

When  those  messengers  of  ill  omen  were  gone,  Mary  made 
a  frugal  supper,  drank  to  her  servants,  read  over  her  will, 
went  to  bed,  slept  for  some  hours,  and  then  arose  and  passed 
the  remainder  of  the  night  saying  prayers.  In  the  morning 
she  dressed  herself  in  her  best  clothes :  and,  at  eight 
o'clock,  when  the  sheriff  came  for  her  to  her  chapel,  took 
leave  of  her  servants  who  were  there  assembled  praying  with 
her,  and  went  down  stairs,  carrying  a  Bible  in  one  hand  and 
a  crucifix  in  the  other.  Two  of  her  women  and  four  of  her 
men  were  allowed  to  be  present  in  the  hall  ;  where  a  low 
scaffold,  only  two  feet  from  the  ground,  was  erected  and 
covered  with  black  :  and  where  the  executioner  from  the 
Tower,  and  his  assistant,  stood,  dressed  in  black  velvet.  The 
hall  was  full  of  people.  While  the  sentence  was  being  read 
she  sat  upon  a  stool ;  and,  when  it  was  finished,  she  again 
denied  her  guilt,  as  she  had  done  before.  The  Earl  of  Kent 
and  the  Dean  of  Peterborough,  in  their  Protestant  zeal,  made 
some  very  unnecessary  speeches  to  her  :  to  which  she  re- 
plied that  she  died  in  the  Catholic  religion,  and  they  need 
not  trouble  themselves  about  that  matter.  When  her  head 
and  neck  were  uncovered  by  the  executioners,  she  said  that 
she  had  not  been  used  to  be  undressed  by  such  hands,  or 
before  so  much  company.  Finally,  one  of  her  women  fas- 
tened a  cloth  over  her  face,  and  she  laid  her  neck  upon  the 
block,  and  repeated  more  than  once  in  Latin,  "  Into  thy 
hands,  O  Lord,  I  commend  my  spirit  !  "  Some  say  her  head 
was  struck  off  in  two  blows,  some  say  in  three.  However 
that  be,  when  it  was  held  up,  streaming  with  blood,  the  real 
hair  beneath  the  false  hair  she  had  long  worn  was  seen  to  be 
as  gray  as  that  of  a  woman  of  seventy,  though  she  was  at 
that  time  only  in  her  forty-sixth  year.  All  her  beauty  was 
gone. 

But  she  was  beautiful  enough  to  her  little  dog,  who  cow- 
ered under  her  dress,  frightened,  when  she  went  upon  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         289 

scaffold,  and  who  lay  down  beside  her  headless  body  when 
all  earthly  sorrows  were  over. 

Third  Part. 

On  its  being  formally  made  known  to  Elizabeth  that  the 
sentence  had  been  executed  on  the  Queen  of  Scots,  she 
showed  the  utmost  grief  and  rage,  drove  her  favorites  from 
her  with  violent  indignation,  and  sent  Davison  to  the  Tower  ; 
from  which  place  he  was  only  released  in  the  end  by  paying 
an  immense  fine  which  completely  ruined  him.  Elizabeth 
not  only  overacted  her  part  in  making  these  pretenses,  but 
most  basely  reduced  to  poverty  one  of  her  faithful  servants 
for  no  other  fault  than  obeying  her  commands. 

James,  King  of  Scotland,  Mary's  son,  made  a  show  like- 
wise of  being  very  angry  on  the  occasion  ;  but  he  was  a  pen- 
sioner of  England  to  the  amount  of  five  thousand  pounds  a 
year,  and  he  had  known  very  little  of  his  mother,  and  he 
possibly  regarded  her  as  the  murderer  of  his  father,  and  he 
soon  took  it  quietly. 

Philip,  King  of  Spain,  however,  threatened  to  do  greater 
things  than  ever  had  been  done  yet,  to  set  up  the  Catholic 
religion  and  punish  Protestant  England.  Elizabeth,  hearing 
that  he  and  the  Prince  of  Parma  were  making  great  prepara- 
tions for  this  purpose,  in  order  to  be  beforehand  with  them 
sent  out  Admiral  Drake  (a  famous  navigator,  who  had  sailed 
about  the  world,  and  had  already  brought  great  plunder 
from  Spain)  to  the  port  of  Cadiz,  where  he  burned  a  hundred 
vessels  full  of  stores.  This  great  loss  obliged  the  Spaniards 
to  put  off  the  invasion  for  a  year  ;  but  it  was  .none  the  less 
formidable  for  that,  amounting  to  one  hundred  and  thirty 
ships,  nineteen  thousand  soldiers,  eight  thousand  sailors. 
two  thousand  slaves,  and  between  two  and  three  thousand 
great  guns.  England  was  not  idle  in  making  ready  to  resist 
this  great  force.  All  the  men  between  sixteen  years  old  and 
sixty,  were  trained  and  drilled  ;  the  national  fleet  of  ships 
(in  number  only  thirty-four  at  first)  was  enlarged  by  public 
contributions  and  by  private  ships,  fitted  out  by  noblemen  ; 
the  city  of  London,  of  its  own  accord,  furnished  double  the 
number  of  ships  and  men  that  it  was  required  to  provide  ; 
and,  if  ever  the  national  spirit  was  up  in  England,  it  was  up 
all  through  the  country  to  resist  the  Spaniards.  Some  of 
the  Queen's  advisers  were  for  seizing  the  principal  English 


s9o       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Catholics,  and  putting  them  to  death  ;  but  the  Queen — who 
to  her  honor,  used  to  say  that  she  would  never  believe  any 
ill  of  her  subjects,  which  a  parent  would  not  believe  of  her 
own  children — rejected  the  advice,  and  only  confined  a  few 
of  those  who  were  the  most  suspected,  in  the  fens  of  Lincoln- 
shire. The  great  body  of  Catholics  deserved  this  confi 
dence  ;  for  they  behaved  most  loyally,  nobly,  and  bravely. 

So,  with  all  England  firing  up  like  one  strong  angry  ma  . 
and  with  both  sides  of  the  Thames  fortified,  and  with  tne 
soldiers  under  arms,  and  with  the  sailors  in  their  ships,  the 
country  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  proud  Spanish  fleet, 
which  was  called  The  Invincible  Armada.  The  Queen  her- 
self, riding  in  armor  on  a  white  horse,  and  the  Earl  of  Es- 
sex, and  the  Earl  of  Leicester  holding  her  bridle  rein,  mado 
a  brave  speech  to  the  troops  at  Tilbury  Fort  opposite  Graves- 
end,  which  was  received  with  such  enthusiasm  as  is  seldom 
known.  Then  came  the  Spanish  Armada  into  the  English 
Channel,  sailing  along  in  the  form  of  a  half  moo;.,  of  such 
great  size  that  it  was  seven  miles  broad.  Bit  the  Eng'ish 
were  quickly  upon  it,  and  woe  then  to  all  the  Spanish  ships 
that  dropped  a  little  out  of  the  half  moon,  for  the  English 
took  them  instantly  !  And  it  soon  appeared  thnt  the  great 
Armada  was  anything  but  invincible,  for  on  a  summer  night, 
bold  Drake  sent  eight  blazing  fire-ships  right  mto  the  midst 
of  it.  In  terrible  consternation  the  Spaniards  tried  to  get 
out  to  sea,  and  so  became  dispersed  ;  the  English  pursued 
them  at  a  great  advantage  ;  a  storm  came  on,  and  drove  the 
Spaniards  among  rocks  and  shoals  ;  and  the  swift  end  of  the 
Invincible  fleet  was,  that  it  lost  thirty  great  ships  and  ten 
thousand  men,  and,  defeated  and  disgraced,  sailed  home 
again.  Being  afraid  to  go  by  the  English  Channel,  it  sailed 
all  around  Scotland  and  Ireland  ;  some  of  the  ships  getting 
cast  away  on  the  latter  coast  in  bad  weather,  the  Irish,  who 
were  a  kind  of  savages,  plundered  those  vessels  and  killed 
their  crews.  So  ended  this  great  attempt  to  invade  and  con- 
quer England.  And  I  think  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  any 
other  invincible  fleet  coming  to  England  with  the  same  ob- 
ject, will  fare  much  better  than  the  Spanish  Armada. 

Though  the  Spanish  king  had  had  this  bitter  taste  of  En- 
glish bravery,  he  was  so  little  the  wiser  for  it,  as  still  to  enter- 
tain his  old  designs,  and  even  to  conceive  the  absurd  idea  of 
placing  his  daughter  on  the  English  throne.  But  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Sir  Thomas  Howard,  and  some 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        i$t 

Other  distinguished  leaders,  put  to  sea  from  Plymouth,  en- 
tered the  port  of  Cadiz  once  more,  obtained  a  complete  vic- 
tory over  the  shipping  assembled  there,  and  got  possession  of 
the  town.  In  obedience  to  the  Queen's  express  instructions, 
they  behaved  with  great  humanity  ;  and  the  principal  loss 
of  the  Spaniards  was  a  vast  sum  of  money  which  they  had 
to  pay  for  ransom.  This  was  one  of  many  gallant  achieve- 
ments on  the  sea,  effected  in  this  reign.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
himself,  after  marrying  a  maid  of  honor  and  giving  offense 
to  the  Maiden  Queen  thereby,  had  already  sailed  to  South 
America  in  search  of  gold. 

The  Earl  of  Leicester  was  now  dead,  and  so  was  Sir  Thom- 
as Walsingham,  whom  Lord  Burleigh  was  soon  to  follow. 
The  principal  favorite  was  the  Earl  of  Essex,  a  spirited  and 
handsome  man,  a  favorite  with  the  people  too  as  well  as  with 
the  Queen,  and  possessed  of  many  admirable  qualities.  It 
was  much  debated  at  Court  whether  there  should  be  peace 
with  Spam  or  no,  and  he  was  very  urgent  for  war.  He  also 
tried  hard  to  have  his  own  way  in  the  appointment  of  a  dep- 
uty to  govern  in  Ireland.  One  day,  while  this  question  was 
in  dispute,  he  hastily  took  offense,  and  turned  his  back  upon 
the  Queen  ;  as  a  gentle  reminder  of  which  impropriety,  the 
Queen  gave  him  a  tremendous  box  on  the  ear,  and  told  him 
to  go  to  the  devil.  He  went  home  instead,  and  did  not  re- 
appear at  the  Court  for  half  a  year  or  so  when  he  and  the 
Queen  were  reconciled,  though  never  (as  some  suppose) 
thoroughly. 

From  this  time  the  fate  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  and  that  of 
the  Queen  seemed  to  be  blended  together.  The  Irish  were 
Still  perpetually  quarreling  and  fighting  among  themselves, 
and  he  went  over  to  Ireland  as  Lord  Lieutenant,  to  the  great 
joy  of  his  enemies  (Sir  Walter  Raleigh  among  the  rest),  who 
were  glad  to  have  so  dangerous  a  rival  far  off.  Not  being 
by  any  means  successful  there,  and  knowing  that  his 
enemies  would  take  advantage  of  that  circumstance  to  in- 
jure him  with  the  Queen,  he  came  home  again,  though 
against  her  orders.  The  Queen  being  taken  by  surprise 
when  he  appeared  before  her,  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss, 
and  he  was  overjoyed — though  it  was  not  a  very  lovely  hand 
by  this  time — but  in  the  course  of  the  same  day  she  ordered 
him  to  confine  himself  to  his  room,  and  two  or  three  days 
afterward  had  him  taken  into  custody.  With  the  same  sort 
of  caprice — and  as  capricious  an  old  woman  she  now  was,  as 


&92        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ever  wore  a  crown  or  a  head  either — she  sent  him  broth 
from  her  own  table  on  his  falling  ill  from  anxiety,  and  cried 
about  him. 

He  was  a  man  who  could  find  comfort  and  occupation  in 
his  books,  and  he  did  so  for  a  time  ;  not  the  least  happy- 
time,  I  dare  say,  of  his  life.  But  it  happened  unfortunately 
for  him  that  he  held  a  monopoly  in  sweet  wines  :  which 
means  that  nobody  could  sell  them  without  purchasing  his 
permission.  This  right,  which  was  only  for  a  term,  expir- 
ing, he  applied  to  have  it  renewed.  The  Queen  refused, 
with  the  rather  strong  observation — but  she  did  make 
strong  observations — that  an  unruly  beast  must  be  stinted  in 
his  food.  Upon  this,  the  angry  Earl,  who  had  been  already 
deprived  of  many  offices,  tnought  himself  in  danger  of  com- 
plete ruin,  and  turned  against  the  Queen,  whom  he  called  a 
vain  old  woman  who  had  grown  as  crooked  in  her  mind  as 
she  had  in  her  figure.  These  uncomplimentary  expressions 
the  ladies  of  the  Court  immediately  snapped  up  and  carried 
to  the  Queen,  whom  they  did  not  put  in  a  better  temper, 
you  may  believe.  The  same  Court  ladies,  when  they  had 
beautiful  dark  hair  of  their  own,  used  to  wear  false  red 
hair,  to  be  like  the  Queen.  So  they  were  not  very  high- 
spirited  ladies,  however  high  in  rank. 

The  worst  object  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  some  friends 
of  his  who  used  to  meet  at  Lord  Southampton's  house,  was 
to  obtain  possession  of  the  Queen,  and  oblige  her  by  force 
to  dismiss  her  ministers  and  change  her  favorites.  One 
Saturday,  the  seventh  of  February,  one  thousand  six  hund- 
red and  one,  the  council  suspecting  this,  summoned  the 
Earl  to  come  before  them.  He,  pretending  to  be  ill,  de- 
clined it ;  it  was  then  settled  among  his  friends,  that  as  the 
next  day  would  be  Sunday,  when  many  of  the  citizens 
usually  assembled  at  the  Cross  by  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  he 
should  make  one  bold  effort  to  induce  them  to  rise  and  fol- 
low him  to  the  Palace. 

So  on  the  Sunday  morning,  he  and  a  small  body  of  adher- 
ents started  out  of  his  house — Essex  House  by  the  Strand, 
with  steps  to  the  river — having  first  shut  up  in  it,  as  pris- 
oners, some  members  of  the  council  who  came  to  examine 
him — and  hurried  into  the  City  with  the  Earl  at  their  head, 
crying  out,  "  For  the  Queen  !  For  the  Queen  !  A  plot  is 
laid  for  my  life  ! "  No  one  heeded  them,  however,  and 
when  they  came  to  St.  Paul's  there  were  no  citizens  there. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         293 

In  the  meantime  the  prisoners  at  Essex  House  had  been  re- 
leased by  one  of  the  Earl's  own  friends ;  he  had  been 
promptly  proclaimed  a  traitor  in  the  City  itself ;  and  the 
streets  were  barricaded  with  carts  and  guarded  by  soldiers. 
The  Earl  got  back  to  his  house  by  water,  with  difficulty, 
and  after  an  attempt  to  defend  his  house  against  the  troops 
and  cannon  by  which  it  was  soon  surrounded,  gave  himself 
up  that  night.  He  was  brought  to  trial  on  the  nineteenth, 
and  found  guilty  ;  on  the  twenty-fifth,  he  was  executed  on 
Tower  Hill,  where  he  died,  at  thirty-four  years  old,  both 
courageously  and  penitently.  His  step-father  suffered  with 
him.  His  enemy,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  stood  near  the  scaf- 
fold all  the  time — but  not  so  near  it  as  we  shall  see  him 
stand,  before  we  finish  his  history. 

In  this  case,  as  in  the  cases  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  and 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  the  Queen  had  commanded,  and 
countermanded,  and  again  commanded,  the  execution.  It 
is  probable  that  the  death  of  her  young  and  gallant  favorite 
in  the  prime  of  his  good  qualities,  was  never  off  her  mind 
afterward,  but  she  held  out,  the  same  vain,  obstinate  and 
capricious  woman,  for  another  year.  Then  she  danced  be: 
fore  her  Court  on  a  state  occasion — and  cut,  1  should  think, 
a  mighty  ridiculous  figure,  doing  so  in  an  immense  ruff, 
stomacher  and  wig,  at  seventy  years  old.  For  another  year 
still,  she  held  out,  but,  without  any  more  dancing,  and  as  a 
moody  sorrowful  broken  creature.  At  last,  on  the  tenth  of 
March,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  three,  having  been 
ill  of  a  very  bad  cold,  and  made  worse  by  the  death  of  the 
Countess  of  Nottingham,  who  was  her  intimate  friend,  she 
fell  into  a  stupor  and  was  supposed  to  be  dead.  She  re- 
covered her  consciousness,  however,  and  then  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  go  to  bed  ;  for  she  said  she  knew  that  if  she 
did  she  should  never  get  up  again.  There  she  lay  for  ten 
days,  on  cushions  on  the  floor,  without  any  food,  until  the 
Lord  Admiral  got  her  into  bed  at  last,  partly  by  persuasions 
and  partly  by  main  force.  When  they  asked  her  who  should 
succeed  her,  she  replied  that  her  seat  had  been  the  seat  of 
Kings  and  that  she  would  have  for  her  successor,  "  No 
rascal's  son,  but  a  King's."  Upon  this,  the  lords  present 
stared  at  one  another,  and  took  the  liberty  of  asking  whom 
she  meant ;  to  which  she  replied,  "  Whom  should  I  mean, 
but  our  cousin  of  Scotland  !  "  This  was  on  the  twenty- 
third  of  March.     They  asked  her  once  again  that  day,  after 


294        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

she  was  speechless,  whether  she  was  still  in  the  same  mind  ? 
She  struggled  up  in  bed,  and  joined  her  hands  over  her 
head  in  the  form  of  a  crown,  as  the  only  reply  she  could 
make.  At  three  o'clock  next  morning,  she  very  quietly 
died,  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  her  reign. 

That  reign  had  been  a  glorious  one,  and  is  made  forever 
memorable  by  the  distinguished  men  who  nourished  in  it. 
Apart  from  the  great  voyagers,  statesmen,  and  scholars, 
whom  it  produced,  the  names  of  Bacon,  Spenser,  and 
Shakespeare  will  always  be  remembered  with  pride  a:  id 
veneration  by  the  civilized  world,  and  will  always  impart 
(though  with  no  great  reason,  perhaps)  some  portion  of  their 
luster  to  the  name  of  Elizabeth  herself.  It  was  a  great 
reign  for  discovery,  for  commerce,  and  for  English  enter- 
prise and  spirit  in  general.  It  was  a  great  reign  for  the 
Protestant  religion  and  for  the  Reformation  which  made 
England  free.  The  Queen  was  very  popular,  and  in  her 
progresses,  or  journeys  about  her  dominions,  was  every 
where  received  with  the  liveliest  joy.  I  think  the  truth  is, 
that  she  was  not  half  so  good  as  has  been  made  out, 
and  not  half  so  bad  as  she  has  been  made  out.  She 
had  her  fine  qualities,  but  she  was  coarse,  capricious,  and 
treacherous,  and  had  all  the  faults  of  an  excessively  vain 
young  woman  long  after  she  was  an  old  one.  On  the  whole, 
she  had  a  great  deal  too  much  of  her  father  in  her,  to 
please  me. 

Many  improvements  and  luxuries  were  introduced  in  the 
course  of  these  five-and-forty  years  in  the  general  manner 
of  living  ;  but  cock-fighting,  bull-baiting,  and  bear-baiting, 
were  still  the  national  amusements  ;  and  a  coach  was  so 
rarely  seen,  and  was  such  an  ugly  and  cumbersome  affair 
when  it  was  seen,  that  even  the  Queen  herself,  on  many 
high  occasions,  rode  on  horseback  on  a  pillion  behind  the 
Lord  Chancellor. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    JAMES    THE    FIRST. 

"  Our  cousin  of  Scotland,"  was  ugly,  awkward,  and  shuf- 
fling both  in  mind  and  person.  His  tongue  was  much  too 
large  for  his  mouth,  his  legs  were  much  too  weak  for  hi* 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         295 

body,  and  his  dull  goggle-eyes  stared  and  rolled  like  an 
idiot's.  He  was  cunning,  covetous,  wasteful,  idle,  drunken, 
greedy,  dirty,  cowardly,  a  great  swearer,  and  the  most  con- 
ceited man  on  earth.  His  figure — what  is  commonly  called 
rickety  from  his  birth — presented  a  most  ridiculous  appear- 
ance, dressed  in  thick  padded  clothes,  as  a  safeguard  against 
being  stabbed  (of  which  he  lived  in  continual  fear)  of  a 
grass-green  color  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  hunting-horn 
dangling  at  his  side  instead  of  a  sword,  and  his  hat  and 
feather  sticking  over  one  eye,  or  hanging  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  as  he  happened  to  toss  it  on.  He  used  to  loll  on  the 
necks  of  his  favorite  courtiers,  and  slobber  their  faces,  and 
kiss  and  pinch  their  cheeks  ;  and  the  greatest  favorite  he  ever 
had,  used  to  sign  himself  in  his  letters  to  his  royal  master, 
His  Majesty's  "  dog  and  slave,"  and  used  to  address  his 
majesty  as  "his  Sowship."  His  majesty  was  the  worst  rider 
ever  seen,  and  thought  himself  the  best.  He  was  one  of  the 
most  impertinent  talkers  (in  the  broadest  Scotch)  ever  heard, 
and  boasted  of  being  unanswerable  in  all  manner  of  argument. 
He  wrote  some  of  the  most  wearisome  treatises  ever  read— 
among  others  a  book  upon  witchcraft,  in  which  he  was  a  de- 
vout believer — and  thought  himself  a  prodigy  of  authorship. 
He  thought,  and  wrote,  and  said,  that  a  king  had  a  right  to 
make  and  unmake  what  laws  he  pleased,  and  ought  to  be 
accountable  to  nobody  on  earth.  This  is  the  plain  true 
character  of  the  personage  whom  the  greatest  men  about  the 
court  praised  and  flattered  to  that  degree  that  I  doubt  if 
there  be  any  thing  much  more  shameful  in  the  annals  of 
human  nature. 

He  came  to  the  English  throne  with  great  ease.  The  mis- 
eries of  a  disputed  succession  had  been  felt  so  long,  and  so 
dreadfully  that  he  was  proclaimed  within  a  few  hours  of 
Elizabeth's  death,  and  was  accepted  by  the  nation,  even 
without  being  asked  to  give  any  pledge  that  he  would  govern 
well,  or  that  he  would  redress  crying  grievances.  He  took  a 
month  to  come  from  Edinburgh  to  London;  and,  by  way  of 
exercising  his  new  power,  hanged  a  pickpocket  on  the  journey 
without  any  trial,  and  knighted  everybody  he  could  lay  hold 
of.  He  made  two  hundred  knights  before  he  got  to  his  pal- 
ace in  London,  and  seven  hundred  before  he  had  been  in  it 
three  months.  He  also  shoveled  sixty-two  new  peers  into 
the  House  of  Lords — and  there  was  a  pretty  large  sprink- 
ling of  Scotchmen  among  them,  you  may  believe. 


s96        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

His  Sowship's  prime  Minister,  Cecil  (for  I  cannot  do  bet- 
ter than  call  his  majesty  what  his  favorite  called  him),  was 
the  enemy  of  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh,  and  also  of  Sir  Walter's 
political  friend,  Lord  Cobham  ;  and  his  Sowship's  first  trou- 
ble was  a  plot  originated  by  these  two,  and  entered  into  by 
some  others,  with  the  old  object  of  seizing  the  King  and 
keeping  him  in  imprisonment  until  he  should  change  his 
ministers.  There  were  Catholic  priests  in  the  plot,  and  there 
were  Puritan  noblemen  too;  for,  although  the  Catholics  and 
Puritans  were  strongly  opposed  to  each  other,  they  united  at 
this  time  against  his  Sowship,  because  they  knew  that  he  had 
a  design  against  both,  after  pretending  to  be  friendly  to  each; 
this  design  being  to  have  only  one  high  and  convenient  form 
of  the  Protestant  religion,  which  everybody  should  be  bound 
to  belong  to,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.  This  plot  was 
mixed  up  with  another,  which  may  or  may  not  have  had  some 
reference  to  placing  on  the  throne,  at  some  time,  the  Lady 
Arabella  Stuart ;  whose  misfortune  it  was  to  be  the 
daughter  of  the  younger  brother  of  his  Sowship's  father,  but 
who  was  quite  innocent  of  any  part  in  the  scheme.  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh  was  accused  on  the  confession  of  Lord  Cobham — 
a  miserable  creature,  who  said  one  thing  at  one  time,  and  an- 
other thing  at  another  time,  and  could  be  relied  upon  in 
nothing.  The  trial  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  lasted  from  eight 
in  the  morning  until  nearly  midnight;  he  defended  himself 
with  such  eloquence,  genius,  and  spirit  against  all  accusations, 
and  against  the  insults  of  Coke,  the  Attorney-General — 
who,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  foully  abused  him 
— that  those  who  went  there  detesting  the  prisoner,  came 
away  admiring  him,  and  declaring  that  any  thing  so  wonderful 
and  so  captivating  was  never  heard.  He  was  found  guilty, 
nevertheless,  and  sentenced  to  death.  Execution  was  de- 
ferred, and  he  was  taken  to  the  Tower.  The  two  Catholic 
priests,  less  fortunate,  were  executed  with  the  usual  atrocity; 
and  Lord  Cobham  and  two  others  were  pardoned  on  the  scaf- 
fold. His  Sowship  thought  it  wonderfully  knowing  in  him  to 
surprise  the  people  by  pardoning  these  three  at  the  very 
block  ;  but,  blundering,  and  bungling,  as  usual,  he  had  very 
nearly  overreached  himself.  For  the  messenger  on  horse- 
back, who  brought  the  pardon,  came  so  late,  that  he  was 
pushed  to  the  outside  of  the  crowd,  and  was  obliged  to  shout 
and  roar  out  what  he  came  for.  The  miserable  Cobham  did 
not  gain  much  by  being  spared  that  day.     He  lived,  both  as 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         297 

a  prisoner  and  as  a  beggar,  utterly  despised,  and  miserably 
poor,  for  thirteen  years,  and  then  died  in  an  old  outhouse 
belonging  to  one  of  his  former  servants. 

This  plot  got  rid  of,  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  safely  shut  up 
in  the  Tower,  his  Sowship  held  a  great  dispute  with  the 
Puritans  on  their  presenting  a  petition  to  him,  and  had  it  all 
his  own  way — not  so  very  wonderful,  as  he  would  talk  con- 
tinually, and  would  not  hear  any  body  else — and  filled  the 
bishops  with  admiration.  It  was  comfortably  settled  that 
there  was  to  be  only  one  form  of  religion,  and  that  all  men 
were  to  think  exactly  alike.  But,  although  this  was  arranged 
two  centuries  and  a  half  ago,  and  although  the  arrangement 
was  supported  by  much  fining  and  imprisonment,  I  do  not 
find  that  it  is  quite  successful,  even  yet. 

_  His  Sowship,  having  that  uncommonly  high  opinion  of 
himself  as  a  king,  had  a  very  low  opinion  of  Parliament  as  a 
power  that  audaciously  wanted  to  control  him.  When  he 
called  his  first  Parliament  after  he  had  been  king  a  year,  he 
accordingly  thought  he  would  take  pretty  high  ground  with 
them,  and  told  them  that  he  commanded  them  as  an  "abso- 
lute king."  The  Parliament  thought  those  strong  words,  and 
saw  the  necessity  of  upholding  their  authority.  His  Sowship 
had  three  children:  Prince  Henry,  Prince  Charles,  and  the 
Princess  Elizabeth.  It  would  have  been  well  for  one  of 
these,  and  we  shall  too  soon  see  which,  if  he  had  learned  a 
little  wisdom  concerning  Parliaments  from  his  father's  ob- 
stinacy. 

Now,  the  people  still  laboring  under  their  old  dread  of  the 
Catholic  religion,  this  Parliament  revived  and  strengthened 
the  severe  laws  against  it.  And  this  so  angered  Robert 
Catesby,  a  restless  Catholic  gentleman  of  an  old  family,  that 
he  formed  one  of  the  most  desperate  and  terrible  designs 
ever  conceived  in  the  mind  of  man  ;  no  less  a  scheme  than 
the  Gunpowder  Plot. 

His  object  was,  when  the  king,  lords,  and  commons  should 
be  assembled  at  the  next  opening  of  Parliament,  to  blow  them 
up,  one  and  all,  with  a  great  mine  of  gunpowder.  The  first 
person  to  whom  he  confided  this  horrible  idea  was  Thomas 
Winter,  a  Worcestershire  gentleman  who  had  served  in  the 
army  abroad,  and  had  been  secretly  employed  in  Catholic 
projects.  While  Winter  was  yet  undecided,  and  when  he 
had  gone  over  to  the  Netherlands,  to  learn  from  the  Spanish 
Ambassador  there  whether  there  was  any  hope  of  Catholice 


298        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

being  relieved  through  the  intercession  of  the  King  of  Spain 
with  his  Sowship,  he  found  at  Ostend  a  tall,  dark,  daring 
man,  whom  he  had  known  when  they  were  both  soldiers 
abroad,  and  whose  name  was  Guido — or  Guy — Fawkes. 
Resolved  to  join  the  plot,  he  proposed  it  to  this  man,  know- 
ing him  to  be  the  man  for  any  desperate  deed,  and  they  two 
came  back  to  England  together.  Here  they  admitted  two 
other  conspirators  :  Thomas  Percy,  related  to  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  and  John  Wright,  his  brother-in-law.  All 
these  met  together  in  a  solitary  house  in  the  open  fields 
which  were  then  near  Clement's  Inn,  now  a  closely  blocked- 
up  part  of  London  ;  and  when  they  had  all  taken  a  great 
oath  of  secrecy,  Catesby  told  the  rest  what  his  plan  was. 
They  then  went  up  stairs  into  a  garret,  and  received  the 
sacrament  from  Father  Gerard,  a  Jesuit,  who  is  said  not  to 
have  known  actually  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  but  who,  I 
think,  must  have  had  his  suspicions  that  there  was  something 
desperate  afoot. 

Percy  was  a  Gentleman  Pensioner,  and  as  he  had  occa- 
sional duties  to  perform  about  the  Court,  then  kept  at  White- 
hall, there  would  be  nothing  suspicious  in  his  living  at  West- 
minster. So,  having  looked  well  about  him,  and  having 
found  a  house  to  let,  the  back  of  which  joined  the  Parlia- 
ment House,  he  hired  it  of  a  person  named  Ferris,  for  the 
purpose  of  undermining  the  wall.  Having  got  possession  of 
this  house,  the  conspirators  hired  another  on  the  Lambeth 
side  of  the  Thames,  which  they  used  as  a  store-house  for 
wood,  gunpowder,  and  other  combustible  matters.  These 
were  to..be  removed  at  night  (and  afterward  were  removed), 
bit  by  bit,  to  the  house  at  Westminster  ;  and,  that  there 
might  be  some  trusty  person  to  keep  watch  over  the  Lam- 
beth stores,  they  admitted  another  conspirator,  by  name 
Robert  Kay,  a  very  poor  Catholic  gentleman. 

All  these  arrangements  had  been  made  some  months,  and 
it  was  a  dark  wintry  December  night,  when  the  conspirators, 
who  had  been  in  the  meantime  dispersed  to  avoid  observa- 
tion, met  in  the  house  at  Westminster,  and  began  to  dig. 
They  had  laid  in  a  good  stock  of  eatables,  to  avoid  going  in 
and  out,  and  they  dug  and  dug  with  great  ardor.  But,  the 
wall  being  tremendously  thick,  and  the  work  very  severe, 
they  took  into  their  plot  Christopher  Wright,  a  younger 
brother  of  John  Wright,  that  they  might  have  a  new  pair  of 
hands  to  help.     And  Christopher  Wright  fell  to  like  a  fresh 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         299 

man,  and  they  dug  and  dug  by  night  and  by  day,  and  Fawkes 
stood  sentinel  all  the  time.  And  if  any  man's  heart  seemed 
to  fail  him  at  all,  Fawkes  said,  "  Gentlemen,  we  have  abund 
ance  of  powder  and  shot  here,  and  there  is  no  fear  of  our 
being  taken  alive,  even  if  discovered."  The  same  Fawkes, 
who,  in  the  capacity  of  sentinel,  was  always  prowling  about, 
soon  picked  up  the  intelligence  that  the  King  had  prorogued 
the  Parliament  again,  from  the  seventh  of  February,  the  day 
first  fixed  upon,  until  the  third  of  October.  When  the  con- 
spirators knew  this,  they  agreed  to  separate  until  after  the 
Christmas  holidays,  and  to  take  no  notice  of  each  other  in 
the  meanwhile,  and  never  to  write  letters  to  one  another  on 
any  account.  So,  the  house  in  Westminster  was  shut  up 
again,  and  I  suppose  the  neighbors  thought  that  those  strange 
looking  men  who  lived  there  so  gloomily,  and  went  out  so 
seldom,  were  gone  away  to  have  a  merry  Christmas  some- 
where. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  February,  sixteen  hundred  and 
five,  when  Catesby  met  his  fellow-conspirators  again  at  this 
Westminster  house.  He  had  now  admitted  three  more  ; 
John  Grant,  a  Warwickshire  gentleman  of  a  melancholy 
temper,  who  lived  in  a  double  house  near  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  with  a  frowning  wall  all  around  it,  and  a  deep  moat ; 
Robert  Winter,  eldest  brother  of  Thomas  ;  and  Catesby's 
own  servant,  Thomas  Bates,  who,  Catesby  thought,  had  had 
some  suspicion  of  what  his  master  was  about.  These  three 
had  all  suffered  more  or  less  for  their  religion  in  Elizabeth's 
time.  And  now>  they  all  began  to  dig  again,  and  they  dug 
and  dug  by  night  and  by  day. 

They  found  it  dismal  work  alone  there,  underground,  with 
such  a  fearful  secret  on  their  minds,  and  so  many  murders 
before  them.  They  were  filled  with  wild  fancies.  Sometimes 
they  thought  they  heard  a  great  bell  tolling,  deep  down 
in  the  earth  under  the  Parliament  House  ;  sometimes,  they 
thought  they  heard  low  voices  muttering  about  the  Gun- 
powder Plot  ;  once  in  the  morning,  they  really  did  hear  a 
great  rumbling  noise  over  their  heads,  as  they  dug  and 
sweated  in  their  mine.  Every  man  stopped  and  looked  aghast 
at  his  neighbor,  wondering  what  had  happened,  when  that 
bold  prowler,  Fawkes,  who  had  been  out  to  look,  came  in 
and  told  them  that  it  was  only  a  dealer  in  coals  who  had  oc- 
cupied a  cellar  under  the  Parliament  House,  removing  his 
stock  in  trade  to  some  other   place.     Upon  this,  the  con- 


3oo         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

spirators,  who  with  all  their  digging  and  digging  had  not  yet 
dug  through  the  tremendously  thick  wall,  changed  their  plan  ; 
hired  that  cellar,  which  was  directly  under  the  House  of 
Lords  ;  put  six-and-thirty  barrels  of  gunpowder  in  it,  and 
covered  them  over  with  faggots  and  coals.  Then  they  all  dis- 
persed again  till  September,  when  the  following  new  con- 
spirators were  admitted  ;  Sir  Edward  Bayham,  of  Gloucester- 
shire ;  Sir  Everard  Digby,  of  Rutlandshire  ;  Ambrose  Rook- 
wood,  of  Suffolk  ;  Francis  Tresham,  of  Northamptonshire. 
Most  of  these  were  rich,  and  were  to  assist  the  plot,  some 
with  money  and  some  with  horses  on  which  the  conspirators 
were  to  ride  through  the  country  and  rouse  the  Catholics 
after  the  Parliament  should  be  blown  into  air. 

Parliament  being  again  prorogued  from  the  third  of  Octo- 
ber to  the  fifth  of  November,  and  the  conspirators  being 
uneasy  lest  their  design  should  have  been  found  out,  Thomas 
Winter  said  he  would  go  up  into  the  House  of  Lords  on  the 
day  of  the  prorogation,  and  see  how  matters  looked.  Noth- 
ing could  be  better.  The  unconscious  Commissioners  were 
walking  about  and  talking  to  one  another,  just  over  the  six- 
and-thirty  barrels  of  gunpowder.  He  came  back  and  told 
the  rest  so,  and  they  went  on  with  their  preparations.  They 
hired  a  ship,  and  kept  it  ready  in  the  Thames,  in  which 
Fawkes  was  to  sail  for  Flanders  after  firing  with  a  slow  match 
the  train  that  was  to  explode  the  powder.  A  number  of 
Catholic  gentlemen  not  in  the  secret,  were  invited,  on  pre- 
tense of  a  hunting  party,  to  meet  Sir  Everard  Digby  at 
Dunchurch  on  the  fatal-day,  that  they  might  be  ready  to  act 
together.     And  now  all  was  ready. 

But,  now,  the  great  wickedness  and  danger  which  had 
been  all  along  at  the  bottom  of  this  wicked  plot,  began  to 
show  itself.  As  the  fifth  of  November  drew  near,  most  of 
the  conspirators,  remembering  that  they  had  friends  and  re- 
lations who  would  be  in  the  House  of  Lords  that  day,  felt 
some  natural  relenting,  and  a  wish  to  warn  them  to  ^keep 
away.  They  were  not  much  comforted  by  Catesby's  de- 
claring that  in  such  a  cause  he  would  blow  up  his  own  son. 
Lord  Mounteagle,  Tresham's  brother-in-law,  was  certain  to 
be  in  the  house  ;  and  when  Tresham  found  that  he  could 
not  prevail  upon  the  rest  to  devise  any  means  of  sparing 
their  friends,  he  wrote  a  mysterious  letter  to  this  lord  and 
left  it  at  his  lodging  in  the  desk,  urging  him  to  keep  away 
from   the  opening  of   Parliament,  "since  God  and  man  had 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        301 

concurred  to  punish  the  wickedness  of  the  times."  It  con- 
tained the  words  "  that  Parliament  should  receive  a  terrible 
blow,  and  yet  should  not  see  who  hurt  them."  And  it  added, 
"  the  danger  is  past  as  soon  as  you  have  burned  the  letter." 

The  ministers  and  courtiers  made  out  that  his  Sowship,  by 
a  direct  miracle  from  Heaven,  found  out  what  this  letter 
meant.  The  truth  is,  that  they  were  not  long  (as  few  men 
would  be)  in  finding  out  for  themselves  ;  and  it  was  decided 
to  let  the  conspirators  alone,  until  the  very  day  before  the 
opening  of  Parliament.  That  the  conspirators  had  their  fears, 
is  certain  ;  for  Tresham  himself  said  before  them  all  that 
they  were  every  one  "dead  men  ;  and,  although  even  he  did 
not  take  flight,  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  warned 
other  persons  besides  Lord  Mounteagle.  However,  they 
were  all  firm  ;  and  Fawkes,  who  was  a  man  of  iron,  went 
down  every  day  and  night  to  keep  watch  in  the  cellar  as 
usual.  He  was  there  about  two  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth, 
when  the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  Lord  Mounteagle  threw  open 
the  door  and  looked  in.  "Who  are  you,  friend  ?"  said  they. 
"  Why,"  said  Fawkes,  "  I  am  Mr.  Percy's  servant,  and  am 
looking  after  his  store  of  fuel  here."  "  Your  master  has  laid, 
in  a  pretty  good  store,"  they  returned  and  shut  the  door, 
and  went  away.  Fawkes,  upon  this,  posted  off  to  the  other 
conspirators  to  tell  them  all  was  quiet,  and  went  back  and 
shut  himself  up  in  the  dark  black  cellar  again,  where  he 
heard  the  bell  go  twelve  o'clock  and  usher  in  the  fifth  of 
November.  About  two  hours  afterward,  he  slowly  opened 
the  door,  and  came  out  to  look  about  him,  in  his  old  prowl- 
ing way.  He  was  instantly  seized  and  bound,  by  a  party  of 
soldiers  under  Sir  Thomas  Knevett.  He  had  a  watch  upon 
him,  some  touchwood,  some  tinder,  some  slow  matches  ;  and 
there  was  a  dark  lantern  with  a  candle  in  it,  lighted,  behind 
the  door.  He  had  his  boots  and  spurs  on— to  ride  to  the 
ship,  I  suppose— and  it  was  well  for  the  soldiers  that  they 
took  him  so  suddenly.  If  they  had  left  him  but  a  moments 
time  to  light  a  match,  he  certainly  would  have  tossed  it  in 
among  the  powder,  and  blown  up  himself  and  them. 

They  took  him  to  the  King's  bed-chamber  first  of  all,  and 
there  the  King  (causing  him  to  be  held  very  tight,  and  keep- 
ing a  good  way  off,  asked  him  how  he  could  have  the  heart 
to  intend  to  destroy  so  many  innocent  people  ?  "  Because," 
said  Guy  Fawkes,  "  desperate  diseases  need  desperate  reme- 
dies."    To  a  little  Scotch  favorite,  with  a  face  like  a  terrier, 


302         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

who  asked  him  (with  no  particular  wisdom)  why  he  had 
collected  so  much  gunpowder,  he  replied,  because  he  had 
meant  to  blow  Scotchmen  back  to  Scotland,  and  it  would 
take  a  deal  of  powder  to  do  that.  Next  day  he  was  carried 
to  the  Tower,  but  would  make  no  confession.  Even  after 
being  horribly  tortured,  he  confessed  nothing  that  the  Gov- 
ernment did  not  already  know  ;  though  he  must  have  been 
in  a  fearful  state — as  his  signature,  still  preserved,  in  con- 
trast with  his  natural  handwriting  before  be  was  put  upon 
the  dreadful  rack,  most  frightfully  shows.  Bates,  a  very 
different  man,  soon  said  the  Jesuits  had  had  to  do  with  the 
plot,  and  probably,  under  the  torture,  would  as  readily  have 
said  any  thing.  Tresham,  taken  and  put  in  the  Tower  too, 
made  confessions  and  unmade  them,  and  died  of  an  illness 
that  was  heavy  upon  him.  Rookwood,  who  had  stationed 
relays  of  his  own  horses  all  the  way  to  Dunchurch,  did  not 
mount  to  escape  until  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  the  news 
of  the  plot  was  all  over  London.  On  the  road  he  came  up 
with  the  two  Wrights,  Catesby,  and  Percy  :  and  they  all  gal- 
loped together  into  Northamptonshire.  Thence  to  Dun- 
church,  where  they  found  the  proposed  party  assembled. 
Finding,  however,  that  there  had  been  a  plot,  and  that  it  had 
been  discovered,  the  party  disappeared  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  and  left  them  alone  with  Sir  Everard  Digby.  Away 
they  all  rode  again  through  Warwickshire  and  Worcester- 
shire, to  a  house  called  Holbeach,  on  the  borders  of  Staf- 
fordshire. They  tried  to  raise  the  Catholics  on  their  way, 
but  were  indignantly  driven  off  by  them.  All  this  time 
they  were  hotly  pursued  by  the  sheriff  of  Worcester, 
and  a  fast  increasing  concourse  of  riders.  At  last,  resolv- 
ing to  defend  themselves  at  Holbeach,  they  shut  them- 
selves up  in  the  house,  and  put  some  wet  powder  before 
the  fire  to  dry.  But  it  blew  up,  and  Catesby  was 
singed  and  blackened,  and  almost  killed,  and  some  of 
the  others  were  sadly  hurt.  Still,  knowing  that  they  must 
die,  they  resolved  to  die  there,  and  with  only-  their  swords 
in  their  hands  appeared  at  the  windows  to  be  shot  at 
by  the  sheriff  and  his  assistants.  Catesby  said  to  Thomas 
Winter,  after  Thomas  had  been  hit  in  the  right  arm  which 
dropped  powerless  by  his  side,  "  Stand  by  me,  Tom,  and  we 
will  die  together  !  "  which  they  did,  being  shot  through  the 
body  by  two  bullets  from  one  gun.  John  Wright,  and 
Christopher  Wright,  and  Percy,  were  also  shot.     Rookwood 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         303 

and  Digby  were  taken  :  the  former  with  a  broken  arm  and 
a  wound  in  his  body  too. 

It  wa?  the  fifteenth  of  January,  before  the  trial  of  Guy 
Fawkes,  and  such  of  the  other  conspirators  as  were  left  alive, 
came  on.  They  were  all  found  guilty,  all  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  ;  some,  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  on  the  top 
of  Ludgate-hill  :  some,  before  the  Parliament  House.  A 
Jesuit  priest,  named  Henry  Garnet,  to  whom  the  dreadful 
design  was  said  to  have  been  communicated,  was  taken  and 
tried  ;  and  two  of  his  servants,  as  well  as  a  poor  priest  who 
was  taken  with  him,  were  tortured  without  mercy.  He  him- 
self was  not  tortured,  but  was  surrounded  in  the  Tower  by 
tamperers  and  traitors,  and  so  was  made  unfairly  to  convict 
himself  out  of  his  own  mouth.  He  said,  upon  his  trial,  that 
he  had  done  all  he  could  to  prevent  the  deed,  and  that  he 
could  not  make  public  what  had  been  told  him  in  confession 
— though  I  am  afraid  he  knew  of  the  plot  in  other  ways. 
He  was  found  guilty  and  executed,  after  a  manful  defense, 
and  the  Catholic  Church  made  a  saint  of  him  ;  some  rich 
and  powerful  persons,  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
project,  were  fined  and  imprisoned  for  it  by  the  Star  Cham- 
ber ;  the  Catholics,  in  general,  who  had  recoiled  with  horror 
from  the  idea  of  the  infernal  contrivance,  were  unjustly  put 
under  more  severe  laws  than  before  •  and  this  was  the  end 
of  the  Gunpowder  Plot. 

Second  Part. 

His  Sowship  would  pretty  willingly,  I  think,  have  blown 
the  House  of  Commons  into  the  air  himself ;  for  his  dread 
and  jealousy  of  it  knew  no  bounds  all  through  his  reign. 
When  he  was  hard  pressed  for  money  he  was  obliged  to  order 
it  to  meet,  as  he  could  get  no  money  without  it ;  and  when  it 
asked  him  first  to  abolish  some  of  the  monopolies  in  neces- 
saries of  life,  which  were  a  great  grievance  to  the  people, 
and  to  redress  other  public  wrongs,  he  flew  into  a  rage  and 
got  rid  of  it  again.  At  one  time  he  wanted  it  to  consent  to 
the  Union  of  England  with  Scotland,  and  quarreled  about 
that.  At  another  time  it  wanted  him  to  put  down  a  most 
infamous  Church  abuse,  called  the  High  Commission  Court, 
and  he  quarreled  with  it  about  that.  At  another  time  it  en- 
treated him  not  to  be  quite  so  fond  of  his  archbishops  and 
bishops  who  made  speeches  in  his  praise  too  awful  to  be  re* 


304        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

lated,  but  to  have  some  little  consideration  for  the  poor  Pu- 
ritan clergy  who  were  persecuted  for  preaching  in  their  own 
way,  and  not  according  to  the  archbishops  and  bishops,  and 
they  quarreled  about  that.  In  short,  what  with  hating  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  pretending  not  to  hate  it ;  and 
what  with  now  sending  some  of  its  members  who  opposed 
him,  to  Newgate  or  to  the  Tower,  and  now  telling  the  rest 
that  they  must  not  presume  to  make  speeches  about  the 
public  affairs  which  could  not  possibly  concern  them  ;  and 
what  with  cajoling,  and  bullying,  and  frightening,  and  being 
frightened  ;  the  House  of  Commons  was  the  plague  of  his 
Sowship's  existence.  It  was  pretty  firm,  however,  in  main- 
taining its  rights,  and  insisting  that  the  Parliament  should 
make  the  laws,  and  not  the  King  by  his  own  single  proclama- 
tions (which  he  tried  hard  to  do)  ;  and  his  Sowship  was  so 
often  distressed  for  money,  in  consequence,  that  he  sold 
every  sort  of  title  and  public  office  as  if  they  were  mer- 
chandise, and  even  invented  a  new  dignity  called  a  Baron- 
etcy, which  any  body  could  buy  for  a  thousand  pounds. 

These  disputes  with  his  Parliaments,  and  his  hunting,  and 
his  drinking,  and  his  lying  in  bed — for  he  was  a  great  slug- 
gard— occupied  his  Sowship  pretty  well.  The  rest  of  his 
time  he  chiefly  passed  in  hugging  and  slobbering  his  favor- 
ites. The  first  of  these  was  Sir  Philip  Herbert,  who  had  no 
knowledge  whatever,  except  of  dogs,  and  horses,  and 
hunting,  but  whom  he  soon  made  Earl  of  Montgomery 
The  next,  and  a  much  more  famous  one,  was  Robert  Carr, 
or  Ker  (for  it  is  not  certain  which  was  his  right  name),  who 
came  from  the  Border  country,  and  whom  he  soon  made 
Viscount  Rochester,  and  afterward,  Earl  of  Somerset.  The 
way  in  which  his  Sowship  doted  on  this  handsome  young 
man,  is  even  more  odious  to  think  of,  than  the  way  in  which  the 
really  great  men  of  England  condescended  to  bow  down  before 
him.  The  favorite's  great  friend  was  a  certain  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury,  who  wrote  his  love-letters  for  him,  and  assisted 
him  in  the  duties  of  his  many  high  places,  which  his  own 
ignorance  prevented  him  from  discharging.  But  this  same 
Sir  Thomas  just  having  manhood  enough  to  dissuade  the  fa- 
vorite from  a  wicked  marriage  with  the  beautiful  Countess  of 
Essex,  who  was  to  get  a  divorce  from  her  husband  for  the 
purpose,  the  said  countess  in  her  rage  got  Sir  Thomas  put 
into  the  Tower,  and  there  poisoned  him.  Then  the  favorite 
and  this  bad  woman  were  publicly  married  by  the  King's  pet 


THE   SEIZURE   OF    GUY   FAWKE8- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         305 

bishop,  with  as  much  to-do  and  rejoicing,  as  if  he  had  been 
the  best  man,  and  she  the  best  woman,  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth. 

But,  after  a  longer  sunshine  than  might  have  been  expected 
— of  seven  years  or  so,  that  is  to  say — another  handsome 
young  man  started  up  and  eclipsed  the  Earl  of  Somerset. 
This  was  George  Villiers,  the  youngest  son  of  a  Leicester- 
shire gentleman:  who  came  to  court  with  all  the  Paris  fash- 
ions on  him,  and  could  dance  as  well  as  the  best  mountebank 
that  ever  was  seen.  He  soon  danced  himself  into  the  good 
graces  of  his  Sowship,  and  danced  the  other  favorite  out  of 
favor.  Then,  it  was  all  at  once  discovered  that  the  Earl  and 
Countess  of  Somerset  had  not  deserved  all  those  great  pro- 
motions and  mighty  rejoicings,  and  they  were  separately  tried 
for  the  murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  and  for  other  crimes. 
But,  the  King  was  so  afraid  of  his  late  favorite's  publicly 
telling  some  disgraceful  things  he  knew  of  him — which  he 
darkly  threatened  to  do — that  he  was  even  examined  with 
two  men  standing,  one  on  either  side  of  him,  each  with  a 
cloak  in  his  hand,  ready  to  throw  it  over  his  head  and  stop 
his  mouth  if  he  should  break  out  with  what  he  had  it  in  his 
power  to  tell.  So,  a  very  lame  affair  was  purposely  made  of 
the  trial,  and  his  punishment  was  an  allowance  of  four  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year  in  retirement,  while  the  Countess  was 
pardoned,  and  allowed  to  pass  into  retirement  too.  They 
hated  one  another  by  this  time,  and  lived  to  revile  and  tor- 
ment each  other  some  years. 

While  these  events  were  in  progress,  and  while  his  Sow- 
ship  was  making  such  an  exhibition  of  himself,  from  day  to 
day  and  from  year  to  year,  as  is  not  often  seen  in  any  sty, 
three  remarkable  deaths  took  place  in  England.  The  first 
was  that  of  the  Minister,  Robert  Cecil,  Earl  of  Salisbury, 
who  was  past  sixty,  and  had  never  been  strong,  being  de- 
formed from  his  birth.  He  said  at  last  that  he  had  no  wish 
to  live  ;  and  no  Minister  need  have  had,  with  his  experience 
of  the  meanness  and  wickedness  of  those  disgraceful  times. 
The  second  was  that  of  the  Lady  Arabella  Stuart,  who 
alarmed  his  Sowship  mightily,  by  privately  marrying  Wil- 
liam Seymour,  son  of  Lord  Beauchamp,  who  was  a  descend- 
ant of  King  Henry  the  Seventh,  and  who,  his  Sowship 
thought,  might  consequently  increase  and  strengthen  any 
claim  she  might  one  day  set  up  to  the  throne.  She  was 
separated  from  her  husband  (who  was  put  in  the  ToWer)  and 


306         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

thrust  into  a  boat  to  be  confined  at  Durham.  She  escaped 
in  a  man's  dress  to  get  away  in  a  French  ship  from  Graves- 
end  to  France,  but  unhappily  missed  her  husband,  who  had 
escaped  too,  and  was  soon  taken.  She  went  raving  mad  in 
the  miserable  Tower,  and  died  there  after  four  years.  The 
last,  and  the  most  important  of  these  three  deaths,  was  that 
of  Prince  Henry,  the  heir  to  the  throne,  in  the  nineteenth 
year  of  his  age.  He  was  a  promising  young  prince,  and 
greatly  liked  ;  a  quiet  well-conducted  youth,  of  whom  two 
very  good  things  are  known:  first,  that  his  father  was  jeal- 
ous of  him  ;  secondly,  that  he  was  the  friend  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  languishing  through  all  those  years  in  the  Tower, 
and  often  said  that  no  man  but  his  father  would  keep  such  a 
bird  in  such  a  cage.  On  the  occasion  of  the  preparation  for 
the  marriage  of  his  sister  the  Princess  Elizabeth  with  a  for- 
eign prince  (and  an  unhappy  marriage  it  turned  out),  he 
came  from  Richmond,  where  he  had  been  very  ill,  to  greet 
his  new  brother-in-law,  at  the  palace  at  Whitehall.  There 
ne  played  a  great  game  at  tennis,  in  his  shirt,  though  it  was 
very  cold  weather,  and  was  seized  with  an  alarming  illness, 
and  died  within  a  fortnight  of  a  putrid  fever.  For  this  young 
prince  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  wrote,  in  his  prison  in  the  Tower, 
the  beginning  of  a  History  of  the  World  :  a  wonderful 
instance  how  little  his  Sowship  could  do  to  confine  a  great 
man's  mind,  however  long  he  might  imprison  his  body. 

And  this  mention  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had  many 
faults,  but  who  never  showed  so  many  merits  as  in  trouble 
and  adversity,  may  bring  me  at  once  to  the  end  of  his  sad 
story.  After  an  imprisonment  in  the  Tower  of  twelve  long 
years,  he  proposed  to  resume  those  old  sea  voyages  of  his, 
and  to  go  to  South  America  in  search  of  gold.  His  Sowship, 
divided  between  his  wish  to  be  on  good  terms  with  the 
Spaniards,  through  whose  territory  Sir  Walter  must  pass  (he 
had  long  had  an  idea  of  marrying  Prince  Henry  to  a  Spanish 
Princess),  and  his  avaricious  eagerness  to  get  hold  of  the 
gold,  did  not  know  what  to  do.  But,  in  the  end,  he  set  Sir 
Walter  free,  taking  securities  for  his  return  ;  and  Sir  Walter 
fitted  out  an  expedition  at  his  own  cost,  and,  on  the  twenty- 
eighth  of  March,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  seventeen, 
sailed  away  in  command  of  one  of  its  ships,  which  he  omin- 
ously called  the  Destiny.  The  expedition  failed  ;  the^ com- 
mon men,  not  finding  the  gold  they  had  expected,  mutinied; 
&  quarrel  broke  out  between  Sir  Walter  and  the  Spaniards, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         307 

who  hated  him  for  old  successes  of  his  against  them  ;  and  he 
took  and  burned  a  little  town  called  Saint  Thomas.  For  this 
he  was  denounced  to  his  Sowship  by  the  Spanish  Ambassador 
as  a  pirate  ;  and  returning  almost  broken-hearted,  with  his 
hopes  and  fortunes  shattered,  his  company  of  friends 
dispersed,  and  his  brave  son  (who  had  been  one  of  them) 
killed,  he  was  taken — through  the  treachery  of  Sir  Lewis 
Stukely,  his  near  relation,  a  scoundrel  and  a  Vice- Admiral — 
and  was  once  again  immured  in  his  prison-home  of  so  many 
years. 

His  Sowship  being  mightily  disappointed  in  not  getting 
any  gold,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  tried  as  unfairly,  and  with 
as  many  lies  and  evasions  as  the  judges  and  law  officers  and 
every  other  authority  in  Church  and  State  habitually  practiced 
under  such  a  King.  After  a  great  deal  of  prevarication  on 
all  parts  but  his  own,  it  was  declared  that  he  must  die  under 
his  former  sentence,  now  fifteen  years  old.  So,  on  the  twenty- 
eighth  of  October,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  eighteen, 
he  was  shut  up  in  the  Gate  House  at  Westminster  to  pass 
his  last  night  on  earth,  and  there  he  took  leave  of  his  good 
and  faithful  lady  who  was  worthy  to  have  lived  in  better  days. 
At  eight  o'clock  next  morning,  after  a  cheerful  breakfast, 
and  a  pipe,  and  a  cup  of  good  wine,  he  was  taken  to^  Old 
Palace  Yard  in  Westminster,  where  the  scaffold  was  set  up, 
and  where  so  many  people  of  high  degree  were  assembled  to 
see  him  die,  that  it  was  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  get  him 
through  the  crowd.  He  behaved  most  nobly,  but  if  any 
thing  lay  heavy  on  his  mind  it  was  that  Earl  of  Essex,  whose 
head  he  had  seen  roll  off  ;  and  he  solemnly  said  that  he  had 
had  no  hand  in  bringing  him  to  the  block,  and  that  he  had 
shed  tears  for  him  when  he  died.  As  the  morning  was  very 
cold,  the  sheriff  said,  would  he  come  down  to  a  fire  for  a 
little  space,  and  warm  himself  ?  But  Sir  Walter  thanked  him, 
and  said  no,  he  would  rather  it  were  done  at  once,  for  he  was 
ill  of  fever  and  ague,  and  in  another  quarter  of  an  hour  his 
shaking  fit  would  come  upon  him  if  he  were  still  alive,  and 
his  enemies  might  then  suppose  that  he  trembled  for  fear. 
With  that,  he  kneeled  and  made  a  very  beautiful  and  Chris- 
tian prayer.  Before  he  laid  his  head  upon  the  block  he  felt 
the  edge  of  the  ax,  and  said,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face, 
that  it  was  a  sharp  medicine,  but  would  cure  the  worst  disease. 
When  he  was  bent  down  ready  for  death,  he  said  to  the  ex- 
ecutioner, finding  that  he  hesitated,  "  What  dost  thou  fear  ? 


3o8        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Strike,  man  !  "  So,  the  ax  came  down  and  struck  his    head 
off,  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  his  age. 

The  new  favorite  got  on  fast.  He  was  made  a  viscount, 
he  was  made  Duke  of  Buckingham,  he  was  made  a  marquis, 
he  was  made  Master  of  the  Horse,  he  was  made  Lord  High 
Admiral — and  the  Chief  Commander  of  the  gallant  English 
forces  that  had  dispersed  the  Spanish  Armada,  was  displaced 
to  make  room  for  him.  He  had  the  whole  kingdom  at  his 
disposal,  and  his  mother  sold  all  the  profits  and  honors  of 
the  State,  as  if  she  had  kept  a  shop.  He  blazed  all  over 
with  diamonds  and  other  precious  stones,  from  his  hatband 
and  his  earrings  to  his  shoes.  Yet  he  was  an  ignorant,  pre- 
sumptuous, swaggering  compound  of  knave  and  fool,  with 
nothing  but  his  beauty  and  his  dancing  to  recommend  him. 
This  is  the  gentleman  who  called  himself  his  Majesty's  dog 
and  slave,  and  called  his  Majesty  Your  Sowship.  His  Sow- 
ship  called  him  Steenie  ;  it  is  supposed,  because  that  was  a 
nickname  for  Stephen,  and  because  St.  Stephen  was  generally 
represented  in  pictures  as  a  handsome  saint. 

His  Sowship  was  driven  sometimes  to  his  wit's-end  by  his 
trimming  between  the  general  dislike  of  the  Catholic  religion 
at  home,  and  his  desire  to  wheedle  and  natter  it  abroad,  as 
his  only  means  of  getting  a  rich  princess  for  his  son's  wife  : 
a  part  of  whose  fortune  he  might  cram  into  his  greasy 
pockets.  Prince  Charles  —  or  as  his  Sowship  called  him, 
Baby  Charles — being  now  Prince  of  Wales,  the  old  project 
of  a  marriage  with  the  Spanish  King's  daughter  had  been  re- 
vived for  him  ;  and  as  she  could  not  marry  a  Protestant 
without  leave  from  the  Pope,  his  Sowship  himself  secretly 
and  meanly  wrote  to  his  Infallibility,  asking  for  it.  The 
negotiation  for  this  Spanish  marriage  takes  up  a  larger  space 
in  great  books  than  you  can  imagine,  but  the  upshot  of  it  all 
is,  that  when  it  had  been  held  off  by  the  Spanish  Court  for  a 
long  time,  Baby  Charles  and  Steenie  set  off  in  disguise  as 
Mr.  Thomas  Smith  and  Mr.  John  Smith,  to  see  the  Spanish 
Princess  ;  that  Baby  Charles  pretended  to  be  desperately  in 
love  with  her,  and  jumped  off  walls  to  look  at  her,  and  made 
a  considerable  fool  of  himself  in  a  good  many  ways  ;  that 
she  was  called  Princess  of  Wales,  and  that  the  whole  Spanish 
Court  believed  Baby  Charles  to  be  all  but  dying  for  her  sake, 
as  he  expressly  told  them  he  was  ;  that  Baby  Charles  and 
Steenie  came  back  to  England,  and  were  received  with  as 
much  rapture  as  if  they  had  been  a  blessing  to  it  ;  that  Baby 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND         309 

Charles  had  actually  fallen  in  love  with  Henrietta  Maria, 
the  French  King's  sister,  whom  he  had  seen  in  Paris  ;  that  he 
thought  it  a  wonderfully  fine  and  princely  thing  to  have  de- 
ceived the  Spaniards,  all  through  ;  and  that  he  openly  said, 
with  a  chuckle,  as  soon  as  he  was  safe  and  sound  at  home 
again,  that  the  Spaniards  were  great  fools  to  have  believed 
him. 

Like  most  dishonest  men,  the  Prince  and  the  favorite  com- 
plained that  the  people  whom  they  had  deluded  were  dishon- 
est. They  made  such  misrepresentations  of  the  treachery  of 
the  Spaniards  in  this  business  of  the  Spanish  match,  that  the 
English  nation  became  eager  for  a  war  with  them.  Although 
the  gravest  Spaniards  laughed  at  the  idea  of  his  Sowship  in 
a  warlike  attitude,  the  Parliament  granted  money  for  the  be- 
ginning of  hostilities,  and  the  treaties  with  Spain  were  pub- 
licly declared  to  be  at  an  end.  The  Spanish  ambassador  in 
London — probably  with  the  help  of  the  fallen  favorite,  the 
Earl  of  Somerset — being  unable  to  obtain  speech  with  his 
Sowship,  slipped  a  paper  into  his  hand,  declaring  that  he  was 
a  prisoner  in  his  own  house,  and  was  entirely  governed  by 
Buckingham  and  his  creatures.  The  first  effect  of  this  letter 
was  that  his  Sowship  began  to  cry  and  whine,  and  took  Baby 
Charles  away  from  Steenie,  and  went  down  to  Windsor, 
gabbling  all  sorts  of  nonsense.  The  end  of  it  was  that  his 
Sowship  hugged  his  dog  and  slave,  and  said  he  was  quite 
satisfied. 

He  had  given  the  Prince  and  the  favorite  almost  unlimited 
power  to  settle  any  thing  with  the  Pope  as  to  the  Spanish 
marriage  ;  and  he  now,  with  a  view  to  a  French  one,  signed 
a  treaty  that  all  Roman  Catholics  in  England  should  exercise 
their  religion  freely,  and  should  never  be  required  to  take 
any  oath  contrary  thereto.  In  return  for  this,  and  for  other 
concessions  much  less  to  be  defended,  Henrietta  Maria  was 
to  become  the  Prince's  wife,  and  was  to  bring  him  a  fortune 
of  eight  hundred  thousand  crowns. 

His  Sowship's  eyes  were  getting  red  with  eagerly  looking 
for  the  money,  when  the  end  of  a  gluttonous  life  came  upon 
him  ;  and,  after  a  fortnight's  illness,  on  Sunday  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  March,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  twenty- 
five,  he  died.  He  had  reigned  twenty-two  years,  and  was 
fifty-nine  years  old.  I  know  of  nothing  more  abominable  in 
history  than  the  adulation  that  was  lavished  on  this  King,  and 
the  vice  and  corruption  that  such  a  barefaced  habit  of  lying 


3io        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

produced  in  his  court.  It  is  much  to  be  doubted  whether 
one  man  of  honor,  and  not  utterly  self-disgraced,  kept  his 
place  near  James  the  First.  Lord  Bacon,  that  able  and  wise 
philosopher,  as  the  First  Judge  in  the  Kingdom  in  this  reign, 
became  a  public  spectacle  of  dishonesty  and  corruption  ;  and 
in  his  base  flattery  of  his  Sowship,  and  in  his  crawling  ser- 
vility to  his  dog  and  slave,  disgraced  himself  even  more. 
But  a  creature  like  his  Sowship  set  upon  a  throne  is  like  the 
Plague,  and  every  body  receives  infection  from  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    CHARLES    THE    FIRST. 

Baby  Charles  became  King  Charles  the  First,  in  the 
twenty-fifth  year  of  his  age.  Unlike  his  father,  he  was 
usually  amiable  in  his  private  character,  and  grave  and  dig- 
nified in  his  bearing  ;  but,  like  his  father,  he  had  monstrously 
exaggerated  notions  of  the  rights  of  a  king,  and  was  evasive, 
and  not  to  be  trusted.  If  his  word  could  have  been  relied 
upon,  his  history  might  have  had  a  different  end. 

His  first  care  was  to  send  over  that  insolent  upstart,  Buck- 
ingham, to  bring  Henrietta  Maria  from  Paris  to  be  his  Queen  ; 
upon  which  occasion  Buckingham — with  his  usual  audacity 
— made  love  to  the  young  Queen  of  Austria,  and  was  very 
indignant  indeed  with  Cardinal  Richelieu,  the  French  Min- 
ister, for  thwarting  his  intentions.  The  English  people  were 
very  well  disposed  to  like  their  new  Queen,  and  to  receive 
her  with  great  favor  when  she  came  among  them  as  a  stran- 
ger. But  she  held  the  Protestant  religion  in  great  dislike, 
and  brought  over  a  crowd  of  unpleasant  priests,  who  made 
her  do  some  very  ridiculous  things,  and  forced  themselves 
upon  the  public  notice  in  many  disagreeable  ways.  Hence, 
the  people  soon  came  to  dislike  her,  and  she  soon  came  to 
dislike  them  ;  and  she  did  so  much  all  through  this  reign  in 
setting  the  King  (who  was  dotingly  fond  of  her)  against  his 
subjects,  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  if  she  had 
never  been  born. 

Now,  you  are  to  understand  that  King  Charles  the  First — 
of  his  own  determination  to  be  a  high  and  mighty  King  not 
to  be  called  to  account  by  anybody,  and  urged  on  by  his 
Queen  besides — deliberately  set  himself  to  put  his  Parliament 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         311 

down  and  to  put  himself  up.  You  are  also  to  understand, 
that  even  in  pursuit  of  this  wrong  idea  (enough  in  itself  to 
have  ruined  any  king)  he  never  took  a  straight  course,  but 
always  took  a  crooked  one. 

He  was  bent  upon  war  with  Spain,  though  neither  the 
House  of  Commons  nor  the  people  were  quite  clear  as  to  the 
justice  of  that  war,  now  that  they  began  to  think  a  little  more 
about  the  story  of  the  Spanish  match.  But  the  King  rushed 
into  it  hotly,  raised  money  by  illegal  means  to  meet  its  ex- 
penses, and  encountered  a  miserable  failure  at  Cadiz,  in  the 
very  first  year  of  his  reign.  An  expedition  to  Cadiz  had  been 
made  in  hope  of  plunder,  but  as  it  was  not  successful,  it  was 
necessary  to  get  a  grant  of  money  from  the  Parliament  ;  and 
when  they  met,  in  no  very  complying  humor,  the  King  told 
them,  "  to  make  haste  to  let  him  have  it,  or  it  would  be 
the  worse  for  themselves."  Not  put  in  a  more  complying 
humor  by  this,  they  impeached  the  King's  favorite,  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  as  the  cause  (which  he  undoubtedly  was)  of 
many  great  public  grievances  and  wrongs.  The  King,  to 
save  him,  dissolved  the  Parliament  without  getting  the  money 
he  wanted  ;  and  when  the  Lords  implored  him  to  consider 
and  grant  a  little  delay,  he  replied,  "  No,  not  one  minute." 
He  then  began  to  raise  money  for  himself  by  the  following 
means  among  others. 

He  levied  certain  duties  called  tonnage  and  poundage 
which  had  not  been  granted  by  the  Parliament,  and  could  law- 
fully be  levied  by  no  other  power  ;  he  called  upon  the  sea- 
port towns  to  furnish,  and  to  pay  all  the  cost  for  three  m.onths 
of  a  fleet  of  armed  ships  ;  and  he  required  the  people  to 
unite  in  lending  him  large  sums  of  money,  the  repayment  of 
which  was  very  doubtful.  If  the  poor  people  refused,  they 
were  pressed  as  soldiers  or  sailors;  if  the  gentry  .refused, 
they  were  sent  to  prison.  Five  gentlemen,  named  Sir  Thomas 
Darnel,  John  Corbet,  Walter  Earl,  John  Heveningham,  and 
Everard  Hampden,  for  refusing  were  taken  up  by  a  warrant 
of  the  King's  privy  council,  and  were  sent  to  prison  without 
any  cause  but  the  King's  pleasure  being  stated  for  their  im- 
prisonment. Then  the  question  came  to  be  solemnly  tried, 
whether  this  was  not  a  violation  of  Magna  Charta,  and  an 
encroachment  by  the  King  on  the  highest  rights  of  the  En- 
glish people.  His  lawyers  contended  No,  because  to  encroach 
upon  the  rights  of  the  English  people  would  be  to  do  wrong, 
and  the  King  could  do  no  wrong.  The  accommodating  judges 


312         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

decided  in  favor   of  this  wicked  nonsense ;  and  here  was  a 
fatal  division  between  the  King  and  the  people. 

For  all  this,  it  became  necessary  to   call   another  Parlia- 
ment.    The  people,  sensible  of  the    danger  in  which  their 
liberties  were,  chose  for  it  those  who  were  best  known  for 
their  determined  opposition  to  the  King  ;  but  still  the  King, 
quite  blinded  by  his  determination  to  carry  every  thing  before 
him,  addressed  them   when  they  met,   in    a  contemptuous 
manner,  and  just  told  them  in  so  many   words  that  he  had 
only  called  them  together  because  he  wanted  money.     The 
Parliament,  strong  enough  and  resolute  enough  to  know  that 
they  would  lower  his  tone,  cared  little  for  what  he  said,  and 
laid  before  him  one  of  the  great  documents  of  history,  which 
is  called  the  Petition  of  Right,  requiring  that  the  free  men 
of  England  should  no  longer  be  called  upon  to  lend  the  King 
money,  and  should  no  longer  be  pressed  or  imprisoned  for 
refusing  to  do  so  ;  further,   that  the  free  men  of   England 
should  no  longer  be  seized  by  the  King's  special  mandate  or 
warrant,  it  being  contrary  to  their  rights  and  liberties  and 
the  laws  of  their  country.     At  first  the  King  returned  an  an- 
swer to  this  petition,  in  which  he  tried  to  shirk  it  altogether; 
but,  the  House  of  Commons  then  showing  their  determina- 
tion to  go  on  with  the  impeachment  of  Buckingham  the  King 
in  alarm  returned  an  answer,  giving  his  consent  to  all  that 
was  required  of  him.     He  not  only  afterward  departed  from 
his  word  and  honor  on  these   points,  over  and  over  again, 
but,  at  this  very  time,  he  did  the  mean  and  dissembling  act 
of  publishing  his  first  answer*and  not  his  second — merely 
that  the  people  might  suppose  that  the  Parliament  had  not 
got  the  better  of  him. 

That  pestilent  Buckingham,  to  gratify  his  own  wounded 
vanity,  had  by  this  time  involved  the  country  in  war  with 
France,  as  well  as  with  Spain.  For  such  miserable  causes 
and  such  miserable  creatures  are  wars  sometimes  made  !  But 
he  was  destined  to  do  little  more  mischief  in  this  world.  One 
morning,  as  he  was  going  out  of  his  house  to  his  carriage,  he 
turned  to  speak  to  a  certain  Colonel  Fryer  who  was  with  him; 
and  he  was  violently  stabbed  with  a  knife,  which  the  mur- 
derer left  sticking  in  his  heart.  This  happened  in  his  hall. 
He  had  had  angry  words  up  stairs,  just  before,  with  some 
French  gentlemen,  who  were  immediately  suspected  by  his 
servants,  and  had  a  close  escape  from  being  set  upon  and 
killed.     In  the  midst  of  the  noise,   the  real  murderer,  who 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         313 

had  gone  to  the  kitchen  and  might  easily  have  got  away, 
drew  his  sword  and  cried  out,  "  I  am  the  man  !  "  His  name 
was  John  Felton,  a  Protestant  and  a  retired  officer  in  the 
army.  He  said  he  had  had  no  personal  ill-will  to  the  Duke 
but  had  killed  him  as  a  curse  to  the  country.  He  had  aimed 
his  blow  well,  for  Buckingham  had  only  had  time  to  cry  out, 
"  Villain  !  "  and  then  he  drew  out  the  knife,  fell  against  a 
table,  and  died. 

The  council  made  a  mighty  business  of  examining  John 
Felton  about  this  murder,  though  it  was  a  plain  case  enough, 
one  would  think.  He  had  come  seventy  miles  to  do  it,  he 
told  them,  and  he  did  it  for  the  reason  he  had  declared; 
if  they  put  him  upon  the  rack,  as  that  noble  Marquis  of  Dor- 
set whom  he  saw  before  him,  had  the  goodness  to  threaten, 
he  gave  that  marquis  warning,  that  he  would  accuse  him  as 
his  accomplice!  The  King  was  unpleasantly  anxious  to  have 
him  racked,  nevertheless  ;  but  as  the  judges  now  found  out 
that  torture  was  contrary  to  the  law  of  England — it  is  a  pity 
they  did  not  make  the  discovery  a  little  sooner — John  Felton 
was  simply  executed  for  the  murder  he  had  done.  A  murder 
it  undoubtedly  was,  and  not  in  the  least  to  be  defended  ; 
though  he  had  freed  England  from  one  of  the  most  profligate, 
contemptible,  and  base  court  favorites  to  whom  it  has  ever 
yielded. 

A  very  different  man  now  arose.  This  was  Sir  Thomas 
Wentworth,  a  Yorkshire  gentleman,  who  had  sat  in  Parlia- 
ment for  a  long  time,  and  who  had  favored  arbitrary  and 
haughty  principles,  but  who  had  gone  over  to  the  people's 
side  on  receiving  offense  from  Buckingham.  The  King, 
much  wanting  such  a  man — for,  besides  being  naturally 
favorable  to  the  King's  cause,  he  had  great  abilities — made 
him  first  a  Baron,  and  then  a  Viscount,  and  gave  him  high 
employment,  and  won  him  most  completely. 

A  Parliament,  however,  was  still  in  existence,  and  was  not 
to  be  won.  On  the  twentieth  of  January,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  twenty-nine,  Sir  John  Eliot,  a  great  man  who 
had  been  active  in  the  Petition  of  Right,  brought  forward 
other  strong  resolutions  against  the  King's  chief  instruments, 
and  called  upon  the  Speaker  to  put  them  to  the  vote.  To 
this  the  Speaker  answered,  "  he  was  commanded  otherwise 
by  the  King,"  and  got  up  to  leave  the  chair — which,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  House  of  Commons  would  have 
obliged  it  to  adjourn  without  doing  any  thing  more — whe» 


314         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

two  members,  named  Mr.  Hollis  and  Mr.  Valentine,  held  him 
down.  A  scene  of  great  confusion  arose  among  the  members  ; 
and  while  many  swords  were  drawn  and  flashing  about,  the 
King,  who  was  kept  informed  of  all  that  was  going  on,  told  the 
captain  of  his  guard  to  go  down  to  the  House  and  force  the 
doors.  The  resolutions  were  by  that  time,  however,  voted,  and 
the  House  adjourned.  Sir  John  Eliot  and  those  two  members 
who  had  held  the  speaker  down,  were  quickly  summoned  be- 
fore the  council.  As  they  claimed  it  to  be  their  privilege 
not  to  answer  out  of  Parliament  for  any  thing  they  had  said 
in  it,  they  were  committed  to  the  Tower.  The  King  then 
went  down  and  dissolved  the  Parliament,  in  a  speech  wherein 
he  made  mention  of  these  gentlemen  as  "Vipers"  — 
which  did  not  do  him  much  good  that  ever  I  have  heard  of. 

As  they  refused  to  gain  their  liberty  by  saying  they  were 
sorry  for  what  they  had  done,  the  King,  always  remarkably 
unforgiving,  never  overlooked  their  offense.  When  they  de- 
manded to  be  brought  up  before  the  Court  of  King's  Bench, 
he  even  resorted  to  the  meanness  of  having  them  moved 
about  from  prison  to  prison,  so  that  the  writs  issued  for  that 
purpose  should  not  legally  find  them.  At  last  they  came  be- 
fore the  court  and  were  sentenced  to  heavy  fines,  and  to  be 
imprisoned  during  the  King's  pleasure.  When  Sir  John 
Eliot's  health  had  quite  given  way,  and  he  so  longed  for 
change  of  air  and  scene  as  to  petition  for  his  release,  the 
King  sent  back  the  answer  (worthy  of  his  Sowship  himself) 
that  the  petition  was  not  humble  enough.  When  he  sent 
another  petition  by  his  young  son,  in  which  he  pathetically 
offered  to  go  back  to  prison  when  his  health  was  restored,  if 
he  might  be  released  for  its  recovery,  the  King  still  disre- 
garded it.  When  he  died  in  the  Tower,  and  his  children 
petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  take  his  body  down  to  Cornwall, 
there  to  lay  it  among  the  ashes  of  his  forefathers,  the  King 
returned  for  answer,  "Let  Sir  John  Eliot's  body  be  buried 
in  the  church  of  that  parish  where  he  died."  All  this  was 
like  a  very  little  King,  I  think. 

And  now,  for  twelve  long  years,  steadily  pursuing  his  de- 
sign of  setting  himself  up  and  putting  the  people  down,  the 
King  called  no  Parliament ;  but  ruled  without  one.  If  twelve 
thousand  volumes  were  written  in  his  praise  (as  a  good  many 
have  been)  it  would  still  remain  a  fact,  impossible  to  be  de- 
nied, that  for  twelve  years  King  Charles  the  First  reigned  in 
England  unlawfully  and  despotically,  seized  upon  his  sub- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        315 

jects'  goods  and  money  at  his  pleasure,  and  punished  accord- 
ing to  his  unbridled  will  all  who  ventured  to  oppose  him.  It 
is  a  fashion  with  some  people  to  think  that  this  King's  career 
was  cut  short  ;  but  I  must  say  myself  that  I  think  he  ran  a 
pretty  long  one. 

William  Laud,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was  the  King's 
right-hand  man  in  the  religious  part  of  the  putting  down  of 
the  people's  liberties.  Laud,  who  was  a  sincere  man,  of 
large  learning  but  small  sense — for  the  two  things  sometimes 
go  together  in  very  different  quantities — though  a  Protestant, 
held  opinions  so  near  those  of  the  Catholics,  that  the  Pope 
wanted  to  make  a  Cardinal  of  him,  if  he  would  have  accepted 
that  favor.  He  looked  upon  vows,  robes,  lighted  candles, 
images,  and  so  forth,  as  amazingly  important  in  religious 
ceremonies  ;  and  he  brought  in  an  immensity  of  bowing  and 
candle-snuffing.  He  also  regarded  archbishops  and  bishops 
as  a  sort  of  miraculous  persons,  and  was  inveterate  in  the 
last  degree  against  any  who  thought  otherwise.  Accordingly, 
he  offered  up  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  was  in  a  state  of  much 
pious  pleasure,  when  a  Scotch  clergyman  named  Leighton, 
was  pilloried,  whipped,  branded  in  the  cheek,  and  had  one  of 
his  ears  cut  off  and  one  of  his  nostrils  slit,  for  calling  bishops 
trumpery  and  the  inventions  of  men.  He  originated  on  a 
Sunday  morning  the  prosecution  of  William  Pyrnne,  a  bar- 
rister who  was  of  similar  opinions,  and  who  was  fined  a  thou- 
sand pounds  ;  who  was  pilloried  ;  who  had  his  ears  cut  off 
on  two  occasions — one  ear  at  a  time — and  who  was  impris- 
oned for  life.  He  highly  approved  of  the  punishment  of 
Doctor  Bastwick,  a  physician  ;  who  was  also  fined  a  thousand 
pounds  ;  and  who  afterwards  had  his  ears  cut  off,  and  was 
imprisoned  for  life.  These  were  gentle  methods  of  persua- 
sion, some  will  tell  you  ;  I  think  they  were  rather  calculated 
to  be  alarming  to  the  people. 

In  the  money  part  of  the  putting  down  of  the  people's  lib- 
erties, the  King  was  equally  gentle,  as  some  will  tell  you:  as 
I  think,  equally  alarming.  He  levied  those  duties  of  tonnage 
and  poundage,  and  increased  them  as  he  thought  fit.  He 
granted  monopolies  to  companies  of  merchants  on  their  pay- 
ing him  for  them,  notwithstanding  the  great  complaints  that 
had,  for  years  and  years,  been  made  on  the  subject  of  monop- 
olies. He  fined  the  people  for  disobeying  proclamations 
issued  by  his  Sowship  in  direct  violation  of  law.  He  re- 
vived the  detested  Forest  laws,  and  took  private  property  to 


3i6        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

himself  as  his  forest  right.  Above  all,  he  determined  to  have 
what  was  called  Ship  Money  ;  that  is  to  say,  money  for  the 
support  of  the  fleet — not  only  from  the  seaports,  but  from 
all  the  counties  of  England  :  having  found  out  that,  in  some 
ancient  time  or  other,  all  the  counties  paid  it.  The  grievance 
of  this  ship  money  being  somewhat  too  strong,  John  Cham- 
bers, a  citizen  of  London,  refused  to  pay  his  part  of  it.  For 
this  the  Lord  Mayor  ordered  John  Chambers  to  prison,  and 
for  that  John  Chambers  brought  a  suit  against  the  Lord 
Mayor.  Lord  Say,  also,  behaved  like  a  real  nobleman,  and 
declared  he  would  not  pay.  But  the  sturdiest  and  best  op- 
ponent of  the  ship  money  was  John  Hampden,  a  gentleman 
of  Buckinghamshire,  who  had  sat  among  the  "  vipers  "  in  the 
House  of  Commons  when  there  was  such  a  thing,  and  who 
had  been  the  bosom  friend  of  Sir  John  Eliot.  This  case  was 
tried  before  the  twelve  judges  in  the  Court  of  Exchequer, 
and  again  the  King's  lawyers  said  it  was  impossible  that  ship 
money  could  be  wrong,  because  the  King  could  do  no  wrong, 
however  hard  he  tried — and  he  really  did  try  very  hard 
during  these  twelve  years.  Seven  of  the  judges  said  that 
was  quite  true,  and  Mr.  Hampden  was  bound  to  pay :  five  of 
the  judges  said  that  was  quite  false,  and  Mr.  Hampden  was 
not  bound  to  pay.  So,  the  King  triumphed  (as  he  thought), 
by  making  Hampden  the  most  popular  man  in  England  ; 
where  matters  were  getting  to  that  height  now,  that  many 
honest  Englishmen  could  not  endure  their  country,  and  sailed 
away  across  the  seas  to  found  a  colony  in  Massachusetts  Bay 
in  America.  It  is  said  that  Hampden  himself  and  his  rela- 
tion Oliver  Cromwell  were  going  with  a  company  of  such 
voyagers,  and  were  actually  on  board  ship,  when  they  were 
stopped  by  a  proclamation,  prohibiting  sea  captains  to  carry 
out  such  passengers  without  the  royal  license.  But  O  !  it 
would  have  been  well  for  the  King  if  he  had  let  them  go  ! 

This  was  the  state  of  England.  If  Laud  had  been  a  mad- 
man just  broke  loose,  he  could  not  have  done  more  mischief 
than  he  did  in  Scotland.  In  his  endeavors  (in  which  he  was 
seconded  by  the  King,  then  in  person  in  that  part  of  his  do- 
minions) to  force  his  own  ideas  of  bishops,  and  his  own 
religious  forms  and  ceremonies,  upon  the  Scotch,  he  roused 
that  nation  to  a  perfect  frenzy.  They  formed  a  solemn 
league,  which  they  called  The  Covenant,  for  the  preservation 
of  their  own  religious  forms  ;  they  rose  in  arms  throughout 
the  whole  country  ;  they  summoned  all  their  men  to  prayers 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        317 

and  sermons  twice  a  day  by  beat  of  drum  ;  they  sang  psalms, 
in  which  they  compared  their  enemies  to  all  the  evil  spirits 
that  ever  were  heard  of ;  and  they  solemnly  vowed  to  smite 
them  with  the  sword.  At  first  the  King  tried  force,  then 
treaty,  then  a  Scottish  Parliament  which  did  not  answer  at 
all.  Then  he  tried  the  Earl  of  Strafford,  formerly  Sir 
Thomas  Wentworth  ;  who,  as  Lord  Wentworth,  had  been  gov- 
erning Ireland.  He,  too,  had  carried  it  with  a  very  high  hand 
there,  though  to  the  benefit  and  prosperity  of  that  country. 

Strafford  and  Laud  were  for  conquering  the  Scottish  people 
by  force  of  arms.  Other  lords  who  were  taken  into  council, 
recommended  that  a  parliament  should  at  last  be  called  ;  to 
which  the  King  unwillingly  consented.  So,  on  the  thirteenth 
of  April,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty,  that  then 
strange  sight,  a  Parliament,  was  seen  at  Westminster.  It  is 
called  the  short  Parliament,  for  it  lasted  a  very  little  while. 
While  the  members  were  all  looking  at  one  another,  doubtful 
who  would  dare  to  speak,  Mr.  Pym  arose  and  set  forth  all 
that  the  King  had  done  unlawfully  during  the  past  twelve 
years,  and  what  was  the  position  to  which  England  was 
reduced.  This  great  example  set,  other  members  took  cour- 
age and  spoke  the  truth  freely,  though  with  great  patience 
and  moderation.  The  King,  a  little  frightened,  sent  to  say 
that  if  they  would  grant  him  a  certain  sum  on  certain  terms, 
no  more  ship  money  should  be  raised.  They  debated  the 
matter  for  two  days  ;  and  then,  as  they  would  not  give  him 
all  he  asked  without  promise  or  inquiry,  he  dissolved  them. 

But  they  knew  very  well  that  he  must  have  a  Parliament 
now  ;  and  he  began  to  make  that  discovery  too,  though 
rather  late  in  the  day.  Wherefore,  on  the  twenty-fourth  of 
September,  being  then  at  York  with  an  army  collected  against 
the  Scottish  people,  but  his  own  men  sullen  and  discontented 
like  the  rest  of  the  nation,  the  King  told  the  great  council  of 
the  Lords,  whom  he  had  called  to  meet  him  there,  that  he 
would  summon  another  Parliament  to  assemble  on  the  third 
of  November.  The  soldiers  of  the  Covenant  had  now  forced 
their  way  into  England  and  had  taken  possession  of  the 
northern  counties,  where  the  coals  are  got.  As  it  would 
never  do  to  be  without  coals,  and  as  the  King's  troops  could 
make  no  head  against  the  Covenanters  so  full  of  gloomy 
zeal,  a  truce  was  made,  and  a  treaty  with  Scotland  was  taken 
into  consideration.  Meanwhile  the  nothern  counties  paid 
the  Covenanters  to  leave  the  coals  alone,  and  keep  quiet. 


3:8       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

We  have  now  disposed  of  the  Short  Parliament.  We 
have  next  to  see  what  memorable  things  were  done  by  the 
Long  one. 


Second  Part. 

The  Long  Parliament  assembled  on  the  third  of  Novem- 
ber, one  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty.  On  that  day  week 
the  Earl  of  Strafford  arrived  from  York,  very  sensible  that 
the  spirited  and  determined  men  who  formed  that  Parliament 
were  no  friends  toward  him,  who  had  not  only  deserted  the 
cause  of  the  people,  but  who  had  on  all  occasions  opposed 
himself  to  their  liberties.  The  King  told  him,  for  his  com- 
fort, that  the  Parliament  "  should  not  hurt  one  hair  of  his 
head."  But,  on  the  very  next  day  Mr.  Pym,  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  with  great  solemnity,  impeached  the  Earl  of 
Strafford  as  a  traitor.  He  was  immediately  taken  into  cus- 
tody and  fell  from  his  proud  height. 

It  was  the  twenty-second  of  March  before  he  was  brought 
to  trial  in  Westminster  Hall  ;  where,  although  he  was  very 
ill  and  suffered  great  pain,  he  defended  himself  with  such 
ability  and  majesty,  that  it  was  doubtful  whether  he  would 
not  get  the  best  of  it.  But  on  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  trial, 
Pym  produced  in  the  House  of  Commons  a  copy  of  some 
notes  of  a  council,  found  by  young  Sir  Harry  Vane  in  a  red 
velvet  cabinet  belonging  to  his  father  (Secretary  Vane,  who 
sat  at  the  council-table  with  the  Earl),  in  which  Strafford 
had  distinctly  told  the  King  that  he  was  free  from  all  rules 
and  obligations  of  government,  and  might  do  with  his  peo- 
ple whatever  he  liked  ;  and  in  which  he  had  added — "  You 
have  an  army  in  Ireland  that  you  may  employ  to  reduce  this 
kingdom  to  obedience."  It  was  not  clear  whether  by  the 
words  "this  kingdom,"  he  had  really  meant  England  or 
Scotland  ;  but  the  Parliament  contended  that  he  meant 
England,  and  this  was  treason.  At  the  same  sitting  of  the 
House  of  Commons  it  was  resolved  to  bring  in  a  bill  of  at- 
tainder declaring  the  treason  to  have  been  committed  :  in 
preference  to  proceeding  with  the  trial  by  impeachment, 
which  would  have  required  the  treason  to  be  proved. 

So,  a  bill  was  brought  in  at  once,  was  carried  through  the 
House  of  Commons  by  a  large  majority,  and  was  sent  up  to 
the  House  of  Lords.     While   it  was   still  uncertain  whether 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         319 

the  House  of  Lords  would  pass  it  and  the  King  consent  to 
it,  Pym  disclosed  to  the  House  of  Commons  that  the  King 
and  Queen  had  both  been  plotting  with  the  officers  of  the 
army  to  bring  up  the  soldiers  and  control  the  Parliament,  and 
also  to  introduce  two  hundred  soldiers  into  the  Tower  of 
London  to  effect  the  Earl's  escape.  The  plotting  with 
the  army  was  revealed  by  one  George  Goring,  the  son  of  a 
lord  of  that  name  :  a  bad  fellow  who  was  one  of  the  original 
plotters,  and  turned  traitor.  The  King  had  actually  given 
his  warrant  for  the  admission  of  the  two  hundred  men  into 
the  Tower,  and  they  would  have  got  in  too,  but  for  the  re- 
fusal of  the  governor— a  sturdy  Scotchman  of  the  name  of 
Balfour — to  admit  them.  These  matters  being  made  public, 
great  numbers  of  people  began  to  riot  outside  the  Houses  of 
Parliament,  and  to  cry  out  for  the  execution  of  the  Earl  of 
Strafford,  as  one  of  the  King's  chief  instruments  against 
them.  The  bill  passed  the  House  of  Lords  while  the  peopl  > 
were  in  this  state  of  agitation,  and  was  laid  before  the  King 
for  his  assent,  together  with  another  bill  declaring  that  the 
Parliament  then  assembled  should  not  be  dissolved  or  ad- 
journed without  their  own  consent.  The  King — not  unwill- 
ing to  save  a  faithful  servant,  though  he  had  no  great  at- 
tachment for  him — was  in  some  doubt  what  to  do  ;  but  he 
gave  his  consent  to  both  bills,  although  he  in  his  heart  believed 
that  the  bill  against  the  Earl  of  Strafford  was  unlawful  and 
unjust.  The  Earl  had  written  to  him,  telling  him  that  he 
was  willing  to  die  for  his  sake.  But  he  had  not  expected  that 
his  royal  master  would  take  him  at  his  word  quite  so  readily  ; 
for,  when  he  heard  his  doom,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
and  said,  "  Put  not  your  trust  in  Princes  !  " 

The  King,  who  never  could  be  straightforward  and  plain, 
through  one  single  day  or  through  one  single  sheet  of  paper, 
wrote  a  letter  to  the  Lords,  and  sent  it  by  the  young  Prince 
of  Wales,  entreating  them  to  prevail  with  the  Commons  that 
"  that  unfortunate  man  should  fulfill  the  natural  course  of  his 
life  in  a  close  imprisonment."  In  a  postscript  to  the  very 
same  letter,  he  added,  "  If  he  must  die,  it  were  charity  to  re- 
prieve him  till  Saturday."  If  there  had  been  any  doubt  of 
his  fate,  this  weakness  and  meanness  would  have  settled  it. 
The  very  next  day,  which  was  the  twelfth  of  May,  he  was 
brought  out  to  be  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill. 

Archbishop  Laud,  who  had  been  so  fond  of  having  peo- 
ple's ears  cropped  off  and  their  noses  slit,  was  now  confined 


320        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

in  the  Tower  too  ;  and  when  the  Earl  went  by  his  window  to- 
his  death,  he  was  there,  at  his  request,  to  give  him  his  bless- 
ing. They  had  been  great  friends  in  the  King's  cause,  and 
the  Earl  had  written  to  him  in  the  days  of  their  power  that 
he  thought  it  would  be  an  admirable  thing  to  have  Mr.  Hamp- 
den publicly  whipped  for  refusing  to  pay  the  ship  money. 
However,  those  high  and  mighty  doings  were  over  now,  and 
the  Earl  went  his  way  to  death  with  dignity  and  heroism. 
The  Governor  wished  him  to  get  into  a  coach  at  the 
Tower  gate,  for  fear  the  people  should  tear  him  to  pieces  ; 
but  he  said  it  was  all  one  to  him  whether  he  died  by  the  ax 
or  by  the  people's  hands.  So,  he  walked,  with  a  firm  tread 
and  a  stately  look,  and  sometimes  pulled  off  his  hat  to  them 
as  he  passed  along.  They  were  profoundly  quiet.  He  made 
a  speech  on  the  scaffold  from  some  notes  he  had  prepared 
(the  paper  was  found  lying  there  after  his  head  was  struck 
off),  and  one  blow  of  the  ax  killed  him,  in  the  forty-ninth 
year  of  his  age. 

This  bold  and  daring  act,  the  Parliament  accompanied  by 
other  famous  measures,  all  originating  (as  even  this  did)  in 
the  King's  having  so  grossly  and  so  long  abused  his  power. 
The  name  of  Delinquents  was  applied  to  all  sheriffs  and 
other  officers  who  had  been  concerned  in  raising  the  ship 
money,  or  any  other  money,  from  the  people,  in  an  unlawful 
manner  ;  the  Hampden  judgment  was  reversed  ;  the  judges 
who  had  decided  against  Hampden  were  called  upon  to  give 
large  securities  that  they  would  take  such  consequences  as 
Parliament  might  impose  upon  them  ;  and  one  was  arrested 
as  he  sat  in  High  Court,  and  carried  off  to  prison.  Laud 
was  impeached  ;  the  unfortunate  victims  whose  ears  had 
been  cropped  and  whose  noses  had  been  slit,  were  brought 
out  of  prison  in  triumph  ;  and  a  bill  was  passed  declaring 
that  a  Parliament  should  be  called  every  third  year,  and  that 
if  the  King  and  the  King's  officers  did  not  call  it,  the  people 
should  assemble  of  themselves  and  summon  it,  as  of  their 
own  right  and  power.  Great  illuminations  and  rejoicings 
took  place  over  all  these  things,  and  the  country  was  wildly  ex- 
cited. That  the  Parliament  took  advantage  of  this  excite- 
ment and  stirred  them  up  by  every  means,  there  is  no  doubt  ; 
but  you  are  always  to  remember  those  twelve  long  years, 
during  which  the  King  had  tried  so  hard  whether  he  really 
could  do  any  wrong  or  not. 

All  this  time  there  was  a  great  religious  outcry  against  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         321 

right  of  the  bishops  to  sit  in  Parliament ;  to  which  the  Scot- 
tish  people  particularly  objected.  The  English  were  divided 
on  this  subject,  and,  partly  on  this  account  and  partly  be- 
cause they  had  had  foolish  expectations  that  the  Parliament 
would  be  able  to  take  off  nearly  all  the  taxes,  numbers  of 
them  sometimes  wavered  and  inclined  toward  the  King. 

I  believe  myself,  that  if,  at  this  or  almost  any  other  period 
of  his  life,  the  King  could  have  been  trusted  by  any  man  not 
out  of  his  senses,  he  might  have  saved  himself  and  kept  his 
throne.  But,  on  the  English  army  being  disbanded,  he 
plotted  with  the  officers  again,  as  he  had  done  before,  and 
established  the  fact  beyond  all  doubt  by  putting  his  signature 
of  approval  to  a  petition  against  the  Parliamentary  leaders, 
which  was  drawn  up  by  certain  officers.  When  the  Scottish 
army  was  disbanded,  he  went  to  Edinburgh  in  four  days — 
which  was  going  very  fast  at  that  time — to  plot  again,  and 
so  darkly  too,  that  it  is  difficult  to  decide  what  his  whole 
object  was.  Some  suppose  that  he  wanted  to  gain  over  the 
Scottish  Parliament,  as  he  did  in  fact  gain  over,  by  presents 
and  favors,  many  Scottish  lords  and  men  of  power.  Some 
think  that  he  went  to  get  proofs  against  the  Parliamentary 
leaders  in  England  of  their  having  treasonably  invited  the 
Scottish  people  to  come  and  help  them.  With  whatever 
object  he  went  to  Scotland,  he  did  little  good  by  going.  At 
the  instigation  of  the  Earl  of  Montrose,  a  desperate  man 
wTho  was  then  in  prison  for  plotting,  he  tried  to  kidnap  three 
Scottish  lords  who  escaped.  A  committee  of  the  Parliament 
at  home,  who  had  followed  to  watch  him,  writing  an  account 
of  this  Incident,  as  it  was  called,  to  the  Parliament,  the  Par- 
liament made  a  fresh  stir  about  it  :  were,  or  feigned  to  be, 
much  alarmed  for  themselves  ;  and  wrote  to  the  Earl  of 
Essex,  the  commander-in-chief,  for  a  guard  to  protect  them. 

It  is  not  absolutely  proved  that  the  King  plotted  in  Ireland 
besides,  but  it  is  very  probable  that  he  did,  and  that  the 
Queen  did,  and  that  he  had  some  wild  hope  of  gaining  the 
Irish  people  over  to  his  side  by  favoring  arise  among  them. 
Whether  or  no,  they  did  rise  in  a  most  brutal  and  savage 
rebellion  ;  in  which,  encouraged  by  their  priests,  they  com- 
mitted such  atrocities  upon  numbers  of  the  English,  of  both 
sexes  and  of  all  ages,  as  nobody  could  believe,  but  for  their 
being  related  on  oath  by  eye-witnesses.  Whether  one  hund- 
red thousand  or  two  hundred  thousand  Protestants  were 
murdered  in  this  outbreak,  is  uncertain  ;  but,  that  it  was  as 


322       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ruthless  and  barbarous  an  outbreak  as  ever  was  known  among 
any  savage  people,  is  certain. 

The  King  came  home  from  Scotland,  determined  to  make 
a  great  struggle  for  his  lost  power.  He  believed  that,  through 
his  presents  and  favors,  Scotland  would  take  no  part  against 
him  ;  and  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  received  him  with  such 
a  magnificent  dinner  that  he  thought  he  must  have  become 
popular  again  in  England.  It  would  take  a  good  many  Lord 
Mayors,  however,  to  make  a  people,  and  the  King  soon  found 
himself  mistaken. 

Not  so  soon,  though,  but  that  there  was  a  great  opposition 
in  the  Parliament  to  a  celebrated  paper  put  forth  by  Pym  and 
Hampden  and  the  rest,  called  "  The  Remonstrance,"  which 
set  forth  all  the  illegal  acts  that  the  King  had  ever  done,  but 
politely  laid  the  blame  of  them  on  his  bad  advisers.  Even 
when  it  was  passed  and  presented  to  him,  the  King  still 
thought  himself  strong  enough  to  discharge  Balfour  from  his 
command  in  the  Tower,  and  to  put  in  his  place  a  man  of  bad 
character  ;  to  whom  the  Commons  instantly  objected,  and 
whom  he  was  obliged  to  abandon.  At  this  time,  the  old  out- 
cry about  the  Bishops  became  louder  than  ever,  and  the  old 
Archbishop  of  York  was  so  near  being  murdered  as  he  went 
down  to  the  House  of  Lords — being  laid  hold  of-  by  the 
mob  and  violently  knocked  about,  in  return  for  very  foolishly 
scolding  a  shrill  boy  who  was  yelping  out  "  No  Bishops  !  " — 
that  he  sent  for  all  the  bishops  who  were  in  town,  and  pro- 
posed to  them  to  sign  a  declaration  that,  as  they  could  no 
longer  without  danger  to  their  lives  attend  their  duty  in  Par- 
liament, they  protested  against  the  lawfulness  of  every  thing 
done  in  their  absence.  This  they  asked  the  King  to  send  to 
the  House  of  Lords,  which  he  did.  Then  the  House  of  Com- 
mons impeached  the  whole  party  of  bishops  and  sent  them 
off  to  the  Tower. 

Taking  no  warning  from  this;  but  encouraged  by  there  be- 
ing a  moderate  party  in  the  Parliament  who  objected  to  these 
strong  measures,  the  King,  on  the  third  of  January,  one  thou- 
sand six  hundred  and  forty-two,  took  the  rashest  step  that 
ever  was  taken  by  mortal  man. 

Of  his  own  accord  and  without  advice,  he  sent  the  Attorney- 
General  to  the  House  of  Lords,  to  accuse  of  treason  certain 
members  of  parliament  who  as  popular  leaders  were  the  most 
obnoxious  to  him  ;  Lord  Kimbolton,  Sir  Arthur  Haselrig, 
Denzil  Hollis,  John  Pym  (they  used  to  call  him  King  Pym, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        323 

he  possessed  such  power  and  looked  so  big),  John  Hampden, 
and  William  Strode.  The  houses  of  those  members  he 
caused  to  be  entered,  and  their  papers  to  be  sealed  up.  At 
the  same  time  he  sent  a  messenger  to  the  House  of  Commons 
demanding  to  have  the  five  gentlemen  who  were  members  of 
that  House  immediately  produced.  To  this  the  House  replied 
that  they  should  appear  as  soon  as  there  was  any  legal  charge 
against  them,  and  immediately  adjourned. 

Next  day,  the  House  of  Commons  send  into  the  city  to  let 
the  Lord  Mayor  know  that  their  privileges  are  invaded  by  the 
King,  and  that  there  is  no  safety  for  any  body  or  any  thing. 
Then,  when  the  five  members  are  gone  out  of  the  way,  down 
comes  the  King  himself,  with  all  his  guard  and  from  two  to 
three  hundred  gentlemen  and  soldiers,  of  whom  the  greater 
part  were  armed.  These  he  leaves  in  the  hall  ;  and  then, 
with  his  nephew  at  his  side,  goes  into  the  House,  takes  off  his 
hat,  and  walks  up  to  the  Speaker's  chair.  The  Speaker 
leaves  it,  the  King  stands  in  front  of  it,  looks  about  him 
steadily  for  a  little  while,  and  says  he  has  come  for  those  five 
members.  No  one  speaks,  and  then  he  calls  John  Pym  by 
name.  No  one  speaks,  and  then  he  calls  Denzil  Hollis  by 
name.  No  one  speaks,  and  then  he  asks  the  Speaker  of  the 
House  where  those  five  members  are  ?  The  Speaker,  answer- 
ing on  his  knee,  nobly  replies  that  he  is  the  servant  of  that 
House,  and  that  he  has  neither  eyes  to  see,  nor  tongue  to 
speak,  any  thing  but  what  the  House  commands  him.  Upon 
this,  the  King,  beaten  from  that  time  evermore,  replies  that 
he  will  seek  them  himself,  for  they  have  committed  treason; 
and  goes  out,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  amid  some  audible 
murmurs  from  the  members. 

No  words  can  describe  the  hurry  that  arose  out  of  doors 
when  all  this  was  known.  The  five  members  had  gone  for 
safety  to  a  house  in  Coleman  Street,  in  the  city,  where  they 
were  guarded  all  night;  and  indeed  the  whole  city  watched  in 
arms  like  an  army.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  King 
already  frightened  at  what  he  had  done,  came  to  the  Guild- 
hall, with  only  half  a  dozen  lords,  and  made  a  speech  to  the 
people,  hoping  they  would  not  shelter  those  whom  he  accused 
of  treason.  Next  day,  he  issued  a  proclamation  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  five  members  ;  but  the  Parliament  minded 
it  so  little  that  they  made  great  arrangements  for  having 
them  brought  down  to  Westminster  in  great  state,  five  days 
afterward.     The  King  was  so  alarmed  now  at  his  own  im- 


324        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAInD. 

prudence,  if  not  for  his  own  safety,  that  he  left  his  palace  at 
Whitehall,  and  went  away  with  his  Queen  and  children  to 
Hampton  Court. 

It  was  the  eleventh  of  May,  when  the  five  members  were 
carried  in  state  and  triumph  to  Westminster.  They  were 
taken  by  water.  The  river  could  not  be  seen  for  the  boats 
on  it ;  and  the  five  members  were  hemmed  in  by  barges  full 
of  men  and  great  guns,  ready  to  protect  them,  at  any  cost. 
Along  the  Strand  a  large  body  of  the  train-bands  of  London, 
under  their  commander,  Skippon,  marched  to  be  ready  to  as- 
sist the  little  fleet.  Beyond  them  came  a  crowd  who  choked 
the  streets,  roaring  incessantly  about  the  bishops,  and  the 
Papists,  and  crying  out  contemptuously  as  they  passed  White- 
hall, "  What  has  become  of  the  King  ? "  With  this  great 
noise  outside  the  House  of  Commons,  and  with  great  silence 
within,  Mr.  Pym  rose  and  informed  the  House  of  the  great 
kindness  with  which  they  had  been  received  in  the  city. 
Upon  that,  the  House  called  the  sheriffs  in  and  thanked  them, 
and  requested  the  train-bands,  under  their  commander  Skip- 
pon, to  guard  the  House  of  Commons  every  day.  Then 
came  four  thousand  men  on  horseback  out  of  Buckingham- 
shire, offering  their  services  as  a  guard  too,  and  bearing  a 
petition  to  the  King,  complaining  of  the  injury  that  had  been 
done  to  Mr.  Hampden,  who  was  their  county  man  and  much 
beloved  and  honored. 

When  the  King  set  off  for  Hampton  Court,  the  gentlemen 
and  soldiers  who  had  been  with  him  followed  him  out  of  town 
as  far  as  Kingston-upon-Thames;  next  day,  Lord  Digby 
came  to  them  from  the  King  at  Hampton  Court,  in  his  coach 
and  six,  to  inform  them  that  the  King  accepted  their  protec- 
tion. This,  the  Parliament  said,  was  making  war  against  the 
kingdom,  and  Lord  Digby  fled  abroad.  The  Parliament  then 
immediately  applied  themselves  to  getting  hold  of  the  mili- 
tary power  of  the  country,  well  knowing  that  the  King  was 
already  trying  hard  to  use  it  against  them,  and  that  he  had 
secretly  sent  the  Earl  of  Newcastle  to  Hull,  to  secure  a  valu- 
able magazine  of  arms  and  gunpowder  that  was  there.  In 
those  times,  every  county  had  its  own  magazines  of  arms  and 
powder,  for  its  own  train-bands  or  militia  ;  so  the  Parliament 
brought  in  a  bill  claiming  the  right  (which  up  to  this  time  had 
belonged  to  the  King)  of  appointing  the  lord  lieutenants  of 
counties,  who  commanded  these  train-bands  ;  also  of  having 
all  the  forts,  castles,  and  garrisons  in  the  kingdom,  put  into 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         325 

the  hands  of  such  governors  as  they,  the  Parliament,  could 
confide  in.  It  also  passed  a  law  depriving  the  bishops  of 
their  votes.  The  King  gave  his  assent  to  that  bill,  but  would 
not  abandon  the  right  of  appointing  the  lord  lieutenants, 
though  he  said  he  was  willing  to  appoint  such  as  might  be 
suggested  to  him  by  the  Parliament.  When  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke  asked  him  whether  he  would  not  give  way  on  that 
question  for  a  time,  he  said,  "  By  God  !  not  for  one  hour  !  " 
and  upon  this  he  and  the  Parliament  went  to  war. 

His  young  daughter  was  betrothed  to  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
On  pretense  of  taking  her  to  the  country  of  her  future  hus** 
band,  the  Queen  was  already  got  safely  away  to  Holland, 
there  to  pawn  the  Crown  jewels  for  money  to  raise  an  army 
on  the  King's  side.  The  Lord  Admiral  being  sick,  the  House 
of  Commons  now  named  the  Earl  of  Warwick  to  hold  his 
place  for  a  year.  The  King  named  another  gentleman  ;  the 
House  of  Commons  took  its  own  way,  and  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick became  Lord  Admiral  without  the  King's  consent.  The 
Parliament  sent  orders  down  to  Hull  to  have  that  magazine 
removed  to  London  ;  the  King  went  down  to  Hull  to  take  it 
himself.  The  citizens  would  not  admit  him  into  the  town, 
and  the  governor  would  not  admit  him  into  the  castle.  The 
Parliament  resolved  that  whatever  the  two  Houses  passed, 
and  the  King  would  not  consent  to,  should  be  called  an  Or- 
dinance, and  should  be  as  much  a  law  as  if  he  did  consent 
to  it.  The  King  protested  against  this,  and  gave  notice  that 
these  ordinances  were  not  to  be  obeyed.  The  King,  attended 
by  the  majority  of  the  House  of  Peers,  and  by  many  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  established  himself  at  York.  The 
Chancellor  went  to  him  with  the  Great  Seal,  and  the  Parlia- 
ment made  a  new  Great  Seal.  The  Queen  sent  over  a  ship 
full  of  arms  and  ammunition,  and  the  King  issued  letters  to 
borrow  money  at  high  interest.  The  Parliament  raised  twenty 
regiments  of  foot  and  seventy-five  troops  of  horse  ;  and  the 
people  willingly  aided  them  with  their  money,  plate,  jewelry, 
and  trinkets — the  married  women  even  with  their  wedding- 
rings.  Every  member  of  Parliament  who  could  raise  a  troop 
or  a  regiment  in  his  own  part  of  the  country,  dressed  it  ac- 
cording to  his  taste  and  in  his  own  colors,  and  commanded  it. 
Foremost  among  them  all,  Oliver  Cromwell  raised  a  troop 
of  horse,  thoroughly  in  earnest  and  thoroughly  well  armed— 
who  were,  perhaps,  the  best  soldiers  that  ever  were  seen. 

In  some  of  their  proceedings,this  famous  Parliament  passed 


326        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  bounds  of  previous  law  and  custom,  yielded  to  and  fa* 
vored  riotous  assemblages  of  the  people,  and  acted  tyranni- 
cally in  imprisoning  some  who  differed  from  the  popular 
leaders.  But  again,  you  are  always  to  remember  that  the 
twelve  years  during  which  the  King  had  had  his  own  willful 
way,  had  gone  before  ;  and  that  nothing  could  make  the 
times  what  they  might,  could,  would,  or  should  have  been,  if 
those  twelve  years  had  never  rolled  away* 

Third  Part. 

I  shall  not  try  to  relate  the  particulars  of  the  great  civil 
war  between  King  Charles  the  First  and  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment, which  lasted  nearly  four  years,  and  a  full  account  of 
which  would  fill  many  large  books.  It  was  a  sad  thing  that 
Englishmen  should  once  more  be  fighting  against  English- 
men on  English  ground  ;  but  it  is  some  consolation  to  know 
that  on  both  sides  there  was  great  humanity,  forbearance, 
and  honor.  The  soldiers  of  the  Parliament  were  fer  more 
remarkable  for  these  good  qualities  than  the  soldiers  of  the 
King  (many  of  whom  fought  for  mere  pay  without  much 
caring  for  the  cause);  but  those  of  the  nobility  and  gentry 
who  were  on  the  King's  side  were  so  brave,  and  so  faithful 
to  him,  that  their  conduct  cannot  but  command  our  highest 
admiration.  Among  them  were  great  numbers  of  Catholics, 
who  took  the  royal  side  because  the  Queen  was  so  strongly 
of  their  persuasion. 

The  King  might  have  distinguished  some  of  these  gallant 
spirits,  if  he  had  been  as  generous  a  spirit  himself,  by  giving 
them  the  command  of  his  army.  Instead  of  that,  however, 
true  to  his  old  high  notions  of  royalty,  he  intrusted  it  to  his 
two  nephews,  Prince  Rupert  and  Prince  Maurice,  who  were 
of  royal  blood  and  came  over  from  abroad  to  help  him.  It 
might  have  been  better  for  him  if  they  had  staid  away  ; 
since  Prince  Rupert  was  an  impetuous  hot-headed  fellow, 
whose  only  idea  was  to  dash  into  battle  at  all  times  and  sea- 
sons, and  lay  about  him. 

The  general-in-chief  of  the  Parliamentary  army  was  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  a  gentleman  of  honor  and  an  excellent  soldier. 
A  little  while  before  the  war  broke  out,  there  had  been  some 
rioting  at  Westminster  between  certain  officious  law  students 
and  noisy  soldiers,  and  the  shopkeepers  and  their  apprentices, 
and  the  general  people  in  the  streets.  At  that  time  the  King'* 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        327 

friends  called  the  crowd,  Roundheads,  because  the  appren- 
tices wore  short  hair ;  the  crowd,  in  return,  called  their  op- 
ponents Cavaliers,  meaning  that  they  were  a  blustering  set, 
who  pretended  to  be  very  military.  These  two  words  now 
began  to  be  used  to  distinguish  the  two  sides  in  the  civil 
war.  The  Royalists  also  called  the  Parliamentary  men  Reb- 
els and  Rogues,  while  the  Parliamentary  men  called  them 
Malignants  and  spoke  of  themselves  as  the  Godly,  the  Hon- 
est, and  so  forth. 

The  war  broke  out  at  Portsmouth,  where  that  double  traitor 
Goring  had  again  gone  over  to  the  King  and  was  besieged  by 
the  Parliamentary  troops.  Upon  this,  the  King  proclaimed 
the  Earl  of  Essex  and  the  officers  serving  under  him,  traitors, 
and  called  upon  his  loyal  subjects  to  meet  him  in  arms  at 
Nottingham  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  August.  But  his  loyal 
subjects  came  about  him  in  scanty  numbers,  and  it  was  a 
windy,  gloomy  day,  and  the  Royal  Standard  got  blown  down, 
and  the  whole  affair  was  very  melancholy.  The  chief  engage* 
ments  after  this,  took  place  in  the  vale  of  the  Red  Horse  near 
Banbury,  at  Brentford,  at  Devizes,  at  Chalgrave  Field  (where 
Mr.  Hampden  was  so  sorely  wounded  while  fighting  at  the 
head  of  his  men,  that  he  died  within  a  week),  at  Newbury 
(in  which  battle  Lord  Falkland,  one  of  the  best  noblemen 
on  the  King's  side,  was  killed),  at  Leicester,  at  Naseby,  at 
Winchester,  at  Marston  Moor,  near  York,  at  Newcastle,  and 
in  many  other  parts  of  England  and  Scotland.  These  battles 
were  attended  with  various  successes.  At  one  time,  the  King 
was  victorious  ;  at  another  time,  the  Parliament.  But  almost 
all  the  great  and  busy  towns  were  against  the  King  ;  and 
when  it  was  considered  necessary  to  fortify  London,  all  ranks 
of  people,  from  laboring  men  and  women,  up  to  lords  and 
ladies,  worked  hard  together  with  heartiness  and  good  will. 
The  most  distinguished  leaders  on  the  Parliamentary  side 
were  Hampden,.  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  and  above  all,  Oliver 
Cromwell,  and  his  son-in-law  Ireton. 

During  the  whole  of  this  war,  the  people,  to  whom  it  was 
very  expensive  and  irksome,  and  to  whom  it  was  made  the 
more  distressing  by  almost  every  family  being  divided — some 
of  its  members  attaching  themselves  to  one  side  and  some  to 
the  other — were  over  and  over  again  most  anxious  for  peace. 
So  were  some  of  the  best  men  in  each  cause.  Accordingly, 
treaties  of  peace  were  discussed  between  commissioners  from 
the  Parliament  and  the  King  ;  at  York,  at  Oxford  (where  the 


328        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

King  held  a  little  Parliament  of  his  own),  and  at  Uxbridge. 
But  they  came  to  nothing.  In  all  these  negotiations,  and  in 
all  his  difficulties,  the  King  showed  himself  at  his  best.  He 
was  courageous,  cool,  self-possessed,  and  clever  ;  but,  the 
old  taint  of  his  character  was  always  in  him,  and  he  was 
never  for  one  single  moment  to  be  trusted.  Lord  Claren- 
don, the  historian,  one  of  his  highest  admirers,  supposes  that 
he  had  unhappily  promised  the  Queen  never  to  make  peace 
without  her  consent,  and  that  this  must  often  be  taken  as  his 
excuse.  He  never  kept  his  word  from  night  to  morning. 
He  signed  a  cessation  of  hostilities  with  the  blood-stained 
Irish  rebels  for  a  sum  of  money,  and  invited  the  Irish  regi- 
ments over,  to  help  him  against  the  Parliament.  In  the 
battle  of  Naseby,  his  cabinet  was  seized  and  was  found  to 
contain  a  correspondence  with  the  Queen,  in  which  he  ex- 
pressly told  her  that  he  had  deceived  the  Parliament — a  mon- 
grel Parliament,  he  called  it  now,  as  an  improvement  on  his 
old  term  of  vipers — in  pretending  to  recognize  it  and  to  treat 
with  it ;  and  from  which  it  further  appeared  that  he  had  long 
been  in  secret  treaty  with  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  for  a  for- 
eign army  of  ten  thousand  men.  Disappointed  in  this,  he 
sent  a  most  devoted  friend  of  his,  the  Earl  of  Glamorgan,  to 
Ireland,  to  conclude  a  secret  treaty  with  the  Catholic  pow- 
ers, to  send  him  an  Irish  army  of  ten  thousand  men  ;  in  re- 
turn for  which  he  was  to  bestow  great  favors  on  the  Catholic 
religion.  And,  when  this  treaty  was  discovered  in  the  car- 
riage of  a  fighting  Irish  Archbishop  who  was  killed  in  one 
of  the  many  skirmishes  of  those  days,  he  basely  denied  and 
deserted  his  attached  friend,  the  Earl,  on  his  being  charged 
with  high  treason  ;  and — even  worse  than  this — had  left 
blanks  in  the  secret  instructions  he  gave  him  with  his  own 
kingly  hand,  expressly  that  he  might  thus  save  himself. 

At  last,  on  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  April,  one  thousand 
six  hundred  and  forty-six,  the  King  found  himself  in  the  city 
of  Oxford,  so  surrounded  by  the  Parliamentary  army  who 
were  closing  in  upon  him  on  all  sides  that  he  felt  that  if  he 
would  escape  he  must  delay  no  longer.  So,  that  night,  hav- 
ing altered  the  cut  of  his  hair  and  beard,  he  was  dressed  up 
as  a  servant  and  put  upon  a  horse  with  a  cloak  strapped  be- 
hind him,  and  rode  out  of  the  town  behind  one  of  his  own 
faithful  followers,  with  a  clergyman  of  that  country  who 
knew  the  road  well,  for  a  guide.  He  rode  toward  London 
as  far  as  Harrow,  and  *nen  altered  his  plans  and  resolved,  it 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         329 

would  seem,  to  go  to  the  Scottish  camp.  The  Scottish  men 
had  been  invited  over  to  help  the  Parliamentary  army,  and 
had  a  large  force  then  in  England.  The  King  was  so  des- 
perately intriguing  in  every  thing  he  did,  that  it  is  doubtful 
what  he  exactly  meant  by  this  step.  He  took  it,  any  how, 
and  delivered  himself  up  to  the  Earl  of  Leven,  the  Scottish 
general-in-chief,  who  treated  him  as  an  honorable  prisoner. 
Negotiations  between  the  Parliament  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  Scottish  authorities  on  the  other,  as  to  what  should  be 
done  with  him,  lasted  until  the  following  February.  Then, 
when  the  King  had  refused  to  the  Parliament  the  concession 
of  that  old  militia  point  for  twenty  years,  and  had  refused  to 
Scotland  the  recognition  of  its  Solemn  League  and  Covenant, 
Scotland  got  a  handsome  sum  for  its  army  and  its  help,  and 
the  King  into  the  bargain.  He  was  taken,  t>y  certain  Par- 
liamentary commissioners  appointed  to  receive  him,  to  one 
of  his  own  houses,  called  Holmby  House,  near  Althorpe,  in 
Northamptonshire. 

While  the  Civil  War  was  still  in  progress,  John  Pym  died, 
and  was  buried  in  great  honor  in  Westminster  Abbey — not 
with  greater  honor  than  he  deserved,  for  the  liberties  of  En- 
glishmen owe  a  mighty  debt  to  Pym  and  Hampden.  The 
war  was  but  newly  over  when  the  Earl  of  Essex  died,  of  an 
illness  brought  on  by  his  having  overheated  himself  in  a  stag 
hunt  in  Windsor  Forest.  He,  too,  was  buried  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  with  great  state.  I  wish  it  were  not  necessary  to  add 
that  Archbishop  Laud  died  upon  the  scaffold  when  the  war 
was  not  yet  done.  His  trial  lasted  in  all  nearly  a  year,  and, 
it  being  doubtful  even  then  whether  the  charges  brought 
against  him  amounted  to  treason,  the  odious  old  contrivance 
of  the  worst  kings  was  resorted  to,  and  a  bill  of  attainder 
was  brought  in  against  .him.  He  was  a  violently  prejudiced 
and  mischievous  person  ;  had  had  strong  ear-cropping  and 
nose-splitting  propensities,  as  you  know  ;  and  had  done  a 
world  of  harm.  But  he  died  peaceably,  and  like  a  brave  old 
man. 

Fourth  Part. 

When  the  Parliament  had  got  the  King  into  their  hands, 
they  became  very  anxious  to  get  rid  of  their  army,  in  which 
Oliver  Cromwell  had  begun  to  acquire  great  power;  not 
only  because  of  his  courage  and  high  abilities,  but  because 


330        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

he  professed  to  be  very  sincere  in  the  Scottish  sort  of  Puri- 
tan religion  that  was  then  exceedingly  popular  among  the 
soldiers.  They  were  as  much  opposed  to  the  bishops  as  to 
the  Pope  himself  ;  and  the  very  privates,  drummers,  and 
trumpeters,  had  such  an  inconvenient  habit  of  starting  up 
and  preaching  long-winded  discourses,  that  I  would  not  have 
belonged  to  that  army  on  any  account. 

So,  the  Parliament,  being  far  from  sure  but  that  the  army 
might  begin  to  preach  and  fight  against  them  now  it  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  proposed  to  disband  the  greater  part  of 
it,  to  send  another  part  to  serve  in  Ireland  against  the 
rebels,  and  to  keep  only  a  small  force  in  England.  But  the 
army  would  not  consent  to  be  broken  up,  except  upon  its 
own  conditions  ;  and,  when  the  Parliament  showed  an  in- 
tention of  compelling  it,  it  acted  for  ifself  in  an  unexpected 
manner.  A  certain  cornet,  of  the  name  of  Joice,  arrived  at 
Holmby  House  one  night,  attended  by  four  hundred  horse- 
men, went  into  the  King's  room  with  his  hat  in  one  hand 
and  a  pistol  in  the  other,  and  told  the  King  that  he  had 
come  to  take  him  away.  The  King  was  willing  enough  to 
go,  and  only  stipulated  that  he  should  be  publicly  required 
to  do  so  next  morning.  Next  morning,  accordingly,  he  ap- 
peared on  the  top  of  the  steps  of  the  house,  and  asked  Cor- 
net Joice  before  his  men  and  the  guard  set  there  by  the  Par- 
liament, what  authority  he  had  for  taking  him  away  ?  To 
this  Cornet  Joice  replied,  "The  authority  of  the  army." 
"  Have  you  a  written  commission  ?  "  said  the  King.  Joice, 
pointing  to  his  four  hundred  men  on  horseback,  replied, 
"  That  is  my  commission."  "  Well,"  said  the  King,  smiling, 
as  if  he  were  pleased,  "  I  never  before  read  such  a  com- 
mission ;  but  it  is  written  in  fair  and  legible  characters.  This 
is  a  company  of  as  handsome  proper  gentlemen  as  I  have 
seen  a  long  while."  He  was  asked  where  he  would  like  to 
live,  and  he  said  at  Newmarket.  So,  to  Newmarket  he  and 
Cornet  Joice  and  the  four  hundred  horsemen  rode  ;  the 
King  remarking,  in  the  samesmiling  way,  that  he  could 
ride  as  far  at  a  spell  as  Cornet  Joice,  or  any  man  there. 

The  King  quite  believed,  I  think,  that  the  army  were  his 
friends.  He  said  as  much  to  Fairfax  when  that  General, 
Oliver  Cromwell,  and  Ireton,  went  to  persuade  him  to  return 
to  the  custody  of  the  Parliament.  He  preferred  to  remain  as 
he  was,  and  resolved  to  remain  as  he  was.  And  when  the 
army  moved  nearer  and  nearer  London  to  frighten  the  Parlia- 


RY  OF  EXGLA.  331 

~e-.:  izzzz  ;zt'.zzz  ::  :"-t  r  ierr.  i-.i-  :-.t"  ::  :>  :"- t  T^zzz  -  :"-. 
them.  It  was  a  deplorable  tiring  that  RngfanH  shomld  be  at 
the  mercy  of  a  great  bodj  of  soldiers  with  arms  in  their 

>.:..:  e  :  z  2:  .:.:  II  : .  r  :  t : :  1  .-..;■  . :    :  :±  z  zztzz  1:  :    .  -:  _~  :  ;  - 1  - ; 
:  -:.-  ::'  :..;  1::-=   le  ::::.;  z:t  :  -  .:.-.  :  .7  ~ ::-  .1— :'_.  :  _-:  zz  :z.z: 
zr.zi  zz  zzzzz.'.  zzzz       '.:  zz  _ ::  :  7  :  :  it :    -. :     :  -  -.- "  :  -  i.  :.-.--.- 
:rti:ti   ...:...  ie   vt.    ~:ri   :rr.c:-'^yii:   r-  -  v  -Lzzz  iz'z 
rzz.zzztzz  izi  :::t       Litj  L..:—:  1  -  -:   :  -  L.zzzzti  :  ■• 
>.le    :— l    Etr   :::?.   ::     :t    .z'.zzz.z/-    t:::::;.-.::    1:  -irliii 
h :  : ;  =  e .  1-  i  : :   e  t 7    '. . . e    :  .  .  :  - tzz — : :     ".  1    -  e  :  :  -.-.    H  :  _ :  :    ::_; 
Reading— for  two  days.     Whereas,  the  Parliament  had  been 
zzzitz  zzzz  — .:'-  jun.  zzi  :.::  :  :..;-  il.  z~t :   '—  —  : :  7.  it  :  _: 
1-  i  :  '.:-;■•  ::  :■:—'.= 

-•  ■'-  ~  -'---  '■'-  :  -  z-ti-f  t  :  .'..:.:  .:'  zit  iLzz  zz  Li  :.i~t  :t;i 
zzzr.ti    ere-  1:  -.'.-.. e  :  zzzz    it  zzzz    '■  :.:    -  it   z  \-   tz       I    .1 
Clivrr    "_"::  ~-t'.^    :■.:  :-.-.  \  '.y  zz:  _  -    : :  it    _    ;:..::::::      ; 
-  ■'■'-'-     '.  zz  tzzy      .e   7    r    _  e  5  _ ;  -  £   :~  z<zzzz    zLtrsz:    zit   ~:~z 
had  his  rights.     He  was  not  unfriendly  Umaid  die  *f™g ; 
--    -  -  ---"  zzz>tz:  —zzz  it  zz-ztz~zi  i  e   zzLiztz    zzz 1  1:1 

---"  —  -:"-  zzzzzzzzf.  '  •  :.-.t  :  : .;.':".  7  r. :.  :_:r  ::'  :"-■=  E-it't  it 
ei~  ::.e  }!.- ._-  :::tz  it  :':-.-  t  -  -  ;.  iti  :- .  1  ::lkrf  —  ± 
1 . zz  ~.  zit  .zzz  zL.tL.zt  z  1  1  ; .zis.zzz:  zzzzzz:  : :  -  t  7  : . :  :  T 
::  H:::::::   1':  _-.  —  l::~_±r  ir  —  le  -  :—  7zzzz~zZ     1zz.iiz.2L 

•  ;  -  .    "     - ". :  z  -    ■  Z  _ . 

•  -  Kiz^  ~ir  .-  ;:  :::  ziz.  Ei  izz.z  zzzzz  z\z  z::z.\ 
:~:  ;.z  zzzz  :'-■=  :.  :  :.  ■  r.:  :  z  -  :  e  t~  e  :  _;";  _t  :::;..--  7:1  t 
bezi:  ::   :  r  ::•:".::  lis  - 1~  : :r. tz is   zizz  zzzzj  zzzi  z:    z        z 

"■"-" ""  r.~e,  ::•:  ~  .t  .  it  me  e  - :  v..  \_e  ::  ::.:•::  7r:  —  —  ti 
zzi  Zztzzz  zz'z'.zzzzzz.  il  izty  —:-LL  zt.z  zzzz  _:  ::  Lis  :'.z 
iz  zzz.  :j  ~ii  -:■.:.- r  : ;  :  7  ;_::::  1:  ;  7  zzzzzzz  z:  zzzzz 
:  tzz  .  r  -  '::::.  zzzz—zzz  izLzzzzZ  :  ::  ±fj  izz  irtzz 
zr.-rzzt'.y  :z:;:zz.zz   zizz:   sz:i  z  '.t.zzT  ~z  Li  it  zzzzi    :z  z 

Z.  >t~ r i  zz  zz.  z  5  ;    .  .    ■ 

: :  :"r.e  ::::  r  : zz  :z  Lz:  :  zz.  :z  zt  >tzz  z.  Z  z  tz  zzi  Lzz 
zzt  ■  —tz.:  zztzi  i:  zrz.it  z  zs  z  zzzzzzz  z  hz'.iizTz.  izz  i  =2:  z:  -  z- 
-zz  -  :  r  "--  :.  - 1  zzzz'.  z.  zz  zz  zzzzt  —  :  .  :  t  e  :  :  : .  7  -  -_ ;  2 
zz.zj  r.zZ'ti  -zz  —;zi  :  :.:  h  r  e  :  -  ;.  :  :  -  - ;  -  : ;  _  -  z  :  ■  t  7  7  * 
I  see  little  reason  to  doubt  the  story.  It  is  certain  that  Oli- 
ver Cromwell  told  one  of  the  King's  most  faithful  foUowexs 
:'--::  -7  K  -;  ::  z  z::  :  7  :r"5:fiTir  i  zzi:  zt  -  Lz  zz:  .t 
z-  -.e      ::.: '--    :'  :     ~:  v     ee  -7-7  ::  zzzz-tz.  z:  ':  ~       S:    _. 

i::er  zzz:      z  ^zzz  z  zzzzz:st  it  izz\    z.zz  :.   :    -  11  :  _. 


332        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

by  letting  him  know  that  there  was  a  plot  with  a  certain  por* 
tion  of  the  army  to  seize  him.  I  believe  that,  in  fact,  he 
sincerely  wanted  the  King  to  escape  abroad,  and  so  to  be  got 
rid  of  without  more  trouble  or  danger.  That  Oliver  himself 
had  work  enough  with  the  army  is  pretty  plain  ;  for  some  of 
the  troops  were  so  mutinous  against  him,  and  against  those 
who  acted  with  him  at  this  time,  that  he  found  it  necessary 
to  have  one  man  shot  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  to  overawe 
the  rest. 

The  King,  when  he  received  Oliver's  warning,  made  his 
escape  from  Hampton  Court ;  after  some  indecision  and  un- 
certainty, he  went  to  Carisbrooke  Castle  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
At  first  he  was  pretty  free  there  ;  but,  even  there,  he  carried 
on  a  pretended  treaty  with  the  Parliament,  while  he  was 
really  treating  with  commissioners  from  Scotland  to  send  an 
army  into  England  to  take  his  part.  When  he  broke  off 
this  treaty  with  the  Parliament  (having  settled  with  Scot- 
land) and  was  treated  as  a  prisoner,  his  treatment  was  not 
changed  too  soon,  for  he  had  plotted  to  escape  that  very 
night  to  a  ship  sent  by  the  Queen,  which  was  lying  off  the 
island. 

He  was  doomed  to  be  disappointed  in  his  hopes  from  Scot- 
land. The  agreement  he  had  made  with  the  Scottish  Com- 
missioners was  not  favorable  enough  to  the  religion  of  that 
country  to  please  the  Scottish  clergy  ;  and  they  preached 
against  it.  The  consequence  was,  that  the  army  raised  in 
Scotland  and  sent  over,  was  too  small  to  do  much  ;  and  that, 
although  it  was  helped  by  a  rising  of  the  Royalists  in  England 
and  by  good  soldiers  from  Ireland,  it  could  make  no  head 
against  the  Parliamentary  army  under  such  men  as  Cromwell 
and  Fairfax.  The  King's  eldest  son,  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
came  over  from  Holland  with  nineteen  ships  (a  part  of  the 
English  fleet  having  gone  over  to  him)  to  help  his  father  ; 
but  nothing  came  of  his  voyage,  and  he  was  fain  to  return. 
The  most  remarkable  event  of  this  second  civil  war  was  the 
cruel  execution  by  the  Parliamentary  General,  of  Sir  Charles 
Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lisle,  two  grand  Royalist  generals, 
who  had  bravely  defended  Colchester  under  every  disadvan- 
tage of  famine  and  distress  for  nearly  three  months.  When 
Sir  Charles  Lucas  was  shot,  Sir  George  Lisle  kissed  his  body, 
and  said  to  the  soldiers  who  were  to  shoot  him,  "  Come  nearer, 
and  make  sure  of  me."  "I  warrant  you,  Sir  George,"  said 
one  of  the  soldiers,  "  we  shall  hit  you."   "  Ay  ? "  he  returned 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         333 

with  a  smile,  "  but  I  have  been  nearer  to  you,  my  friends, 
many  a  time,  and  you  have  missed  me." 

The  Parliament,  after  being  fearfully  bullied  by  the  army— 
who  demanded  to  have  seven  members  whom  they  disliked 
given  up  to  them — had  voted  that  they  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  the  King.  On  the  conclusion,  however,  of 
this  second  civil  war  (which  did  not  last  more  than  six 
months),  they  appointed  commissioners  to  treat  with  him. 
The  King,  then  so  far  released  again  as  to  be  allowed  to  live 
in  a  private  house  at  Newport  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  managed 
his  own  part  of  the  negotiation  with  a  sense  that  was  admired 
by  all  who  saw  him,  and  gave  up,  in  the  end,  all  that  was 
asked  of  him— even  yielding  (which  he  had  steadily  refused, 
so  far)  to  the  temporary  abolition  of  the  bishops,  and  the 
transfer  of  their  church  land  to  the  Crown.  Still,  with  his 
old  fatal  vice  upon  him,  when  his  best  friends  joined  the  com- 
missioners in  beseeching  him  to  yield  all  those  points  as  the 
only  means  of  saving  himself  from  the  army,  he  was  plotting 
to  escape  from  the  island  ;  he  was  holding  correspondence 
with  his  friends  and  the  Catholics  in  Ireland,  though  declar- 
ing that  he  was  not  ;  and  he  was  writing,  with  his  own  hand, 
that  in  what  he  yielded  he  meant  nothing  but  to  get  time  to 
escape. 

Matters  were  at  this  pass  when  the  army,  resolved  to  defy 
the  Parliament,  marched  up  to  London.  The  Parliament, 
not  afraid  of  them  now,  and  boldly  led  by  Hollis,  voted  that 
the  King's  concessions  were  sufficient  ground  for  settling  the 
peace  of  the  kingdom.  Upon  that,  Colonel  Rich  and  Col- 
onel Pride  went  down  to  the  House  of  Commons  with  a 
regiment  of  horse  soldiers  and  a  regiment  of  foot ;  and 
Colonel  Pride,  standing  in  the  lobby  with  a  list  of  the  mem- 
bers  who  were  obnoxious  to  the  army  in  his  hand,  had  them 
pointed  out  to  him  as  they  came  through,  and  took  them  all 
into  custody.  This  proceeding;  was  afterward  called  by  the 
people,  for  a  joke,  Pride's  Purge.  Cromwell  was  in  the 
North,  at  the  head  of  his  men,  at  the  time,  but  when  he 
came  home,  approved  of  what  had  been  done. 

What  with  imprisoning  some  members  and  causing  others 
to  stay  away,  the  army  had  now  reduced  the  House  of  Com- 
mons to  some  fifty  or  so.  These  soon  voted  that  it  was 
treason  in  a  king  to  make  war  against  his  parliament  and  his 
people,  and  sent  an  ordinance  up  to  the  House  of  Lords  for 
the  King's  being  tried  as  a  traitor.     The  House  of  Lords, 


334         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

then  sixteen  in  number,  to  a  man  rejected  it.  Thereupon, 
the  Commons  made  an  ordinance  of  their  own,  that  they  were 
the  supreme  government  of  the  country,  and  would  bring  the 
King  to  trial. 

The  King  had  been  taken  for  security  to  a  place  called 
Hurst  Castle  :  a  lonely  house  on  a  rock  in  the  sea,  connected 
with  the  coast  of  Hampshire  by  a  rough  road  two  miles 
long  at  low  water.  Thence,  he  was  ordered  to  be  removed 
to  Windsor  ;  thence,  after  being  but  rudely  used  there,  and 
having  none  but  soldiers  to  wait  upon  him  at  table,  he  was 
brought  up  to  St.  James's  Palace  in  London,  and  told  that 
his  trial  was  appointed  for  next  day. 

On  Saturday,  the  twentieth  of  January,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  forty-nine,  this  memorable  trial  began.  The 
House  of  Commons  had  settled  that  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  persons  should  form  the  Court,  and  these  wrere  taken 
from  the  House  itself,  from  among  the  officers  of  the  army, 
and  from  among  the  lawyers  and  citizens.  John  Bradshaw, 
sergeant-at-law,  was  appointed  president.  The  place  was 
Westminster  Hall.  At  the  upper  end,  in  a  red  velvet  chair, 
sat  the  president,  with  his  hat  (lined  with  plates  of  iron  for 
his  protection)  on  his  head.  The  rest  of  the  Court  sat  on 
side  benches,  also  wearing  their  hats.  The  King's  seat 
was  covered  with  velvet,  like  that  of  the  president,  and 
was  opposite  to  it.  He  was  brought  from  St.  James's  to 
Whitehall,  and  from  Whitehall  he  came  by  water  to  his 
trial. 

When  he  came  in,  he  looked  round  very  steadily  on  the 
Court,  and  on  the  great  number  of  spectators,  and  then  sat 
down  :  presently  he  got  up  and  looked  round  again.  On  the 
indictment  "  against  Charles  Stuart,  for  high  treason,"  being 
read,  he  smiled  several  times,  and  he  denied  the  authority  of 
the  Court,  saying  that  there  could  be  no  parliament  without 
a  House  of  Lords,  and  that  he  saw  no  House  of  Lords  there. 
Also,  that  the  King  ought  to  be  there,  and  that  he  saw  no 
King  in  the  King's  right  place.  Bradshaw  replied,  that  the 
Court  was  satisfied  with  its  authority,  and  that  its  authority 
was  God's  authority  and  the  kingdom's.  He  then  adjourned 
the  Court  to  the  following  Monday.  On  that  day,  the  trial 
was  resumed,  and  went  on  all  the  week.  When  the  Saturday 
came,  as  the  King  passed  forward  to  his  place  in  the  Hall, 
some  soldiers  and  others  cried  for  "  justice  !  "  and  execution 
*m  him.     That  day,  too,   Bradshaw,  like  an   angry  Sultan, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         335 

wore  a  red  robe,  instead  of  the  black  robe  he  had  worn  be- 
fore. The  King  was  sentenced  to  death  that  day.  As  he 
went  out,  one  solitary  soldier  said,  "  God  bless  you,  Sir !  " 
For  this,  his  officer  struck  him.  The  King  said  he  thought 
the  punishment  exceeded  the  offense.  The  silver  head  of 
his  walking-stick  had  fallen  off  while  he  leaned  upon  it,  at 
one  time  of  the  trial.  The  accident  seemed  to  disturb  him, 
as  if  he  thought  it  ominous  of  the  falling  of  his  own  head  ; 
and  he  admitted  as  much,  now  it  was  all  over. 

Being  taken  back  to  Whitehall,  he  sent  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  saying  that  as  the  time  of  his  execution  might  be 
nigh  he  wished  he  might  be  allowed  to  see  his  darling  chil- 
dren. It  was  granted.  On  the  Monday  he  was  taken  back 
to  St.  James's  ;  and  his  two  children  then  in  England,  the 
Princess  Elizabeth  thirteen  years  old,  and  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  nine  years  old,  were  brought  to  take  leave  of 
him,  from  Sion  House,  near  Brentford.  It  was  a  sad  and 
touching  scene,  when  he  kissed  and  fondled  those  poor  chil- 
dren, and  made  a  little  present  of  two  diamond  seals  to  the 
Princess,  and  gave  them  tender  messages  to  their  mother 
(who  little  deserved  them,  for  she  had  a  lover  of  her  own 
whom  she  married  soon  afterward),  and  told  them  that  he 
died  "  for  the  laws  and  liberties  of  the  land."  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  I  don't  think  he  did,  but  I  dare  say  be  believed 
so. 

There  were  ambassadors  from  Holland  that  day,  to  inter- 
cede for  the  unhappy  King,  whom  you  and  I  both  wish  the 
Parliament  had  spared  ;  but  they  got  no  answer.  The  Scot- 
tish Commissioners  interceded  too  ;  so  did  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  by  a  letter  in  which  he  offered  as  the  next  heir  to  the 
throne,  to  accept  any  conditions  from  the  Parliament  ;  so 
did  the  Queen,  by  letter  likewise.  Notwithstanding  all,  the 
warrant  for  the  execution  was  this  day  signed.  There  is  a 
story  that  as  Oliver  Cromwell  went  to  the  table  with  the  pen 
in  his  hand  to  put  his  signature  to  it,  he  drew  his  pen  across 
the  face  of  one  of  the  commissioners  who  was  standing  near, 
and  marked  it  with  ink.  That  commissioner  had  not  signed 
his  own  name  yet,  and  the  story  adds  that  when  he  came  to 
do  it  he  marked  Cromwell's  face  with  ink  in  the  same  way. 

The  King  slept  well,  untroubled  by  the  knowledge  that  it 
was  his  last  night  on  earth,  and  rose  on  the  thirtieth  of  Jan- 
uary, two  hours  before  day,  and  dressed  himself  carefully. 
He  put  on  two   shirts  lest  he  should  tremble  with  the  cold, 


336         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

and  had  his  hair  very  carefully  combed.  The  warrant  had 
been  directed  to  three  officers  of  the  army,  Colonel  Hacker, 
Colonel  Hunks,  and  Colonel  Phayer.  At  ten  o'clock,  the 
first  of  these  came  to  the  door  and  said  it  was  time  to  go  to 
Whitehall.  The  King,  who  had  always  been  a  quick  walker, 
walked  at  his  usual  speed  through  the  Park,  and  called  out 
to  the  guard,  with  his  accustomed  voice  of  command,  "  March 
on  apace  !  "  When  he  came  to  Whitehall,  he  was  taken  to 
his  own  bedroom,  where  a  breakfast  was  set  forth.  As  he 
had  taken  the  Sacrament,  he  would  eat  nothing  more  ;  but, 
at  about  the  time  when  the  church  bells  struck  twelve  at 
noon  (for  he  had  to  wait  through  the  scaffold  not  being 
ready),  he  took  the  advice  of  the  good  Bishop  Juxon  who 
was  with  him,  and  ate  a  little  bread  and  drank  a  glass  of 
claret.  Soon  after  he  had  taken  this  refreshment,  Colonel 
Hacker  came  to  the  chamber  with  the  warrant  in  his  hand, 
and  called  for  Charles  Stuart. 

And  then,  through  the  long  gallery  of  Whitehall  Palace, 
which  he  had  often  seen  light  and  gay  and  merry  and 
crowded,  in  very  different  times,  the  fallen  King  passed 
along,  until  he  came  to  the  center  window  of  the  Banqueting 
House,  through  which  he  emerged  upon  the  scaffold,  which 
was  hung  with  black.  He  looked  at  the  two  executioners, 
who  were  dressed  in  black  and  masked  ;  he  looked  at  the 
troops  of  soldiers  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  and  all  looked 
up  at  him  in  silence  ;  he  looked  at  the  vast  array  of  specta- 
tors, filling  up  the  view  beyond,  and  turning  all  their  faces 
upon  him  ;  he  looked  at  his  old  Palace  of  St.  James's  ;  and 
he  looked  at  the  block.  He  seemed  a  little  troubled  to  find 
that  it  was  so  low,  and  asked,  "  if  there  were  no  place 
higher  ?  "  Then,  to  those  upon  the  scaffold  he  said,  "  that 
it  was  the  Parliament  who  had  begun  the  war,  and  not  he  ; 
but  he  hoped  they  might  be  guiltless  too,  as  ill  instruments 
had  gone  between  them.  In  one  respect,"  he  said,  "  he  suf- 
fered justly  ;  and  that  was  because  he  had  permitted  an  un- 
just sentence  to  be  executed  on  another."  In  this  he  re- 
ferred to  the  Earl  of  Strafford. 

He  was  not  at  all  afraid  to  die  ;  but  he  was  anxious  to  die 
easily.  When  some  one  touched  the  ax  while  he  was 
speaking,  he  broke  off  and  called  out,  "  Take  heed  of  the 
ax !  take  heed  of  the  ax ! "  He  also  said  to  Colonel 
Hacker,  "  Take  care  that  they  do  not  put  me  to  pain." 
He  told  the    executioner,    "I    shall   say    but   very    short 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         337 

prayers,  and  then  thrust  out  my  hands  " — as  the  sign  to 
strike. 

He  put  his  hair  up,  under  a  white  satin  cap  which  the 
bishop  had  carried,  and  said,  "  I  have  a  good  cause  and  a 
gracious  God  on  my  side."  The  bishop  told  him  that  he  had 
but  one  stage  more  to  travel  in  this  weary  world,  and  that, 
though  it  was  a  turbulent  and  troublesome  stage,  it  was  a 
short  one,  and  would  carry  him  a  great  way — all  the  way 
from  earth  to  Heaven.  The  King's  last  word,  as  he  gave  his 
cloak  and  the  George — the  decoration  from  his  breast — to 
the  bishop,  was,  "  Remember  !  "  He  then  kneeled  down, 
laid  his  head  on  the  block,  spread  out  his  hands,  and  was  in- 
stantly killed.  One  universal  groan  broke  from  the  crowd  ; 
and  the  soldiers,  who  had  sat  on  their  horses  and  stood  in 
their  ranks  immovable  as  statues,  were  of  a  sudden  all  in 
motion,  clearing  the  streets. 

Thus,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  his  age,  falling  at  the  same 
time  of  his  career  as  Strafford  had  fallen  in  his,  perished 
Charles  the  First.  With  all  my  sorrow  for  him,  I  cannot 
agree  with  him  that  he  died  "  the  martyr  of  the  people  ;  "  for 
the  people  had  been  martyrs  to  him,  and  to  his  ideas  of  a 
King's  rights,  long  before.  Indeed,  I  am  afraid  that  he  was 
but  a  bad  judge  of  martyrs  ;  for  he  had  called  that  infamous 
Duke  of  Buckingham  "the  Martyr  of  his  Sovereign." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    OLIVER    CROMWELL. 

Before  sunset  on  the  memorable  day  on  which  King  Charles 
the  First  was  executed,  the  House  of  Commons  passed 
an  act  declaring  it  treason  in  any  one  to  proclaim  the  Prince 
of  Wales — or  any  body  else — King  of  England.  Soon  after- 
ward, it  declared  that  the  House  of  Lords  was  useless  and 
dangerous,  and  ought  to  be  abolished  ;  and  directed  that 
the  late  King's  statue  should  be  taken  down  from  the  Royal 
Exchange  in  the  City  and  other  public  places.  Having  laid 
hold  of  some  famous  Royalists  who  had  escaped  from  prison, 
and  having  beheaded  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  Lord  Holland, 
and  Lord  Capel,  in  the  Palace  Yard  (all  of  whom  died  very 
courageously),  they  then  appointed  a  Council  of  State  to 
govern  the  country.     It  consisted  of  forty-one  members,  of 


338         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

whom  five  were  peers.  Bradshaw  was  made  president.  The 
House  of  Commons  also  re-admitted  members  who  had  op- 
posed the  King's  death,  and  made  up  its  numbers  to  about 
a  hundred  and  fifty. 

But  it  still  had  an  army  of  more  than  forty  thousand  men 
to  deal  with,  and  a  very  hard  task  it  was  to  manage  them. 
Before  the  King's  execution,  the  army  had  appointed  some 
of  its  officers  to. remonstrate  between  them  and  the  Parlia- 
ment ;  and  now  the  common  soldiers  began  to  take  that 
office  upon  themselves.  The  regiments  under  orders  for  Ire- 
land mutinied  ;  one  troop  of  horse  in  the  city  of  London 
seized  their  own  flag,  and  refused  to  obey  orders.  For  this, 
the  ringleader  was  shot ;  which  did  not  mend  the  matter, 
for,  both  his  comrades  and  the  people  made  a  public  funeral 
for  him,  and  accompanied  the  body  to  the  grave  with  sound 
of  trumpets  and  with  a  gloomy  procession  of  persons  carrying 
bundles  of  rosemary  steeped  in  blood.  Oliver  was  the  only 
man  to  deal  with  such  difficulties  as  these,  and  he  soon  cut 
them  short  by  bursting  at  midnight  into  the  town  of  Burford, 
near  Salisbury,  where  the  mutineers  were  sheltered,  taking 
four  hundred  of  them  prisoners,  and  shooting  a  number  of 
them  by  sentence  of  court-martial.  The  soldiers  soon  found, 
as  all  men  did,  that  Oliver  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with. 
And  there  was  an  end  of  the  mutiny. 

The  Scottish  Parliament  did  not  know  Oliver  yet ;  so,  on 
hearing  of  the  King's  execution,  it  proclaimed  the  Prince  of 
Wales  King  Charles  the  Second,  on  condition  of  his  respect- 
ing the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant.  Charles  was  abroad 
at  that  time,  and  so  was  Montrose,  from  whose  help  he  had 
hopes  enough  to  keep  him  holding  on  and  off  with  commis- 
sioners from  Scotland,  just  as  his  father  might  have  done. 
These  hopes  were  soon  at  an  end ;  for  Montrose,  having 
raised  a  few  hundred  exiles  in  Germany,  and  landed  with 
them  in  Scotland,  found  that  the  people  there,  instead  of  join- 
ing him,  deserted  the  country  at  his  approach.  He  was  soon 
taken  prisoner  and  carried  to  Edinburgh.  There  he  was  re- 
ceived with  every  possible  insult,  and  carried  to  prison  in  a 
cart,  his  officers  going  two  and  two  before  him.  He  was 
sentenced  by  the  Parliament  to  be  hanged  on  a  gallows  thirty 
feet  high,  to  have  his  head  set  on  a  spike  in  Edinburgh,  and 
his  limbs  distributed  in  other  places,  according  to  the  old 
barbarous  manner.  He  said  he  always  acted  under  the 
Royal  orders,  and  only  wished  he  had  limbs  enough  to  be 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         339 

distributed  through  Christendom,  that  it  might  be  the  more 
widely  known  how  loyal  he  had  been.  He  went  to  the  scaf- 
fold in  a  bright  and  brilliant  dress,  and  made  a  bold  end  at 
thirty- eight  years  of  age.  The  breath  was  scarcely  out  of 
his  body  when  Charles  abandoned  his  memory,  and  denied 
that  he  had  ever  given  him  orders  to  rise  in  his  behalf.  O 
the  family  failing  was,  strong  in  Charles  then  ! 

Oliver  had  been  appointed  by  the  Parliament  to  command 
the  army  in  Ireland,  where  he  took  a  terrible  vengeance  for 
the  sanguinary  rebellion,  and  made  tremendous  havoc,  par- 
ticularly in  the  siege  of  Drogheda,  where  no  quarter  was 
given,  and  where  he  found  at  least  a  thousand  of  the  inhabi- 
tants shut  up  together  in  the  great  church  :  every  one  of 
whom  was  killed  by  his  soldiers,  usually  known  as  Oliver's 
Ironsides.  There  were  numbers  of  friars  and  priests  among 
them,  and  Oliver  gruffly  wrote  home  in  his  dispatch  that 
these  were  "  knocked  on  the  head  "  like  the  rest. 

But  Charles  having  got  over  to  Scotland  where  the  men 
of  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant  led  him  a  prodigiously 
dull  life  and  made  him  very  weary  with  long  sermons  and 
grim  Sundays,  the  Parliament  called  the  redoubtable  Oliver 
home  to  knock  the  Scottish  men  on  the  head  for  setting  up 
that  Prince.  Oliver  left  his  son-in-law,  Ireton,  as  general  in 
Ireland  in  his  stead  (he  died  there  afterward),  and  he  imi- 
tated the  example  of  his  father-in-law  with  such  good  will 
that  he  brought  the  country  to  subjection,  and  laid  it  at  the 
feet  of  the  Parliament.  In  the  end,  they  passed  an  act  for 
the  settlement  of  Ireland,  generally  pardoning  all  the  com- 
mon people,  but  exempting  from  this  grace  such  of  the 
wealthier  sort  as  had  been  concerned  in  the  rebellion,  or  in 
any  killing  of  Protestants,  or  who  refused  to  lay  down  their 
arms.  Great  numbers  of  Irish  were  got  out  of  the  country 
to  serve  under  Catholic  powers  abroad,  and  a  quantity  of 
land  was  declared  to  have  been  forfeited  by  past  offenses, 
and  was  given  to  people  who  had  lent  money  to  the  Par» 
liament  early  in  the  war.  These  were  sweeping  measures  ; 
but  if  Oliver  Cromwell  had  had  his  own  way  fully,  and  had 
staid  in  Ireland,  he  would  have  done  more  yet. 

However,  as  I  have  said,  the  Parliament  wanted  Oliver  for 
Scotland  ;  so,  home  Oliver  came,  and  was  made  command- 
er of  all  the  Forces  of  the  Commonwealth  of  England,  and 
in  three  days  away  he  went  with  sixteen  thousand  soldiers  to 
fight  the  Scottish  men.     Now,  the  Scottish  men,  being  then 


340        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

— as  you  will  generally  find  them  now — mighty  cautious,  re- 
flected that  the  troops  they  had,  were  not  used  to  war  like 
the  Ironsides,  and  would  be  beaten  in  an  open  fight.  There- 
fore they  said,  "  If  we  lie  quiet  in  our  trenches  in  Edinburgh 
here,  and  if  all  the  farmers  come  into  the  town  and  desert 
the  country,  the  Ironsides  will  be  driven  out  by  iron  hunger 
and  be  forced  to  go  away."  This  was,  no  doubt,  the  wisest 
plan  ;  but  as  the  Scottish  clergy  would  interfere  with  what 
they  knew  nothing  about,  and  would  perpetually  preach  long 
sermons  exhorting  the  soldiers  to  come  out  and  fight,  the 
soldiers  got  it  into  their  heads  that  they  absolutely  must 
come  out  and  fight.  Accordingly,  in  an  evil  hour  for  them- 
selves, they  came  out  of  their  safe  position.  Oliver  fell 
upon  them  instantly,  and  killed  three  thousand,  and  took 
ten  thousand  prisoners. 

To  gratify  the  Scotch  Parliament,  and  preserve  their  favor, 
Charles  signed  a  declaration  they  laid  before  him,  reproach- 
ing the  memory  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  representing 
himself  as  a  most  religious  Prince,  to  whom  the  Solemn 
League  and  Covenant  was  as  dear  as  life.  He  meant  no 
sort  of  truth  in  this,  and  soon  afterward  galloped  away  on 
horseback  to  join  some  tiresome  Highland  friends,  who  were 
always  flourishing  dirks  and  broadswords.  He  was  over- 
taken and  induced  to  return  ;  but  this  attempt,  which  was 
called  '-'  The  Start,"  did  him  just  so  much  service,  that  they 
did  not  preach  quite  such  long  sermons  at  him  afterward 
as  they  had  done  before. 

On  the  first  of  January,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and 
fifty-one,  the  Scottish  people  crowned  him  at  Scone.  He  im- 
mediately took  the  chief  command  of  an  army  of  twenty 
thousand  men,  and  marched  to  Stirling.  His  hopes  were 
heightened,  I  dare  say,  by  the  redoubtable  Oliver  being  ill  of 
an  ague  ;  but  Oliver  scrambled  out  of  bed  in  no  time,  and 
went  to  work  with  such  energy  that  he  got  behind  the  Royal- 
ist army  and  cut  it  off  from  all  communication  with  Scotland. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  then,  but  to  go  on  to  England  ;  so  it 
went  on  as  far  as  Worcester,  where  the  mayor  and  some  of 
the  gentry  proclaimed  King  Charles  the  Second  straightway. 
His  proclamation,  however,  was  of  little  use  to  him,  for  very 
few  Royalists  appeared  ;  and,  on  the  very  same  day,  two 
people  were  publicly  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill  for  espousing 
his  cause.  Up  came  Oliver  to  Worcester  too,  at  double 
quick  speed,  and  he  and  his  Ironsides  so  laid  about  them  in 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        341 

the  great  battle  which  was  fought  there,  that  they  complete- 
ly beat  the  Scottish  men,  and  destroyed  the  Royalist  army  ; 
though  the  Scottish  men  fought  so  gallantly  that  it  took  five 
hours  to  do. 

The  escape  of  Charles  after  this  battle  of  Worcester  did 
him  good  service  long  afterward,  for  it  induced  many  of  the 
generous  English  people  to  take  a  romantic  interest  in  him, 
and  to  think  much  better  of  him  than  he  ever  deserved.  He 
fled  in  the  night,  with  not  more  than  sixty  followers,  to  the 
house  of  a  Catholic  lady  in  Staffordshire.  There,  for  his 
greater  safety,  the  whole  sixty  left  him.  He  cropped  his 
hair,  stained  his  face  and  hands  brown  as  if  they  were  sun- 
burned, put  on  the  clothes  of  a  laboringcountryman,  and  went 
out  in  the  morning  with  his  ax  in  his  hand,  accompanied  by 
four  wood-cutters  who  were  brothers,  and  another  man  who 
was  their  brother-in-law.  These  good  fellows  made  a  bed 
for  him  under  a  tree,  as  the  weather  was  very  bad  ;  and  the 
wife  of  one  of  them  brought  him  food  to  eat  ;  and  the  old 
mother  of  the  four  brothers  came  and  fell  down  on  her  knees 
before  him  in  the  wood,  and  thanked  God  that  her  sons  were 
engaged  in  saving  his  life.  At  night,  he  came  out  of  the 
forest  and  went  on  to  another  house  which  was  near  the  river 
Severn,  with  the  intention  of  passing  into  Wales  ;  but  the 
place  swarmed  with  soldiers,  and  the  bridges  were  guarded, 
and  all  the  boats  were  made  fast.  So,  after  lying  in  a  hay- 
loft covered  over  with  hay,  for  some  time,  he  came  out  of 
his  place,  attended  by  Colonel  Careless,  a  Catholic  gentleman 
who  had  met  him  there,  and  with  whom  he  lay  hid,  all  next 
day,  up  in  the  shady  branches  of  a  fine  old  oak.  It  was 
lucky  for  the  King  that  it  was  September-time,  and  that  the 
leaves  had  not  began  to  fall,  since  he  and  the  Colonel, 
perched  up  in  this  tree,  could  catch  glimpses  of  the  soldiers 
riding  about  below,  and  could  hear  the  crash  in  the  wood  as 
they  went  about  beating  the  boughs. 

After  this,  he  walked  and  walked  until  his  feet  were  all 
blistered  ;  and,  having  been  concealed  all  one  day  in  a  house 
which  was  searched  by  the  troopers  while  he  was  there,  went 
with  Lord  Wilmot,  another  of  his  good  friends,  to  a  place 
called  Bentley,  where  one  Miss  Lane,  a  Protestant  lady,  had 
obtained  a  pass  to  be  allowed  to  ride  through  the  guards  to 
see  a  relation  of  hers  near  Bristol.  Disguised  as  a  servant, 
he  rode  in  the  saddle  before  this  young  lady  to  the  house  of 
Sir  John  Winter,  while  Lord  Wilmot  rode  there  boldly,  like 


342        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

a  plain  country  gentleman,  with  dogs  at  his  heels.  It  hap- 
pened that  Sir  John  Winter's  butler  had  been  servant  in 
Richmond  Palace,  and  knew  Charles  the  moment  he  set  his 
eyes  upon  him  ;  but  the  butler  was  faithful  and  kept  the 
secret.  As  no  ship  could  be  found  to  carry  him  abroad,  it 
was  planned  that  he  should  go — still  traveling  with  Miss 
Lane  as  her  servant — to  another  house,  at  Trent  near  Sher- 
borne in  Dorsetshire  ;  and  then  Miss  Lane  and  her  cousin, 
Mr.  Lascelles,  who  had  gone  on  horseback  beside  her  all  the 
way,  went  home.  I  hope  Miss  Lane  was  going  to  marry 
that  cousin,  for  I  am  sure  she  must  have  been  a  brave  kind 
girl.  If  I  had  been  that  cousin,  I  should  certainly  have  loved 
Miss  Lane. 

When  Charles,  lonely  for  the  loss  of  Miss  Lane,  was  safe 
at  Trent,  a  ship  was  hired  at  Lyme,  the  master  of  which  en- 
gaged to  take  two  gentlemen  to  France.  In  the  evening  of  the 
same  day,  the  King — now  riding  as  servant  before  another 
young  lady — set  off  for  a  public-house  at  a  place  called 
Charmouth,  where  the  captain  of  the  vessel  was  to  take  him 
on  board.  But  the  captain's  wife,  being  afraid  of  her  hus- 
band getting  into  trouble,  locked  him  up  and  would  not  let 
him  sail.  Then  they  went  away  to  Bridport ;  and,  coming  to 
the  inn  there,  found  the  stable-yard  full  of  soldiers  who  were 
on  the  look-out  for  Charles,  and  who  talked  about  him 
while  they  drank.  He  had  such  presence  of  mind,  that  he 
led  the  horses  of  his  party  through  the  yard  as  any  other 
servant  might  have  done,  and  said,  "Come  out  of  the  way, 
you  soldiers  ;  let  us  have  room  to  pass  here  !  "  As  he  went 
along,  he  met  a  half-tipsy  hostler,  who  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
said  to  him,  "  Why,  I  was  formerly  servant  to  Mr.  Potter  at 
Exeter,  and  surely  I  have  sometimes  seen  you  there,  young 
man?"  He  certainly  had,  for  Charles  had  lodged  there. 
His  ready  answer  was,  "  Ah,  I  did  live  with  him  once  ;  but  I 
have  no  time  to  talk  now.  We'll  have  a  pot  of  beer  together 
when  I  come  back.'3 

From  this  dangerous  place  he  returned  to  Trent,  and  lay 
there  concealed  several  days.  Then  he  escaped  to  Heale, 
near  Salisbury  ;  where,  in  the  house  of  a  widow  lady,  he  was 
hidden  five  days,  until  the  master  of  a  collier  lying  off  Shore- 
ham  in  Sussex,  undertook  to  convey  a  "  gentleman "  to 
France.  On  the  night  of  the  fifteenth  of  October,  accom- 
panied by  two  colonels  and  a  merchant,  the  King  rode  to 
Brighton,  then  a  little  fishing  village,  to  give  the  captain  of 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         343 

the  ship  a  supper  before  going  on  board  ;  but,  so  many  peo- 
ple knew  him,  that  this  captain  knew  him  too,  and  not  only 
he,  but  the  landlord  and  landlady  also.  Before  he  went  away, 
the  landlord  came  behind  his  chair,  kissed  his  hand,  and 
said  he  hoped  to  live  to  be  a  lord,  and  to  see  his  wife  a 
lady  ;  at  which  Charles  laughed.  They  had  had  a  good  sup- 
per by  this  time,  and  plenty  of  smoking  and  drinking,  at 
which  the  King  was  a  first-rate  hand,  so  the  captain  assured 
him  that  he  would  stand  by  him,  and  he  did.  It  was  agreed 
that  the  captain  should  pretend  to  sail  to  Deal,  and  that 
Charles  should  address  the  sailors  and  say  he  was  a  gentle- 
man in  debt  who  was  running  away  from  his  creditors,  and 
that  he  hoped  they  would  join  him  in  persuading  the  cap- 
tain to  put  him  ashore  in  France.  As  the  King  acted  his 
part  very  well  indeed,  and  gave  the  sailors  twenty  shillings 
to  drink,  they  begged  the  captain  to  do  what  such  a  worthy 
gentleman  asked.  He  pretended  to  yield  to  their  entreaties, 
and  the  King  got  safe  to  Normandy. 

Ireland  being  now  subdued,  and  Scotland  kept  quiet  by 
plenty  of  forts  and  soldiers  put  there  by  Oliver,  the  Parlia- 
ment would  have  gone  on  quietly  enough,  as  far  as  fighting 
with  any  foreign  enemy  went,  but  for  getting  into  trouble 
with  the  Dutch,  who  in  the  spring  of  the  year  one  thousand 
six  hundred  and  fifty-one  sent  a  fleet  into  the  Downs  under 
their  Admiral  Van  Tromp,  to  call  upon  the  bold  English 
Admiral  Blake,  (who  was  there  with  half  as  many  ships  as 
the  Dutch)  to  strike  his  flag.  Blake  fired  a  raging  broadside 
instead,  and  beat  off  Van  Tromp  ;  who,  in  the  autumn,  came 
back  again  with  seventy  ships,  and  challenged  the  bold  Blake 
— who  still  was  only  half  as  strong — to  fight  him.  Blake 
fought  him  all  day,  but,  finding  that  the  Dutch  were  too 
many  for  him,  got  quietly  off  at  night.  What  does  Van 
Tromp  upon  this,  but  goes  cruising  and  boasting  about  the 
Channel,  between  the  North  Foreland  and  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
with  a  great  Dutch  broom  tied  to  his  masthead,  as  a  sign 
that  he  could  and  would  sweep  the  English  off  the  sea  ! 
Within  three  months,  Blake  lowered  his  tone  though,  and 
his  broom  too  ;  for,  he  and  two  other  bold  commanders, 
Dean  and  Monk,  fought  him  three  whole  days,  took  twenty- 
three  of  his  ships,  shivered  his  broom  to  pieces,  and  settled 
his  business. 

Things  were  no  sooner  quiet  again,  than  the  army  began  to 
complain  to  the  Parliament,  that  they  were  not  governing  the 


344        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

nation  properly,  and  to  hint  that  they  thought  they  could  do 
it  better  themselves.  Oliver,  who  had  now  made  up  his 
mind  to  be  the  head  of  the  state,  or  nothing  at  all,  supported 
them  in  this,  and  called  a  meeting  of  officers  and  his  own 
Parliamentary  friends,  at  his  lodgings  in  Whitehall,  to  con- 
sider the  best  way  of  getting  rid  of  the  Parliament.  It  had 
now  lasted  just  as  many  years  as  the  King's  unbridled  power 
had  lasted,  before  it  came  into  existence.  The  end  of  the 
deliberation  was,  that  Oliver  went  down  to  the  House  in  his 
usual  plain  black  dress,  with  his  usual  gray  worsted  stock- 
ings, but  with  an  unusual  party  of  soldiers  behind  him. 
These  last  he  left  in  the  lobby,  and  then  went  in  and  sat  down. 
Presently  he  got  up,  made  the  Parliament  a  speech,  told 
them  that  the  Lord  had  done  with  them,  stamped  his  foot 
and  said,  "  You  are  no  Parliament.  Bring  them  in  !  Bring 
them  in  !  "  At  this  signal  the  door  flew  open,  and  the 
soldiers  appeared.  "This  is  not  honest,"  said  Sir  Harry 
Vane,  one  of  the  members.  "  Sir  Harry  Vane ! "  cried 
Cromwell :  "  O,  Sir  Harry  Vane  !  The  Lord  deliver  me 
from  Sir  Harry  Vane  !  "  Then  he  pointed  out  members  one 
by  one,  and  said  this  man  was  a  drunkard,  and  that  man  a 
dissipated  fellow,  and  that  man  a  liar,  and  so  on.  Then  he 
caused  the  speaker  to  be  walked  out  of  his  chair,  told  the 
guard  to  clear  the  House,  called  the  mace  upon  the  table — 
which  is  a  sign  that  the  House  is  sitting — "  a  fool's  bauble," 
and  said,  "  here,  carry  it  away  !  "  Being  obeyed  in  all  these 
orders,  he  quietly  locked  the  door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket, 
walked  back  to  Whitehall  again,  and  told  his  friends,  who 
were  still  assembled  there,  what  he  had  done. 

They  formed  a  new  Council  of  State  after  this  extraor- 
dinary proceeding,  and  got  a  new  Parliament  together  in 
their  own  way :  which  Oliver  himself  opened  in  a  sort  of 
sermon,  and  which  he  said  was  the  beginning  of  a  perfect 
heaven  upon  earth.  In  this  Parliament  there  sat  a  well 
known  leather-seller,  who  had  taken  the  singular  name  of 
Praise  God  Barebones,  and  from  whom  it  was  called  for  a 
joke,  Barebones's  Parliament,  though  its  general  name  was 
the  Little  Parliament.  As  it  soon  appeared  that  it  was  not 
going  to  put  Oliver  in  the  first  place,  it  turned  out  to  be  not 
at  all  like  the  beginning  of  heaven  upon  earth,  and  Oliver 
said  it  really  was  not  to  be  borne  with.  So  he  cleared  off 
that  Parliament  in  much  the  same  way  as  he  had  disposed  of 
the  other  ;  and  then  the  council  of  officers  decided  that  he 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         345 

must  be  made  the  supreme  authority  of  the  kingdom,  under 
the  title  of  the  Lord  Protector  of  the  Commonwealth. 

So,  on  the  sixteenth  of  December,  one  thousand  six  hund- 
red and  fifty-three,  a  great  procession  was  formed  at  Oliver's 
door,  and  he  came  out  in  a  black  velvet  suit  and  a  big  pair  of 
boots,  and  got  into  his  coach  and  went  down  to  Westminster, 
attended  by  the  judges,  and  the  lord  mayor,  and  the  alder- 
men, and  all  the  other  great  and  wonderful  personages  of 
the  country.  There,  in  the  Court  of  Chancery,  he  publicly 
accepted  the  office  of  Lord  Protector.  Then  he  was  sworn, 
and  the  City  sword  was  handed  to  him,  and  the  seal  was 
handed^to  him,  and  all  the  other  things  were  handed  to  him 
which  are  usually  handed  to  Kings  and  Queens  on  state  oc- 
casions. When  Oliver  had  handed  them  all  back,  he  was 
quite  made  and  completely  finished  off  as  Lord  Protector  ; 
and  several  of  the  Ironsides  preached  about  it  at  great 
length,  all  the  evening. 

Second  Part. 

Oliver  Cromwell  —  whom  the  people  long  called  Old 
Noll — in  accepting  the  office  of  Protector,  had  bound  him- 
self by  a  certain  paper  which  was  handed  to  him,  called,  "the 
Instrument,"  to  summon  a  Parliament,  consisting  of  between 
four  and  five  hundred  members,  in  the  election  of  which 
neither  the  Royalists  nor  the  Catholics  were  to  have  any 
share.  He  had  also  pledged  himself  that  this  Parliament 
should  not  be  dissolved  without  its  own  consent  until  it  had 
sat  five  months. 

When  this  Parliament  met,  Oliver  made  a  speech  to  them 
of  three  hours  long,  very  wisely  advising  them  what  to  do  for 
the  credit  and  happiness  of  the  country.  To  keep  down  the 
more  violent  members,  he  required  them  to  sign  a  recognition 
of  what  they  were  forbidden  by  the  "Instrument"  to  do  ; 
which  was,  chiefly,  to  take  the  power  from  one  single  person 
at  the  head  of  the  state  or  to  command  the  army.  Then  he 
dismissed  them  to  go  to  work.  With  his  usual  vigor  and 
resolution  he  went  to  work  himself  with  some  frantic  preach- 
ers— who  were  rather  overdoing  their  sermons  in  calling  him 
a  villain  and  a  tyrant — by  shutting  up  their  chapels,  and 
sending  a  few  of  them  off  to  prison. 

There  was  not  at  that  time,  in  England  or  any  where  else 
a  man  so  able  to  govern  the  country  as  Oliver  Cromwell, 


346         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Although  he  ruled  with  a  strong  hand,  and  levied  a  very 
heavy  tax  on  the  Royalists  (but  not  until  they  had  plotted 
against  his  life),  he  ruled  wisely  and  as  the  times  required. 
He  caused  England  to  be  so  respected  abroad,  that  I  wish 
some  lords  and  gentlemen  who  have  governed  it  under  kings 
and  queens  in  later  days  would  have  taken  a  leaf  out  of 
Oliver  Cromwell's  book.  He  sent  bold  Admiral  Blake  to  the 
Mediterranean  Sea,  to  make  the  Duke  of  Tuscany  pay  sixty 
thousand  pounds  for  injuries  he  had  done  to  British  subjects, 
and  spoliation  he  had  committed  on  English  merchants.  He 
further  dispatched  him  and  his  fleet  to  Algiers,  Tunis,  and 
Tripoli,  to  have  every  English  ship  and  every  English  man 
delivered  up  to  him  that  had  been  taken  by  pirates  in  those 
parts.  All  this  was  gloriously  done  ;  and  it  began  to  be 
thoroughly  well  known,  all  over  the  world,  that  England  was 
governed  by  a  man  in  earnest,  who  would  not  allow  the  En- 
glish name  to  be  insulted  or  slighted  anywhere. 

These  were  not  all  his  foreign  triumphs.  He  sent  a  fleet 
to  sea  against  the  Dutch  ;  and  the  two  powers,  each  with 
one  hundred  ships  upon  its  side,  met  in  the  English  Channel 
off  the  North  Foreland,  where  the  fight  lasted  all  day  long. 
Dean  was  killed  in  this  fight ;  but  Monk,  who  commanded  in 
the  same  ship  with  him,  threw  his  cloak  over  his  body,  that 
the  sailors  might  not  know  of  his  death,  and  be  disheartened. 
Nor  were  they.  The  English  broadsides  so  exceedingly  as- 
tonished the  Dutch  that  they  sheered  off  at  last,  though  the 
redoubtable  Van  Tromp  fired  upon  them  with  his  own  guns 
for  deserting  their  flag.  Soon  afterward,  the  two  fleets  en- 
gaged again,  off  the  coast  of  Holland.  There,  the  valiant 
Van  Tromp  was  shot  through  the  heart,  and  the  Dutch  gave 
in,  and  peace  was  made. 

Further  than  this,  Oliver  resolved  not  to  bear  the  dom- 
ineering and  bigoted  conduct  of  Spain,  which  country  not 
only  claimed  a  right  to  all  the  gold  and  silver  that  could  be 
found  in  South  America,  and  treated  the  ships  of  all  other 
countries  who  visited  those  regions,  as  pirates,  but  put  En- 
glish subjects  into  the  horrible  Spanish  prisons  of  the  Inqui- 
sition. So,  Oliver  told  the  Spanish  ambassador  that  English 
ships  must  be  free  to  go  wherever  they  would,  and  that  En- 
glish merchants  must  not  be  thrown  into  those  same  dun- 
geons, no,  not  for  the  pleasure  of  all  the  priests  in  Spain.  ^  To 
this,  the  Spanish  ambassador  replied  that  the  gold  and  silver 
country,  and  the  Holy  Inquisition,  were  his  King's  two  eyes, 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         347 

neither  of  which  he  could  submit  to  have  put  out.  Very  well, 
said  Oliver,  then  he  was  afraid  he  (Oliver)  must  damage 
those  two  eyes  directly. 

So,  another  fleet  was  dispatched  under  two  commanders, 
Penn  and  Venables,  for  Hispaniola  ;  where,  however,  the 
Spaniards  got  the  better  of  the  fight.  Consequently,  the  fleet 
came  home  again,  after  taking  Jamaica  on  the  way.  Oliver, 
indignant  with  the  two  commanders  who  had  not  done  what 
bold  Admiral  Blake  would  have  done,  clapped  them  both  into 
prison,  declared  war  against  Spain,  and  made  a  treaty  with 
France,  in  virtue  of  which  it  was  to  shelter  the  King  and  his 
brother  the  Duke  of  York  no  longer.  Then,  he  sent  a  fleet 
abroad  under  bold  Admiral  Blake,  which  brought  the  King 
of  Portugal  to  his  senses — just  to  keep  its  hand  in — and 
then  engaged  a  Spanish  fleet,  sunk  four  great  ships,  and  took 
two  more,  laden  with  silver  to  the  value  of  two  millions  of 
pounds  :  which  dazzling  prize  was  brought  from  Portsmouth 
to  London  in  wagons,  with  the  populace  of  all  the  towns 
and  villages  through  which  the  wagons  passed,  shouting  with 
all  their  might.  After  this  victory,  bold  Admiral  Blake 
sailed  away  to  the  port  of  Santa  Cruz  to  cut  off  the  Spanish 
treasure-ships  coming  from  Mexico.  There,  he  found  them, 
ten  in  number,  with  seven  others  to  take  care  of  them,  and 
a  big  castle,  and  seven  batteries,  all  roaring  and  blazing  away 
at  him  with  great  guns.  Blake  cared  no  more  for  great  guns 
than  for  pop-guns — no  more  for  their  hot  iron  balls  than  for 
snow-balls.  He  dashed  into  the  harbor,  captured  and  burned 
every  one  of  the  ships,  and  came  sailing  out  again  triumph- 
antly, with  the  victorious  English  flag  flying  at  his  mast-head. 
This  was  the  last  triumph  of  this  great  commander,  who  had 
sailed  and  fought  until  he  was  quite  worn  out.  He  died,  as 
his  successful  ship  was  coming  into  Plymouth  Harbor  amidst 
the  joyful  acclamations  of  the  people,  and  was  buried  in  state 
in  Westminster  Abbey.     Not  to  lie  there,  long. 

Over  and  above  all  this,  Oliver  found  that  the  Vaudois,  or 
Protestant  people  of  the  valleys  of  Lucerne,  were  insolently 
treated  by  the  Catholic  powers,  and  were  even  put  to  death 
for  their  religion,  in  an  audacious  and  bloody  manner.  In- 
stantly, he  informed  those  powers  that  this  was  a  thing  which 
Protestant  England  would  not  allow ;  and  he  speedily 
carried  his  point,  through  the  might  of  his  great  name,  aad 
established  their  right  to  worship  God  in  peace  after  their 
own  harmless  manner. 


348        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Lastly,  his  English  army  won  such  admiration  in  fighting 
with  the  French  against  the  Spaniards,  that  after  they  had 
assaulted  the  town  of  Dunkirk  together,  the  French  King  in 
person  gave  it  up  to  the  English,  that  it  might  be  a  token  to 
them  of  their  might  and  valor. 

There  were  plots  enough  against  Oliver  among  the  frantic 
religionists  (who  called  themselves  Fifth  Monarchy  Men), 
and  among  the  disappointed  Republicans.  He  had  a  difficult 
game  to  play,  for  the  Royalists  were  always  ready  to  side  with 
either  party  against  him.  The  "  King  over  the  water,"  too, 
as  Charles  was  called,  had  no  scruples  about  plotting  with 
any  one  against  his  life ;  although  there  is  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  would  willingly  have  married  one  of  his  daughters, 
if  Oliver  would  have  had  such  a  son-in-law.  There  was  a 
certain  Colonel  Saxby  of  the  army,  once  a  great  supporter 
of  Oliver's  but  now  turned  against  him,  who  was  a  grievous 
trouble  to  him  through  all  this  part  of  his  career  ;  and  who 
came  and  went  between  the  discontented  in  England  and 
Spain,  and  Charles  who  put  himself  in  alliance  with  Spain 
on  being  thrown  off  by  France.  This  man  died  in  prison  at 
last ;  but  not  until  there  had  been  very  serious  plots  between 
the  Royalists  and  Republicans,  and  an  actual  rising  of  them 
in  England,  when  they  burst  into  the  city  of  Salisbury  on  a 
Sunday  night,  seized  the  judges  who  were  going  to  hold  the 
assizes  there  next  day,  and  would  have  hanged  them  but  for 
the  merciful  objections  of  the  more  temperate  of  their  num- 
ber. Oliver  was  so  vigorous  and  shrewd  that  he  soon  put  this 
revolt  down,  as  he  did  most  other  conspiracies  ;  and  it  was 
well  for  one  of  its  chief  managers — that  same  Lord  Wilmot 
who  had  assisted  in  Charles's  flight,  and  was  ^now  Earl  of 
Rochester — that  he  made  his  escape.  Oliver  seemed  to 
have  eyes  and  ears  every  where,  and  secured  such  sources 
of  information  as  his  enemies  little  dreamed  of.  There  was 
a  chosen  body  of  six  persons,  called  the  Sealed  Knot,  who 
were  in  the  closest  and  most  secret  confidence  of  Charles. 
One  of  the  foremost  of  these  very  men,  a  Sir  Richard  Willis, 
reported  to  Oliver  every  thing  that  passed  among  them,  and 
had  two  hundred  a  year  for  it. 

Miles  Syndarcomb,  also  of  the  old  army,  was  another  con- 
spirator against  the  Protector.  He  and  a  man  named  Cecil, 
bribed  one  of  his  Life  Guards  to  let  them  have  good  notice 
when  he  was  going  out — intending  to  shoot  him  from  a  win- 
dow.    But?  owing  either  to  his  caution  or  his  good  fortune. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        349 

they  could  never  get  an  aim  at  him.  Disappointed  in  this 
design,  they  got  into  the  chapel  in  Whitehall,  with  a  basket* 
ful  of  combustibles,  which  were  to  explode  by  means  of  a 
slow  match  in  six  hours  ;  then  in  the  noise  and  confusion  of 
the  fire,  they  hoped  to  kill  Oliver.  But,  the  Life  Guards- 
man himself  disclosed  this  plot ;  and  they  were  seized,  ana 
Miles  died  (or  killed  himself  in  prison)  a  little  while  before 
he  was  ordered  for  execution.  A  few  such  plotters  Oliver 
caused  to  be  beheaded,  a  few  more  to  be  hanged,  and  many 
more,  including  those  who  rose  in  arms  against  him,  to  be 
sent  as  slaves  to  the  West  Indies.  If  he  were  rigid,  he  was 
impartial  too,  in  asserting  the  laws  of  England.  When  a 
Portuguese  nobleman,  the  brother  of  the  Portuguese  ambas- 
sador, killed  a  London  citizen  in  mistake  for  another  man 
with  whom  he  had  had  a  quarrel,  Oliver  caused  him  to  be 
tried  before  a  jury  of  Englishmen  and  foreigners,  and  had 
him  executed  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  all  the  ambassa- 
dors in  London. 

One  of  Oliver's  own  friends,  the  Duke  of  Oldenburgh,  in 
sending  him  a  present  of  six  fine  coach-horses,  was  very  near 
doing  more  to  please  the  Royalists  than  all  the  plotters  put 
together.  One  day  Oliver  went  with  his  coach  drawn  by 
these  six  horses,  into  Hyde  Park,  to  dine  with  his  secretary 
and  some  of  his  other  gentlemen  under  the  trees  there. 
After  dinner,  being  merry,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  put 
his  friends  inside  and  to  drive  them  home  :  a  postillion 
riding  one  of  the  foremost  horses,  as  the  custom  was.  On 
account  of  Oliver's  being  too  free  with  the  whip,  the  six  fine 
horses  went  off  at  a  gallop,  the  postillion  got  thrown,  and 
Oliver  fell  upon  the  coach-pole  and  narrowly  escaped  being 
shot  by  his  own  pistol,  which  got  entangled  with  his  clothes 
in  the  harness,  and  went  off.  He  was  dragged  some  distance 
by  the  foot,  until  his  foot  came  out  of  the  shoe,  and  then 
he  came  safely  to  the  ground  under  the  broad  body  of  the 
coach,  and  was  very  little  the  worse.  The  gentlemen  inside 
were  only  bruised,  and  the  discontented  people  of  all  par- 
ties were  much  disappointed. 

The  rest  of  the  history  of  the  Protectorate  of  Oliver 
Cromwell  is  a  history  of  his  Parliaments.  His  first  one  not 
pleasing  him  at  all,  he  waited  until  the  five  months  were  out, 
and  then  dissolved  it.  The  next  was  better  suited  to  his 
views  ;  and  from  that  he  desired  to  get — if  he  could  with 
safety  to  himself — the   title  of  King.     He  had  had  this  id 


350        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

his  mind  some  time  :  whether  because  he  thought  that  the 
English  people,  being  more  used  to  the  title,  were  more 
likely  to  obey  it ;  or  whether  because  he  really  wished  to  be 
a  King  himself,  and  to  leave  the  succession  to  that  title  in 
his  family,  is  far  from  clear.  He  was  already  as  high,  in 
England  and  in  all  the  world,  as  he  would  ever  be,  and  I  doubt 
if  he  cared  for  the  mere  name.  However,  a  paper,  called 
the  "  Humble  Petition  and  Advice,"  was  presented  to  him 
by  the  House  of  Commons,  praying  him  to  take  a  high  title 
and  to  appoint  his  successor.  That  he  would  have  taken  the 
title  of  King  there  is  no  doubt,  but  for  the  strong  opposition 
of  the  army.  This  induced  him  to  forbear,  and  to  assent 
only  to  the  other  points  of  the  petition.  Upon  which  occa- 
sion there  was  another  grand  show  in  Westminster  Hall, 
when  the  '.Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  formally  in- 
vested him  with  a  purple  robe  lined  with  ermine,  and  pre- 
sented him  with  a  splendidly  bound  Bible,  and  put  a  golden 
scepter  in  his  hand.  The  next  time  the  Parliament  met,  he 
called  a  House  of  Lords  of  sixty  members,  as  the  petition 
gave  him  power  to  do  ;  but  as  that  Parliament  did  not 
please  him  either,  and  would  not  proceed  to  the  business  of 
the  country,  he  jumped  into  a  coach  one  morning,  took 
six  Guards  with  him,  and  sent  them  to  the  right-about. 
I  wish  this  had  been  a  warning  to  Parliaments  to  avoid  long 
speeches,  and  do  more  work. 

It  was  the  month  of  August,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and 
fifty-eight,  when  Oliver  Cromwell's  favorite  daughter,  Eliza* 
beth  Claypole  (who  had  lately  lost  her  youngest  son),  lay 
very  ill,  and  his  mind  was  greatly  troubled,  because  he  loved 
her  dearly.  Another  of  his  daughters  was  married  to  Lord 
Falconberg,  another  to  the  grandson  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick, 
and  he  had  made  his  son  Richard  one  of  the  members  of  the 
Upper  House.  He  was  very  kind  and  loving  to  them  all, 
being  a  good  father  and  a  good  husband  ;  but  he  loved  this 
daughter  the  best  of  the  family,  and  went  down  to  Hampton 
Court  to  see  her,  and  could  hardly  be  induced  to  stir  from  her 
sick  room  until  she  died.  Although  his  religion  had  been  of 
a  gloomy  kind,  his  disposition  had  been  always  cheerful.  He 
had  been  fond  of  music  in  his  home,  and  had  kept  open 
table  once  a  week  for  all  officers  of  the  army  not  below  the 
rank  of  captain,  and  had  always  preserved  in  his  house  a 
quiet  sensible  dignity.  He  encouraged  men  of  genius  and 
learning,  and  loved  to  have  them  about  him.     Milton  was 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        351 

one  of  his  great  friends.  He  was  good-humored,  too,  with 
the  nobility,  whose  dresses  and  manners  were  very  different 
from  his  ;  and  to  show  them  what  good  information  he  had, 
he  would  sometimes  jokingly  tell  them  when  they  were  his 
guests,  where  they  had  last  drunk  the  health  of  the  "  King 
over  the  water,"  and  would  recommend  them  to  be  more 
private  (if  they  could)  another  time.  But  he  had  lived  in 
busy  times,  and  borne  the  weight  of  heavy  State  affairs,  and 
had  often  gone  in  fear  of  his  life.  He  was  ill  of  the  gout 
and  ague  ;  and  when  the  death  of  his  beloved  child  came 
upon  him  in  addition,  he  sank,  never  to  raise  his  head  again. 
He  told  his  physicians  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  August  that 
the  Lord  had  assured  him  that  he  was  not  to  die  in  that  ill- 
ness, and  that  he  would  certainly  get  better.  This  was  only 
his  sick  fancy,  for  on  the  third  of  September,  which  was  the 
anniversary  of  the  great  battle  of  Worcester,  and  the  day  of 
the  year  which  he  called  his  fortunate  day,  he  died,  in  the 
sixtieth  year  of  his  age.  He  had  been  delirious,  and  had 
lain  insensible  some  hours,  but  he  had  been  overheard  to 
murmur  a  very  good  prayer  the  day  before.  The  whole 
country  lamented  his  death.  If  you  want  to  know  the 
real  worth  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  and  his  real  services 
to  his  country,  you  can  hardly  do  better  than  compare 
England  under  him,  with  England  under  Charles  the 
Second. 

He  had  appointed  his  son  Richard  to  succeed  him,  and 
after  there  had  been,  at  Somerset  House  in  the  Strand,  a 
lying  in  state  more  splendid  than  sensible — as  all  such 
vanities  after  death  are,  I  think — Richard  became  Lord  Pro- 
tector. He  was  an  amiable  country  gentleman,  but  had  none 
of  his  father's  great  genius,  and  was  quite  unfit  for  such  a 
post  in  such  a  storm  of  parties.  Richard's  Protectorate, 
which  only  lasted  a  year  and  a  half,  is  a  history  of  quarrels 
between  the  officers  of  the  army  and  the  Parliament,  and 
between  the  officers  among  themselves  ;  and  of  a  growing 
discontent  among  the  people,  who  had  far  too  many  long 
sermons  and  far  too  few  amusements,  and  wanted  a  change. 
At  last,  General  Monk  got  the  army  well  into  his  own  hands, 
and  then  in  pursuance  of  a  secret  plan  he  seems  to  have  en- 
tertained from  the  time  of  Oliver's  death,  declared  for  the 
King's  cause.  He  did  not  do  this  openly  ;  but,  in  his  place 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  as  one  of  the  members  for 
Devonshire,   strongly  advocated  the  proposals  of    one  Sir 


352        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

John  Greenville,  who  came  to  the  House  with  a  letter  from 
Charles,  dated  from  Breda,  and  with  whom  he  had  previously 
oeen  in  secret  communication.  There  had  been  plots  and 
counterplots,  and  a  recall  of  the  last  members  of  the  Long 
Parliament,  and  an  end  of  the  Long  Parliament,  and  risings 
of  the  Royalists  that  were  made  too  soon  ;  and  most  men 
being  tired  out,  and  there  being  no  one  to  head  the  country 
now  great  Oliver  was  dead,  it  was  readily  agreed  to  welcome 
Charles  Stuart.  Some  of  the  wiser  and  better  members  said 
— what  was  most  true — that  in  the  letter  from  Breda,  he 
gave  no  real  promise  to  govern  well,  and  that  it  would  be 
best  to  make  him  pledge  himself  beforehand  as  to  what  he 
should  be  bound  to  do  for  the  benefit  of  the  kingdom. 
Monk  said,  however,  it  would  be  all  right  when  he  came,  and 
he  could  not  come  too  soon. 

So,  every  body  found  out  all  in  a  moment  that  the  country 
must  be  prosperous  and  happy,  having  another  Stuart  to  con- 
descend to  reign  over  it ;  and  there  was  a  prodigious  firing 
off  of  guns,  lighting  of  bonfires,  ringing  of  bells,  and  throw- 
ing up  of  caps.  The  people  drank  the  King's  health  by 
thousands  in  the  open  streets,  and  every  body  rejoiced. 
Down  came  the  Arms  of  the  Commonwealth,  up  went  the 
Royal  Arms  instead,  and  out  came  the  public  money.  Fifty 
thousand  pounds  for  the  King,  ten  thousand  pounds  for  his 
brother  the  Duke  of  York,  five  thousand  pounds  for  his 
brother  the  Duke  of  Gloucester.  Prayers  for  these  gracious 
Stuarts  were  put  up  in  all  the  churches  ;  commissioners 
were  sent  to  Holland  (which  suddenly  found  out  that 
Charles  was  a  great  man,  and  that  it  loved  him)  to  invite 
the  King  home  ;  Monk  and  the  Kentish  grandees  went  to 
Dover  to  kneel  down  before  him  as  he  landed.  He  kissed 
and  embraced  Monk,  made  him  ride  in  the  coach  with  him- 
self and  his  brothers,  came  on  to  London  amid  wonderful 
shoutings,  and  passed  through  the  army  at  Blackheath  on 
the  twenty-ninth  of  May  (his  birthday),  in  the  year  one 
thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty.  Greeted  by  splendid 
dinners  under  tents,  by  flags  and  tapestry  streaming  from  all 
the  houses,  by  delighted  crowds  in  all  the  streets,  by  troops 
of  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  rich  dresses,  by  City  com- 
panies, train-bands,  drummers,  trumpeters,  the  great  Lord 
Mayor,  and  the  majestic  aldermen,  the  King  went  on  to 
'"Whitehall.  On  entering  it,  he  commemorated  his  Restora- 
tion with  the  joke  that  it  really  would  seem  to  have  been  hia 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         353 

own  fault  that  he  had  not  come  long  ago,  since  every  body 
told  him  that  he  had  always  wished  for  him  with  all  his 
heart. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

ENGLAND   UNDER  CHARLES  THE   SECOND,  CALLED  THE 
MERRY  MONARCH. 

There  never  were  such  profligate  times  in  England  as 
under  Charles  the  Second.  Whenever  you  see  his  portrait, 
with  his  swarthy  ill-looking  face  and  great  nose,  you  may 
fancy  him  in  his  Court  at  Whitehall,  surrounded  by  some  of 
the  very  worst  vagabonds  in  the  kingdom  (though  they  were 
lords  and  ladies),  drinking,  gambling,  indulging  in  vicious 
conversation,  and  committing  every  kind  of  profligate  excess. 
It  has  been  a  fashion  to  call- Charles  the  Second  "The  Merry 
Monarch."  Let  me  try  to  give  you  a  general  idea  of  some 
of  the  merry  things  that  were  done,  in  the  merry  days  when 
this  merry  gentleman  sat  upon  his  merry  throne,  in  merry 
England. 

The  first  merry  proceeding  was — of  course — to  declare 
that  he  was  one  of  the  greatest,  the  wisest,  and  the  noblest 
kings  that  ever  shone,  like  the  blessed  sun  itself,  on  this  be- 
nighted earth.  The  next  merry  and  pleasant  piece  of  busi- 
ness was,  for  the  Parliament,  in  the  humblest  manner,  to 
give  him  one  million  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
and  to  settle  upon  him  for  life  that  old  disputed  tonnage  and 
poundage  which  had  been  so  bravely  fought  for.  Then,  Gen- 
eral Monk,  being  made  Earl  of  Albemarle,  and  a  few  other 
Royalists  similarly  rewarded,  the  law  went  to  work  to  see 
what  was  to  be  done  to  those  persons  (they  were  called  Regi- 
cides) who  had  been  concerned  in  making  a  martyr  of  the 
late  king.  Ten  of  these  were  merrily  executed  ;  that  is  to 
say,  six  of  the  judges,  one  of  the  council,  Colonel  Hacker 
and  another  officer  who  had  commanded  the  Guards,  and 
Hugh  Peters,  a  preacher  who  had  preached  against  the  mar- 
tyr with  all  his  heart.  These  executions  were  so  extremely 
merry,  that  every  horrible  circumstance  which  Cromwell  had 
abandoned  was  revived  with  appalling  cruelty.  The  hearts 
of  the  sufferers  were  torn  out  of  their  living  bodies  ;  their 
bowels  were  burned  before  their  faces  ;  the   executioner  cut 


354        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

jokes  to  the  next  victim,  as  he  rubbed  his  filthy  hands  to* 
gether^  that  were  reeking  with  the  blood  of  the  last ;  and  the 
heads  of  the  dead  were  drawn  on  sledges  with  the  living  to 
the  place  of  suffering.  Still,  even  so  merry  a  monarch  could 
not  force  one  of  these  dying  men  to  say  that  he  was  sorry  for- 
what  he  had  done.  Nay,  the  most  memorable  thing  said 
among  them  was,  that  if  the  thing  were  to  do  again  they  would 
do  it. 

Sir  Harry  Vane,  who  had  furnished  the  evidence  against 
Strafford,  and  who  was  one  of  the  most  staunch  of  the  Re- 
publicans, was  also  tried,  found  guilty,  and  ordered  for  exe- 
cution. When  he  came  upon  the  scaffold  on  Tower  Hill, 
after  conducting  his  own  defense  with  great  power,  his  notes 
of  what  he  meant  to  say  to  the  people  were  torn  away  from 
him,  and  the  drums  and  trumpets  were  ordered  to  sound 
lustily  and  drown  his  voice  ;  for,  the  people  had  been  so 
much  impressed  by  what  the  Regicides  had  calmly  said  with 
their  last  breath,  that  it  was  the  custom  now,  to  have  the 
drums  and  trumpets  always  under  the  scaffold,  ready  to 
strike  up.  Vane  said  no  more  than  this  :  "  It  is  a  bad  cause 
which  cannot  bear  the  words  of  a  dying  man  :  "  and  bravely 
died. 

These  merry  scenes  were  succeeded  by  another,  perhaps 
even  merrier.  On  the  anniversary  of  the  late  King's  death, 
the  bodies  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  Bradshaw,  were 
torn  out  of  their  graves  in  Westminster  Abbey,  dragged  to 
Tyburn,  hanged  there  on  a  gallows  all  day  long,  and  then 
beheaded.  Imagine  the  head  of  Oliver  Cromwell  set  upon 
a  pole  to  be  stared  at  by  a  brutal  crowd,  not  one  of  whom 
would  have  dared  to  look  the  livi-ng  Oliver  in  the  face  for 
half  a  moment !  Think,  after  you  have  read  this  reign,  what 
England  was  under  Oliver  Cromwell  who  was  torn  out  of  his 
grave,  and  what  it  was  under  this  merry  monarch  who  sold 
it,  like  a  merry  Judas,  over  and  over  again. 

Of  course,  the  remains  of  Oliver's  wife  and  daughter  were 
not  to  be  spared  either,  though  they  had  been  most  excellent 
women.  The  base  clergy  of  that  time  gave  up  their  bodies, 
which  had  been  buried  in  the  Abbey,  and — to  the  eternal 
disgrace  of  England— they  were  thrown  into  a  pit,  together 
with  the  moldering  bones  of  Pym  and  of  the  brave  and  bold 
old  Admiral  Blake. 

The  clergy  acted  this  disgraceful  part  because  they  hoped 
to   get   the   nonconformists,    or   dissenters,    thoroughly  put 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        35$ 

down  in  this  reign,  and  to  have  but  one  prayer-book  and  one 
service  for  all  kinds  of  people,  no  matter  what  their  private 
opinions  were.  This  was  pretty  well,  I  think,  for  a  Protest- 
ant Church,  which  had  displaced  the  Romish  Church  because 
people  had  a  right  to  their  own  opinions  in  religious  matters. 
However,  they  carried  it  with  a  high  hand,  and  a  prayer-book 
was  agreed  upon,  in  which  the  extremest  opinions  of  Arch- 
bishop Laud  were  not  forgotten.  An  act  was  passed, 
too,  preventing  any  dissenter  from  holding  any  office  under 
any  corporation.  So,  the  regular  clergy  in  their  triumph 
were  soon  as  merry  as  the  King.  The  army  being  by  this 
time  disbanded,  and  the  King  crowned,  every  thing  was  to  go 
on  easily  forevermore. 

I  must  say  a  word  here  about  the  King  s  family.  He  had 
not  been  long  upon  the  throne  when  his  brother  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  and  his  sister  the  Princess  of  Orange,  died  within 
a  few  months  of  each  other,  of  small-pox.  His  remaining 
sister,  the  Princess  Henrietta,  married  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
the  brother  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  King  of  France.  His 
brother  James,  Duke  of  York,  was  made  High  Admiral,  and 
by-and-by  became  a  Catholic.  He  was  a  gloomy,  sullen,  bil- 
ious sort  of  man,  with  a  remarkable  partiality  for  the  ugliest 
women  in  the  country.  He  married,  under  very  discredit- 
able circumstances,  Anne  Hyde,  the  daughter  of  Lord  Claren- 
don, then  the  King's  principal  Minister — not  at  all  a  delicate 
minister  either,  but  doing  much  of  the  dirty  work  of  a  very 
dirty  palace.  It  became  important  now  that  the  King  him- 
self should  be  married  ;  and  divers  foreign  Monarchs,  not 
very  particular  about  the  character  of  their  son-in-law,  pro- 
posed their  daughters  to  him.  The  King  of  Portugal  of- 
fered his  daughter  Catherine  of  Braganza,  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds  :  in  addition  to  which,  the  French  King,  who  was 
favorable  to  that  match,  offered  a  loan  of  another  fifty  thou- 
sand. The  King  of  Spain,  on  the  other  hand,  offered  any 
one  out  of  a  dozen  Princesses,  and  other  hopes  of  gain.  But 
the  ready  money  carried  the  day,  and  Catherine  came  over 
in  state  to  her  merry  marriage. 

The  whole  Court  was  a  great  flaunting  crowd  of  debauched 
men  and  shameless  women  ;  and  Catherine's  merry  husband 
insulted  and  outraged  her  in  every  possible  way,  until  she 
consented  to  receive  those  worthless  creatures  as  her  very 
good  friends,  and  to  degrade  herself  by  their  companionship, 
A  Mrs.  Palmer,  whom  the  King  made  Lady  Castlemaine,  and 


356        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

afterward  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  was  one  of  the  most  pow« 
erful  of  the  bad  women  about  the  Court,  and  had  great  in- 
fluence with  the  King  nearly  all  through  his  reign.  Another 
merry  lady  named  Moll  Davies,  a  dancer  at  the  theater,  was 
afterwards  her  rival.  So  was  Nell  Gwyn,  first  an  orange  girl 
and  then  an  actress,  who  really  had  good  in  her,  and  of  whom 
one  of  the  worst  things  I  know  is,  that  actually  she  does 
seem  to  have  been  fond  of  the  King.  The  first  Duke  of  St. 
Albans  was  this  orange  girl's  child.  In  like  manner  the  son 
of  a  merry  waiting-lady,  whom  the  King  created  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth,  became  the  Duke  of  Richmond.  Upon  the 
whole  it  is  not  so  bad  a  thing  to  be  a  commoner. 

The  Merry  Monarch  was  so  exceedingly  merry  among 
these  merry  ladies,  and  some  equally  merry  (and  equally  in- 
famous) lords  and  gentlemen,  that  he  soon  got  through  his 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  then,  by  way  of  raising  a 
little  pocket-money,  made  a  merry  bargain.  He  sold  Dun- 
kirk to  the  French  King  for  five  millions  of  livres.  When  I 
think  of  the  dignity  to  which  Oliver  Cromwell  raised  En- 
gland in  the  eyes  of  foreign  powers,  and  when  I  think  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  gained  for  England  this  very  Dunkirk, 
I  am  much  inclined  to  consider  that  if  the  Merry  Monarch . 
had  been  made  to  follow  his  father  for  this  action,  he  would 
have  received  his  just  deserts. 

Though  he  was  like  his  father  in  none  of  that  father's 
greater  qualities,  he  was  like  him  in  being  worthy  of  no  trust. 
When  he  sent  that  letter  to  the  Parliament,  from  Breda,  he 
did  expressly  promise  that  all  sincere  religious  opinions 
should  be  respected.  Yet  he  was  no  sooner  firm  in  his  power 
than  he  consented  to  one  of  the  worst  Acts  of  Parliament 
ever  passed.  Under  this  law,  every  minister  who  should  not 
give  his  solemn  assent  to  the  Prayer-Book  by  a  certain  day, 
was  declared  to  be  a  minister  no  longer,  and  to  be  deprived 
of  his  church.  The  consequence  of  this  was  that  some  two 
thousand  honest  men  were  taken  from  their  congregations, 
and  reduced  to  dire  poverty  and  distress.  It  was  followed  by 
another  outrageous  law,  called  the  Conventicle  Act,  by  which 
any  person  above  the  age  of  sixteen  who  was  present  at  any 
religious  service  not  according  to  the  Prayer-Book,  was  to  be 
imprisoned  three  months  for  the  first  offense,  six  for  the 
second,  and  to  be  transported  for  the  third.  This  Act  alone 
filled  the  prisons,  which  were  then  most  dreadful  dungeons, 
to  overflowing. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         357 

The  Covenanters  in  Scotland  had  already  fared  no  better. 
A  base  Parliament,  usually  known  as  the  Drunken  Parlia- 
ment, in  consequence  of  its  principal  members  being  seldom 
sober,  had  been  got  together  to  make  laws  against  the  Cove- 
nanters, and  to  force  all  men  to  be  of  one  mind  in  religious 
matters.  The  Marquis  of  Argyle,  relying  on  the  King's 
honor,  had  given  himself  up  to  him  ;  but  he  was  wealthy, 
and  his  enemies  wanted  his  wealth.  He  was  tried  for  trea- 
son, on  the  evidence  of  some  private  letters  in  which  he  had 
expressed  opinions — as  well  he  might — more  favorable  to 
the  government  of  the  late  Lord  Protector  than  of  the 
present  merry  and  religious  King.  He  was  executed,  as 
were  two  men  of  mark  among  the  Covenanters ;  and  Sharp, 
a  traitor  who  had  once  been  the  friend  of  the  Presbyterians 
and  betrayed  them,  was  made  Archbishop  of  St,  Andrew's, 
to  teach  the  Scotch  how  to  like  bishops. 

Things  being  in  this  merry  state  at  home,  the  Merry  Mon- 
arch undertook  a  war  with  the  Dutch  ;  principally  because 
they  interfered  with  an  African  company,  established  with 
the  two  objects  of  buying  gold-dust  and  slaves,  of  which  the 
Duke  of  York  was  a  leading  member.  After  some  prelim- 
inary hostilities,  the  said  Duke  sailed  to  the  coast  of  Holland 
with  a  fleet  of  ninety-eight  vessels  of  war,  and  four  fire-ships. 
This  engaged  with  the  Dutch  fleet,  of  no  fewer  than  one 
hundred  and  thirteen  ships.  In  the  great  battle  between  the 
two  forces,  the  Dutch  lost  eighteen  ships,  four  admirals,  and 
seven  thousand  men.  But  the  English  on  shore  were  in  no 
mood  of  exultation  when  they  heard  the  news. 

For  this  was  the  year  and  the  time  of  the  Great  Plague  in 
London.  During  the  winter  of  one  thousand  six  hundred 
and  sixty-four  it  had  been  whispered  about,  that  some  few 
people  had  died  here  and  there  of  the  disease  called  the 
Plague,  in  some  of  the  unwholesome  suburbs  around  London. 
News  was  not  published  at  that  time  as  it  is  now,  ,v;id  some 
people  believed  these  rumors,  and  some  disbelieved  them, 
and  they  were  soon  forgotten.  But,  in  the  month  of  May, 
one  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty-five,  it  began  to  be  said 
all  over  the  town  that  the  disease  had  burst  out  with  great 
violence  in  St.  Giles's,  and  that  the  people  were  dying  in 
great  numbers.  This  soon  turned  out  to  be  awfully  true. 
The  roads  out  of  London  were  choked  up  by  people  endeav- 
oring to  escape  from  the  infected  city,  and  large  sums  were 
paid  for  any  kind  of  conveyance.     The  disease  soon  spread 


358         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

so  fast,  that  it  was  necessary  to  shut  up  the  houses  in  which 
sick  people  were,  and  to  cut  them  off  from  communication 
with  the  living.  Every  one  of  these  houses  was  marked  on 
the  outside  of  the  door  with  a  red  cross,  and  the  words,  Lord, 
have  mercy  upon  us  !  The  streets  were  all  deserted,  grass 
grew  in  the  public  ways,  and  there  was  a  dreadful  silence  in 
the  air.  When  night  came  on  dismal  rumblings  used  to  be 
heard,  and  these  were  the  wheels  of  the  death-carts,  attended 
by  men  with  veiled  faces  and  holding  cloths  to  their  mouths, 
who  rang  doleful  bells  and  cried  in  a  loud  and  solemn  voice, 
"  Bring  out  your  dead  !  "  The  corpses  put  into  these  carts 
were  buried  by  torchlight  in  great  pits  ;  no  service  being  per- 
formed over  them  ;  all  men  being  afraid  to  stay  for  a  moment 
on  the  brink  of  the  ghastly  graves.  In  the  general  fear, 
children  ran  away  from  their  parents,  and  parents  from  their 
children.  Some  who  were  taken  ill,  died  alone,  and  with- 
out any  help.  Some  were  stabbed  or  strangled  by  hired 
nurses  who  robbed  them  of  all  their  money,  and  stole  the 
very  beds  on  which  they  lay.  Some  went  mad,  dropped 
from  the  windows,  ran  through  the  streets,  and  in  their  pain 
and  frenzy  flung  themselves  into  the  river. 

These  were  not  all  the  horrors  of  the  time.  The  wicked 
and  dissolute,  in  wild  desperation,  sat  in  the  taverns  singing 
roaring  songs,  and  were  stricken  as  they  drank,  and  went 
out  and  died.  The  fearful  and  superstitious  persuaded  them- 
selves that  they  saw  supernatural  sights — burning  swords  in 
the  sky,  gigantic  arms  and  darts.  Others  pretended  that 
at  nights  vast  crowds  of  ghosts  walked  round  and  round  the 
dismal  pits.  One  madman,  naked,  and  carrying  a  brazier 
full  of  burning  coals  upon  his  head,  stalked  through  the 
streets,  crying  out  that  he  was  a  Prophet,  commissioned  to 
denounce  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord  on  wicked  London. 
Another  always  went  to  and  fro,  exclaiming,  "Yet  forty 
days,  and  London  shall  be  destroyed  !  "  A  third  awoke 
the  echoes  in  the  dismal  streets,  by  night  and  by  day,  and 
made  the  blood  of  the  sick  run  cold,  by  calling  out  inces- 
santly, in  a  deep  hoarse  voice,  "  O,  the  great  and  dreadful 
God  !  " 

Through  the  months  of  July  and  August  and  September, 
the  Great  Plague  raged  more  and  more.  Great  fires  were 
lighted  in  the  streets,  in  the  hope  of  stopping  the  infection ; 
but  there  was  a  plague  of  rain  too,  and  it  beat  the  fires  out. 
At  last,  the  winds  which  usually  arise  at  that  time  of  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         359 

year  which  is  called  the  equinox,  when  day  and  night  are  of 
equal  length  all  over  the  world,  began  to  blow,  and  to  purify 
the  wretched  town.  The  deaths  began  to  decrease,  the  red 
crosses  slowly  to  disappear,  the  fugitives  to  return,  the  shops 
to  open,  pale  frightened  faces  to  be  seen  in  the  streets.  The 
Plague  had  been  in  every  part  of  England,  but  in  close  and 
unwholesome  London  it  had  killed  one  hundred  thousand 
people. 

All  this  time,  the  Merry  Monarch  was  as  merry  as  ever, 
and  as  worthless  as  ever.  All  this  time,  the  debauched  lords 
and  gentlemen  and  the  shameless  ladies  danced  and  gamed 
and  drank,  and  loved  and  hated  one  another,  according  to 
their  merry  ways.  So  little  humanity  did  the  government 
learn  from  the  late  affliction,  that  one  of  the  first  things  the 
Parliament  did  when  it  met  at  Oxford  (being  as  yet  afraid  to 
come  to  London),  was  to  make  a  law,  called  the  Five  Mile 
Act,  expressly  directed  against  those  poor  ministers,  who, 
in  the  time  of  the  Plague,  had  manfully  come  back  to  com- 
fort the  unhappy  people.  This  infamous  law,  by  forbidding 
them  to  teach  in  any  school,  or  to  come  within  five  miles  of 
any  city,  town,  or  village,  doomed  them  to  starvation  and 
death. 

The  fleet  had  been  at  sea,  and  healthy.  The  King  of 
France  was  now  in  alliance  with  the  Dutch,  though  his  navy 
was  chiefly  employed  in  looking  on  while  the  English  and 
Dutch  fought.  The  Dutch  gained  one  victory;  and  the  En- 
glish gained  another  and  a  greater  ;  and  Prince  Rupert,  one 
of  the  English  admirals,  was  out  in  the  channel  one  windy 
night,  looking  for  the  French  admiral,  with  the  intention  of 
giving  him  something  more  to  do  than  he  had  had  yet,  when 
the  gale  increased  to  a  storm,  and  blew  him  into  Saint  Helen's. 
That  night  was  the  third  of  September,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  sixty-six,  and  that  wind  fanned  the  Great  Fire 
of  London. 

It  broke  out  at  a  baker's  shop  near  London  Bridge,  on  the 
spot  on  which  the  Monument  now  stands  as  a  remembrance 
of  those  raging  flames.  It  spread  and  spread,  and  burned 
and  burned,  for  three  days.  The  nights  were  lighter  than 
the  days  ;  in  the  day-time  there  was  an  immense  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  in  the  night-time  there  was  a  great  tower  of  fire 
mounting  up  into  the  sky,  which  lighted  the  whole  country 
landscape  for  ten  miles  round.  Showers  of  hot  ashes  rose 
into  the  air  and  fell  on  distant  places  ;  flying  sparks  carried 


360        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  conflagration  to  great  distances,  and  kindled  it  in  twenty 
new  spots  at  a  time  ;  church  steeples  fell  down  with  tremen- 
dous crashes  ;  houses  crumbled  into  cinders  by  the  hundred 
and  the  thousand.  The  summer  had  been  intensely  hot  and 
dry,  the  streets  were  very  narrow,  and  the  houses  mostly 
built  of  wood  and  plaster.  Nothing  could  stop  the  tremen- 
dous fire,  but  the  want  of  more  houses  to  burn  ;  nor  did  it 
stop  until  the  whole  way  from  the  Tower  to  Temple  Bar  was 
a  desert  composed  of  the  ashes  of  thirteen  thousand  houses 
and  eighty-nine  churches. 

This  was  a  terrible  visitation  at  the  time,  and  occasioned 
great  loss  and  suffering  to  the  two  hundred  thousand  burned- 
out  people,  who  were  obliged  to  lie  in  the  fields  under  the 
open  night  sky,  or  in  hastily-made  huts  of  mud  and  straw, 
while  the  lanes  and  roads  were  rendered  impassable  by  carts 
which  had  broken  down  as  they  tried  to  save  their  goods. 
But  the  fire  was  a  great  blessing  to  the  city  afterward,  for 
it  arose  from  its  ruins  very  much  improved — built  more  regu-" 
larly,  more  widely,  more  cleanly  and  carefully,  and  therefore 
much  more  healthily.  It  might  be  far  more  healthy  than  it 
is,  but  there  are  some  people  in  it  still — even  now,  at  this 
time,  nearly  two  hundred  years  later — so  selfish,  so  pig- 
headed, and  so  ignorant,  that  I  doubt  if  even  another  Great 
Fire  would  warm  them  up  to  do  their  duty. 

The  Catholics  were  accused  of  having  willfully  set  London 
in  flames  ;  one  poor  Frenchman,  who  had  been  mad  for 
years,  even  accused  himself  of  having  with  his  own  hand 
fired  the  first  house.  There  is  no  reasonable  doubt,  how- 
ever, that  the  fire  was  accidental.  An  inscription  on  the 
Monument  long  attributed  it  to  the  Catholics  ;  but  it  is  re- 
moved now,  and  was  always  a  malicious  and  stupid  untruth. 

Second  Part. 

That  the  Merry  Monarch  might  be  very  merry  indeed,  in 
the  merry  times  when  his  people  were  suffering  under  pesti- 
lence and  fire,  he  drank  and  gambled  and  flung  away  among 
his  favorites  the  money  which  the  Parliament  had  voted  for 
the  war.  The  consequence  of  this  was  that  the  stout-heart- 
ed English  sailors  were  merrily  starving  of  want,  and  dying  in 
the  streets;  while  the  Dutch,  under  their  admirals  De  Witt  and 
De  Ruyter,  came  into  the  River  Thames,  and  up  the  River 
Medway  as  far  as  Upnor,  burned  the  guard-ships,  silenced 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         361 

the  weak  batteries,  and  did  what  they  would  to  the  English 
coast  for  six  whole  weeks.  Most  of  the  English  ships  that 
could  have  prevented  them  had  neither  powder  nor  shot  on 
board  ;  in  this  merry  reign,  public  officers  made  themselves 
as  merry  as  the  King  did  with  the  public  money  ;  and  when 
it  was  intrusted  to  them  to  spend  in  national  defenses  or 
preparations,  they  put  it  into  their  own  pockets  with  the  mer- 
riest grace  in  the  world. 

Lord  Clarendon  had,  by  this  time,  run  as  long  a  course  as 
is  usually  allotted  to  the  unscrupulous  ministers  of  bad  kings. 
He  was  impeached  by  his  political  opponents,  but  unsuccess- 
fully. The  King  then  commanded  him  to  withdraw  from 
England  and  retire  to  France,  which  he  did,  after  defending 
himself  in  writing.  He  was  no  great  loss  at  home,  and  died 
abroad  some  seven  years  afterward. 

There  then  came  into  power  a  ministry  called  the  Cabal 
Ministry,  because  it  was  composed  of  Lord  Clifford,  the 
Earl  of  Arlington,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  (a  great  rascal, 
and  the  King's  most  powerful  favorite),  Lord  Ashley,  and 
the  Duke  of  Lauderdale,  c.  a.  b.  a.  l.  As  the  French  were 
making  conquests  in  Flanders,  the  first  Cabal  proceeding  was 
to  make  a  treaty  with  the  Dutch,  for  uniting  with  Spain  to 
appose  the  French.  It  was  no  sooner  made  than  the  Merry 
Monarch,  who  always  wanted  to  get  money  without  being 
accountable  to  a  Parliament  for  his  expenditure,  apologized 
to  the  King  of  France  for  having  had  any  thing  to  do  with 
it,  and  concluded  a  secret  treaty  with  him,  making  himself 
his  infamous  pensioner  to  the  amount  of  two  millions  of 
livres  down,  and  three  millions  more  a  year  ;  and  engaging 
to  desert  that  very  Spain,  to  make  war  against  those  very 
Dutch,  and  to  declare  himself  a  Catholic  when  a  convenient 
time  should  arrive.  This  religious  king  had  lately  been  cry- 
ing to  his  Catholic  brother  on  the  subject  of  his  strong  desire 
to  be  a  Catholic  ;  and  now  he  merrily  concluded  this  treason- 
able conspiracy  against  the  country  he  governed,  by  under- 
taking to  become  one  as  soon  as  he  safely  could.  For  all 
of  which,  though  he  had  had  ten  merry  heads  instead  of 
one,  he  richly  deserved  to  lose  them  by  the  headsman's  ax. 

As  his  one  merry  head  might  have  been  far  from  safe,  if 
these  things  had  been  known,  they  were  kept  very  quiet,  and 
war  was  declared  by  France  and  England  against  the 
Dutch.  But,  a  very  uncommon  man,  afterward  most  im- 
portant to  English  history  and  to  the  religion  and  iiberty  of  thU 


362         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

land,  arose  among  them,  and  for  many  long  years  defeated 
the  whole  projects  of  France.  This  was  William  of  Nassau, 
Prince  of  Orange,  son  of  the  last  Prince  of  Orange  of  the 
same  name,  who  married  the  daughter  of  Charles  the  First 
of  England.  He  was  a  young  man  at  this  time,  only  just  of 
age  ;  but  he  was  brave,  cool,  intrepid,  and  wise.  His  father 
had  been  so  detested  that,  upon  his  death,  the  Dutch  had 
abolished  the  authority  to  which  this  son  would  have  other- 
wise succeeded  (Stadtholder  it  was  called),  and  placed  the 
chief  power  in  the  hands  of  John  de  Witt,  who  educated 
this  young  prince.  Now,  the  Prince  became  very  popular, 
and  John  de  Witt's  brother  Cornelius  was  sentenced  to  ban- 
ishment on  a  fake  accusation  of  conspiring  to  kill  him.  John 
went  to  the  prison  where  he  was,  to  take  him  away  to  exile, 
in  his  coach  ;  and  a  great  mob  who  collected  on  the  occasion, 
then  and  there  cruelly  murdered  both  the  brothers.  This 
left  the  government  in  the  hands  of  the  Prince,  who  was 
really  the  choice  of  the  nation  ;  and  from  this  time  he  exer- 
cised it  with  the  greatest  vigor,  against  the  whole  power  of 
France,  under  its  famous  generals  Conde  and  Turenne,  and 
in  support  of  the  Protestant  religion.  It  was  full  seven  years 
before  this  war  ended  in  a  treaty  of  peace  made  at  Nime- 
guen,  and  its  details  would  occupy  a  very  considerable  space. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  William  of  Orange  established  a  fa- 
mous character  with  the  whole  world  ;  and  that  the  Merry 
Monarch,  adding  to  and  improving  on  his  former  baseness, 
bound  himself  to  do  every  thing  the  King  of  France  liked, 
and  nothing  the  King  of  France  did  not  like,  for  a  pension 
of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  which  was  after- 
ward doubled.  Besides  this,  the  king  of  France,  by  means 
of  his  corrupt  ambassador — who  wrote  accounts  of  his  pro- 
ceedings in  England,  which  are  not  always  to  be  believed, 
I  think — bought  our  English  members  of  Parliament,  as  he 
wanted  them.  So,  in  point  of  fact,  during  a  considerable 
portion  of  this  merry  reign,  the  King  of  France  was  the  real 
King  of  this  country. 

But  there  was  a  better  time  to  come,  and  it  was  to  come 
(though  his  royal  uncle  little  thought  so)  through  that  very 
William,  Prince  of  Orange.  He  came  over  to  England,  saw 
Mary,  the  elder  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  York,  and  married 
her.  We  shall  see  by  and  by  what  came  of  that  marriage, 
and  why  it  is  never  to  be  forgotten. 

This  daughter  was  a  Protestant,  but  her  mother  died  a 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         363 

Catholic.  She  and  her  sister  Anne,  also  a  Protestant,  were 
the  only  survivors  of  eight  children.  Anne  afterward  mar- 
ried George,  Prince  of  Denmark,  brother  to  the  King  of 
that  country. 

Lest  you  should  do  the  Merry  Monarch  the  injustice  of 
supposing  that  he  was  even  good-humored  (except  when  he 
had  every  thing  his  own  way),  or  that  he  was  high-spirited 
and  honorable,  I  will  mention  here  what  was  done  to  a  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Commons,  Sir  John  Coventry.  He 
made  a  remark  in  a  debate  about  taxing  the  theaters,  which 
gave  the  King  offense.  The  King  agreed  with  his  illegiti- 
mate son,  who  had  been  born  abroad,  and  whom  he  had 
made  Duke  of  Monmouth,  to  take  the  following  merry  ven- 
geance. To  waylay  him  at  night,  fifteen  armed  men  to  one, 
and  to  slit  his  nose  with  a  penknife.  Like  master,  like  man." 
The  King's  favorite,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  was  strongly 
suspected  of  setting  on  an  assassin  to  murder  the  Duke  of 
Ormond  as  he  was  returning  home  from  a  dinner  ;  and  that 
Duke's  spirited  son,  Lord  Ossory,  was  so  persuaded  of  his 
guilt,  that  he  said  to  him  at  Court,  even  as  he  stood  beside 
the  King,  "  My  lord,  I  know  very  well  that  you  are  at  the 
bottom  of  this  late  attempt  upon  my  father.  But  I  give  you 
warning,  if  he  ever  come  to  a  violent  end,  his  blood  shall  be 
upon  you,  and  wherever  I  meet  you  I  will  pistol  you  !  I  will 
do  so,  though  I  find  you  standing  behind  the  King's  chair  ; 
and  I  tell  you  this  in  his  Majesty's  presence,  that  you  may 
be  quite  sure  of  my  doing  what  I  threaten."  Those  were 
merry  times  indeed. 

There  was  a  fellow  named  Blood,  who  was  seized  for 
making,  with  two  companions,  an  audacious  attempt  to  steal 
the  crown,  the  globe,  and  scepter,  from  the  place  where  the 
jewels  were  kept  in  the  tower.  This  robber,  who  was  a 
swaggering  ruffian,  being  taken,  declared  that  he  was  the 
man  who  had  endeavored  to  kill  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  and 
that  he  had  meant  to  kill  the  King  too,  but  was  overawed  by 
the  majesty  of  his  appearance,  when  he  might  otherwise  have 
done  it,  as  he  was  bathing  at  Battersea.  The  King  being  but 
an  ill-looking  fellow,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  this.  Whether 
he  was  flattered,  or  whether  he  knew  that  Buckingham  had 
really  set  Blood  on  to  murder  the  Duke,  is  uncertain.  But  it 
is  quite  certain  that  he  pardoned  this  thief,  gave  him  an  es- 
tate of  five  hundred  a  year  in  Ireland  (which  had  had  the 
honor  of  giving  him  birth),  and  presented  him  at  Court  to 


364         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  debauched  lords  and  the  shameless  ladies,  who  made  a 
great  deal  of  him — as  I  have  no  doubt  they  would  have  made 
of  the  Devil  himself,  if  the  King  had  introduced  him. 

Infamously  pensioned  as  he  was,  the  King  still  wanted 
money,  and  consequently  was  obliged  to  call  Parliaments. 
In  these,  the  great  object  of  the  Protestants  was  to  thwart  the 
Catholic  Duke  of  York,  who  married  a  second  time  ;  his  new 
wife  being  a  young  lady  only  fifteen  years  old,  the  Catholic 
sister  of  the  Duke  of  Modena.  In  this  they  were  seconded 
by  the  Protestant  Dissenters,  though  to  their  own  disadvan- 
tage :  since,  to  exclude  Catholics  from  power,  they  were  even 
willing  to  exclude  themselves.  The  King's  object  was  to 
pretend  to  be  a  Protestant,  while  he  was  really  a  Catholic  ; 
to  swear  to  the  bishops  that  he  was  devoutly  attached  to  the 
English  Church,  while  he  knew  he  had  bargained  it  away  to 
the  King  of  France  ;  and  by  cheating  and  deceiving  them, 
and  all  who  were  attached  to  royalty,  to  become  despotic  and 
be  powerful  enough  to  confess  what  a  rascal  he  was.  Mean- 
time the  King  of  France,  knowing  his  merry  pensioner  well, 
intrigued  with  the  King's  opponents  in  Parliament,  as  well  as 
with  the  King  and  his  friends. 

The  fears  that  the  country  had  of  the  Catholic  religion  be- 
ing restored,  if  the  Duke  of  York  should  come  to  the  throne, 
and  the  low  cunning  of  the  King  in  pretending  to  share  their 
alarms,  led  to  some  very  terrible  results.  A  certain  Dr. 
Tonge,  a  dull  clergyman  in  the  city,  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
certain  Titus  Oates,  a  most  infamous  character,  who  pre- 
tended to  have  acquired  among  the  Jesuits  abroad  a  knowl- 
edge of  a  great  plot  for  the  murder  of  the  King,  and  the 
re-establishment  of  the  Catholic  religion.  Titus  Oates  being 
produced  by  this  unlucky  Dr.  Tonge,  and  solemnly  examined 
before  the  council,  contradicted  himself  in  a  thousand  ways, 
told  the  most  ridiculous  and  improbable  stories,  and  impli- 
cated Coleman,  the  Secretary  of  the  Duchess  of  York.  Now, 
although  what  he  charged  against  Coleman  was  not  true,  and 
although  you  and  I  know  very  well  that  the  real  dangerous 
Catholic  plot  was  that  one  with  the  King  of  France  of  which 
the  Merry  Monarch  was  himself  the  head,  there  happened  to 
be  found  among  Coleman's  papers,  some  letters,  in  which  he 
did  praise  the  days  of  Bloody  Queen  Mary,  and  abuse  the 
Protestant  religion.  This  was  great  good  fortune  for  Titus, 
as  it  seemed  to  confirm  him  ;  but  better  still  was  in  store, 
Sir  Edmundbury  Godfrey,  the  magistrate  who  had  first  ex- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         365 

amined  him,  being  unexpectedly  found  dead  near  Primrose 
Hill,  was  confidently  believed  to  have  been  killed  by  the 
Catholics.  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  been  mel- 
ancholy mad,  and  that  he  killed  himself  ;  but  he  had  a  great 
Protestant  funeral,  and  Titus  was  called  the  Saver  of  the 
Nation,  and  received  a  pension  of  twelve  hundred  pounds 
a  year. 

As  soon  as  Oates's  wickedness  had  met  with  this  success, 
up  started  another  villain,  named  William  Bedloe,  who, 
attracted  by  a  reward  of  five  hundred  pounds  offered  for  the 
apprehension  of  the  murderers  of  Godfrey,  came  forward  and 
charged  two  Jesuits  and  some  other  persons  with  having 
committed  it  at  the  Queen's  desire.  Oates,  going  into  part- 
nership with  this  new  informer,  had  the  audacity  to  accuse 
the  poor  Queen  herself  of  high  treason.  Then  appeared  a 
third  informer,  as  bad  as  either  of  the  two,  and  accused 
a  Catholic  banker  named  Stayley  of  having  said  that  the 
King  was  the  greatest  rogue  in  the  world  (which  would  not 
have  been  far  from  the  truth),  and  that  he  would  kill  him 
with  his  own  hand.  This  banker,  being  at  once  tried  and 
executed,  Coleman  and  two  others  were  tried  and  executed, 
Then,  a  miserable  wretch  named  Prance,  a  Catholic  silver- 
smith, being  accused  by  Bedloe,  was  tortured  into  confessing 
that  he  had  taken  part  in  Godfrey's  murder,  and  into  accus- 
ing three  other  men  of  having  committed  it.  Then,  five  Jes- 
uits were  accused  by  Oates,  Bedloe,  and  Prance  together, 
and  were  all  found  guilty,  and  executed  on  the  same  kind  of 
contradictory  and  absurd  evidence.  The  Queen's  physician 
and  three  monks  were  next  put  on  their  trial ;  but  Oates  and 
Bedloe  had  for  the  time  gone  far  enough,  and  these  four  were 
acquitted.  The  public  mind,  however,  was  so  full  of  a  Cath- 
olic plot,  and  so  strong  against  the  Duke  of  York,  that  James 
consented  to  obey  a  written  order  from  his  brother,  and  to 
go  with  his  family  to  Brussels,  provided  that  his  rights  should 
never  be  sacrificed  in  his  absence  to  the  Duke  of  Monmouth. 
The  House  of  Commons,  not  satisfied  with  this  as  the  King 
"hoped,  passed  a  bill  to  exclude  the  Duke  from  ever  succeed- 
ing to  the  throne.  In  return,  the  King  dissolved  the  Par- 
liament. He  had  deserted  his  old  favorite,  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  who  was  now  in  the  opposition. 

To  give  any  sufficient  idea  of  the  miseries  of  Scotland  in 
this  merry  reign,  would  occupy  a  hundred  pages.  Because 
the  people  would  not  have  bishops,  and  were  resolved  to 


366        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

stand  by  their  Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  such  cruelties 
were  inflicted  upon  them  as  make  the  blood  run  cold.  Fero- 
cious dragoons  galloped  through  the  country  to  punish  the 
peasants  for  deserting  the  churches  ;  sons  were  hanged  up  at 
their  fathers'  doorsfor  refusing  to  disclose  where  their  fathers 
were  concealed  ;  wives  were  tortured  to  death  for  not  betray- 
ing their  husbands  ;  people  were  taken  out  of  their  fields  and 
gardens,  and  shot  on  the  public  roads  without  trial  ;  lighted 
matches  were  tied  to  the  fingers  of  prisoners,  and  a  most 
horrible  torment  called  the  Boot  was  invented,  and  constantly 
applied,  which  ground  and  mashed  the  victims'  legs  with  iron 
wedges.  Witnesses  were  tortured  as  well  as  prisoners.  All 
the  prisons  were  full ;  all  the  gibbets  were  heavy  with  bodies  ; 
murder  and  plunder  devastated  the  whole  country.  In  spite 
of  all,  the  Covenanters  were  by  no  means  to  be  dragged  into 
the  churches,  and  persisted  in  worshiping  God  as  they 
thought  right.  A  body  of  ferocious  Highlanders,  turned 
upon  them  from  the  mountains  of  their  own  country,  had  no 
greater  effect  than  the  English  dragoons  under  Grahame  of 
Claverhouse,  the  most  cruel  and  rapacious  of  all  their  ene- 
mies, whose  name  will  ever  be  cursed  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Scotland.  Archbishop  Sharp  had  ever  aided  and 
abetted  all  these  outrages.  But  he  fell  at  last  ;  for  when  the 
injuries  of  the  Scottish  people  were  at  their  height,  he  was 
seen,  in  his  coach-and-six  coming  across  a  moor,  by  a  body 
of  men,  headed  by  one  John  Balfour,  who  were  in  waiting  for 
another  of  their  oppressors.  Upon  this  they  cried  out  that 
heaven  had  delivered  him  into  their  hands,  and  killed  him 
with  many  wounds.  If  ever  a  man  deserved  such  a  death, 
I  think  Archbishop  Sharp  did. 

It  made  a  great  noise  directly,  and  the  Merry  Monarch — 
strongly  suspected  of  having  goaded  the  Scottish  people  on, 
that  he  might  have  an  excuse  for  a  greater  army  than  the 
Parliament  were  willing  to  give  him — sent  down  his  son,  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth,  as  commander-in-chief,  with  instructions 
to  attack  the  Scottish  rebels,  or  Whigs,  as  they  were  called, 
whenever  he  came  up  with  them.  Marching  with  ten  thou- 
sand men  from  Edinburgh,  he  found  them,  in  number 
four  or  five  thousand,  drawn  up  at  Bothwell  Bridge,  by 
the  Clyde.  They  were  soon  dispersed  ;  and  Monmouth 
showed  a  more  humane  character  toward  them  than  he  had 
shown  toward  that  Member  of  Parliament  whose  nose 
he  had  caused  to  be  slit  with  a  penknife.     But  the  Duke  of 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         367 

Lauderdale  was  their  bitter  foe,  and  sent  Claverhouse  to 
finish  them. 

As  the  Duke  of  York  became  more  and  more  unpopular, 
the  Duke  of  Monmouth  became*more  and  more  popular.  It 
would  have  been  decent  in  the  latter  not  to  have  voted  in 
favor  of  the  renewed  bill  for  the  exclusion  of  James  from  the 
throne  ;  but  he  did  so,  much  to  the  King's  amusement,  who 
Used  to  sit  in  the  House  of  Lords  by  the  fire,  hearing  the  de- 
bates, which  he  said  were  as  good  as  a  play.  The  House  of 
Commons  passed  the  bill  by  a  large  majority,  and  it  was 
carried  up  to  the  Housa  of  Lords  by  Lord  Russell,  one  of 
the  best  of  the  leaders  of  the  Protestant  side.  It  was  re- 
jected there,  chiefly  because  the  bishops  helped  the  King  to 
get  rid  of  it;  and  the  fear  of  the  Catholic  plots  revived  again, 
There  had  been  another  got  up,  by  a  fellow  out  of  Newgate, 
named  Dangerfield,  which  is  more  famous  than  it  deserves 
to  be,  under  the  name  of  the  Meal-Tub  Plot.  This  jail- 
bird having  been  got  out  of  Newgate  by  a  Mrs.  Cellier,  a 
Catholic  nurse,  had  turned  Catholic  himself,  and  pretended 
that  he  knew  of  a  plot  among  the  Presbyterians  against  the 
King's  life.  This  was  very  pleasant  to  the  Duke  of  York, 
who  hated  the  Presbyterians,  who  returned  the  compliment. 
He  gave  Dangerfield  twenty  guineas,  and  sent  him  to  the 
King  his  brother.  But  Dangerfield,  breaking  down  alto- 
gether in  his  charge,  and  being  sent  back  to  Newgate,  almost 
astonished  the  Duke  out  of  his  five  senses  by  suddenly  swear- 
ing that  the  Catholic  nurse  had  put  that  false  design  into  his 
•head,  and  that  what  he  really  knew  about,  was,  a  Catholic 
plot  against  the  King;  the  evidence  of  which  would  be  found 
in  some  papers,  concealed  in  a  meal-tub  in  Mrs.  Cellier's 
house.  There  they  were,  of  course — for  he  had  put  them 
there  himself — and  so  the  tub  gave  the  name  to  the  plot. 
But  the  nurse  was  acquitted  on  her  trial,  and  it  came  to 
nothing. 

Lord  Ashley,  of  the  Cabal,  was  now  Lord  Shaftesbury;  and 
was  strong  against  the  succession  of  the  Duke  of  York.  The 
House  of  Commons  aggravated  to  the  utmost  extent,  as  we 
may  well  suppose,  by  suspicions  of  the  King's  conspiracy 
with  the  King  of  France,  made  a  desperate  point  of  the  ex- 
clusion still,  and  were  bitter  against  the  Catholics  generally. 
So  unjustly  bitter  were  they,  I  grieve  to  say,  that  they  im- 
peached the  venerable  Lord  Stafford,  a  Catholic  nobleman 
seventy  years  old,   of  a   design  to  kill  the  King.     The  wit- 


368        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

nesses  were  that  atrocious  Oates  and  two  other  birds  of  the 
same  feather.  He  was  found  guilty,  on  evidence  quite  as 
foolish  as  it  was  false,  and  was  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill. 
The  people  were  opposed  to  him  when  he  first  appeared  upon 
the  scaffold;  but  when  he  had  addressed  them  and  shown 
them  how  innocent  he  was  and  how  wickedly  he  was  sent 
there,  their  better  nature  was  aroused,  and  they  said,  "  We 
believe  you,  my  lord.     God  bless  you,  my  lord  !  " 

The  House  of  Commons  refused  to  let  the  King  have  any 
money  until  he  should  consent  to  the  Exclusion  Bill;  but,  as 
he  could  get  it  and  did  get  it  from  his  master  the  King  of 
France,  he  could  afford  to  hold  them  very  cheap.  He  called 
a  Parliament  at  Oxford,  to  which  he  went  down  with  a  great 
show  of  being  armed  and  protected  as  if  he  were  in  danger 
of  his  life,  and  to  which  the  opposition  members  also  went 
armed  and  protected,  alleging  that  they  were  in  fear  of  the 
Papists,  who  were  numerous  among  the  King's  guards.  How- 
ever, they  went  on  with  the  Exclusion  Bill,  and  were  so  earn- 
est upon  it  that  they  would  have  carried  it  again,  if  the  King 
had  not  popped  his  crown  and  state  robes  into  a  sedan-chair, 
bundled  himself  into  it  along  with  them,  hurried  down  to  the 
chamber  where  the  House  of  Lords  met,  and  dissolved  the 
Parliament.  After  which  he  scampered  home,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  Parliament  scampered  home  too,  as  fast  as  their  legs 
could  carry  them. 

The  Duke  of  York,  then  residing  in  Scotland,  had,  under 
the  law  which  excluded  Catholics  from  public  trust,  no  right 
whatever  to  public  employment.  Nevertheless,  he  was  openly 
employed  as  the  King's  representative  in  Scotland,  and  there 
gratified  his  sullen  and  cruel  nature  to  his  heart's  content 
by  directing  the  dreadful  cruelties  against  the  Covenanters. 
There  were  two  ministers  named  Cargill  and  Cameron  who 
had  escaped  from  the  battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge,  and  who 
returned  to  Scotland,  an«3  raised  the  miserable  but  still  brave 
and  unsubdued  Covenanters  afresh,  under  the  name  of  Cam- 
eronians.  As  Cameron  publicly  posted  a  declaration  that  the 
King  wis  a  forsworn  tyrant,  no  mercy  was  shown  to  his  un- 
happy followers  after  he  was  slain  in  battle.  The  Duke  of 
York,  who  was  particularly  fond  of  the  Boot  and  derived 
great  pleasure  from  having  it  applied,  offered  their  lives  to 
some  of  these  people,  if  they  would  cry  on  the  scaffold,  "  God 
save  the  King  !  "  But  their  relations,  friends,  and  country- 
men had  been  so  barbarously  tortured  and  murdered  in  this 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        369 

merry  reign,  that  they  preferred  to  die,  and  did  die.  The 
Duke  then  obtained  his  merry  brother's  permission  to  hold  a 
Parliament  in  Scotland,  which  first,  with  most  shameless  de- 
ceit, confirmed  the  laws  for  securing  the  Protestant  religion 
against  Popery,  and  then  declared  that  nothing  must  or 
should  prevent  the  succession  of  a  Popish  Duke.  After  this 
double-faced  beginning,  it  established  an  oath  which  no 
human  being  could  understand,  but  which  every  body  was  to 
take,  as  a  proof  that  his  religion  was  the  lawful  religion. 
The  Earl  of  Argyle,  taking  it  with  the  explanation  that  he 
did  not  consider  it  to  prevent  him  from  favoring  any  alter- 
ation either  in  the  Church  or  State  which  was  not  inconsistent 
with  the  Protestant  religion  or  with  his  loyalty,  was  tried  for 
high  treason  before  a  Scottish  jury,  of  which  the  Marquis  of 
Montrose  was  foreman,  and  was  found  guilty.  He  escaped 
the  scaffold,  for  that  time,  by  getting  away,  in  the  disguise 
of  a  page,  in  the  train  of  his  daughter,  Lady  Sophia  Lindsay. 
It  was  absolutely  proposed,  by  certain  members  of  the  Scot- 
tish Council,  that  this  lady  should  be  whipped  through  the 
streets  of  Edinburgh.  But  this  was  too  much  even  for  the 
Duke,  who  had  the  manliness  then  (he  had  very  little  at 
most  times)  to  remark  that  Englishmen  were  not  accustomed 
to  treat  ladies  in  that  manner.  In  those  merry  times 
nothing  could  equal  the  brutal  servility  of  the  Scottish  fawn- 
ers but  the  conduct  of  similar  degraded  beings  in  England. 

After  the  settlement  of  these  little  affairs,  the  Duke 
returned  to  England,  and  soon  resumed  his  place  at  the  Coun- 
cil, and  his  office  of  High  Admiral — all  this  by  his  brother's 
favor,  and  in  open  defiance  of  the  law.  It  would  have  been 
no  loss  to  the  country;  if  he  had  been  drowned  when  his  ship, 
in  going  to  Scotland  to  fetch  his  family,  struck  on  a  sand-bank, 
and  was  lost  with  two  hundred  souls  on  board.  But  he 
escaped  in  a  boat  with  some  friends;  and  the  sailors  were  so 
brave  and  unselfish,  that,  when  they  saw  him  rowing  away,  they 
gave  three  cheers,  while  they  themselves  were  going  down  for- 
ever. 

The  Merry  Monarch  having  got  rid  of  his  Parliament,  went 
to  work  to  make  himself  despotic,  with  all  speed.  Having 
had  the  villainy  to  order  the  execution  of  Oliver  Plunket, 
Bishop  of  Armagh,  falsely  accused  of  a  plot  to  establish  Pop- 
ery in  that  country  by  means  of  a  French  army — the  very 
thing  this  royal  traitor  was  himself  trying  to  do  at  home — 
and  having  tried  to  ruin  Lord  Shaftesbury,  and  failed — he 


~§jo        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLANlX 

turned  his  hand  to  controlling  the  corporations  all  over  the 
country  ;  because,  if  he  could  only  ek>  that,  he  could  get  what 
juries  he  chose,  to  bring  in  perjured  verdicts,  and  could  get 
what  members  he  chose,  returned  to  Parliament.  These  merry 
times  produced,  and  made  Chief  Justice  of  the  Court  of  King  3 
Bench,  a  drunken  ruffian  of  the  name  of  Jeffreys  ;  a  red- 
faced;  swollen,  bloated,horrible  creature,  with  a  bullying,  roar- 
ing v oice?  and  a  more  savage  nature  perhaps  than  Was  ever 
lodged  in  any  human  breast.  This  monster  was  the  Merry' 
Monarch's  especial  favorite,  and  he  testified  his  admiration 
of  him  by  giving  him  a  ring  from  his  own  finger,  which  the 
people  used  to  call  Judge  Jeffreys's  Blood-stone.  Him  the 
King  employed  to  go  about  and  bully  the  corporations,  begin- 
ning with  London  ;  or,  as  Jeffreys  himself  elegantly  called  i!? 
"  to  give  them  a  lick  with  the  rough  side  of  his  tongue/* 
And  he  did  it  so  thoroughly,  that  they  soon  became  the  basest 
and  most  sycophantic  bodies  in  the  kingdom— except  the 
University  of  Oxford,  which,  in  that  respect,  was  quite  pre- 
eminent and  unapproachable. 

Lord  Shaftesbury  (who  died  soon  after  the  King's  failure 
against  him),  Lord  William  Russell,  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth, Lord  Howard,  Lord  Jersey,  Algernon  Sidney,, 
John  Hampden  (grandson  of  the  great  Hampden),  and  some 
others,  used  to  hold  a  council  together  after  the  dissolution 
of  the  Parliament,  arranging  what  it  might  be  necessary  to 
do,  if  the  King  carried  his  Popish  plot  to  the  utmost  height. 
Lord  Shaftesbury  having  been  much  the  most  violent  of  this 
party;  brought  two  violent  men  into  their  secrets — Rumsey, 
who  had  been  a  soldier  in  the  Republican  army  ;  and  West, 
a  lawyer.  These  two  knew  an  old  officer  of  Cromwell's, 
called  Rumbold,  who  had  married  a  maltster's  widow,  and  so 
had  come  into  possession  of  a  solitary  dwelling  called  the  Rye 
House,  near  Hoddesdon,  in  Hertfordshire.  Rumbold  said 
to  them  what  a  capital  place  this  house  of  his  would  be  from 
which  to  shoot  at  the  King,  who  often  passed  there  going  to 
and  fro  from  Newmarket.  They  liked  the  idea,  and  enter- 
tained it.  But  one  of  their  body  gave  information  ;  and  they,, 
together  with  Shepherd  a  wine  merchant,  Lord  Russell,, 
Algernon  Sidney,  Lord  Essex,  Lord  Howard,  and  Hampden,, 
were  all  arrested. 

Lord  Russell  might  have  easily  escaped,  but  scorned  to  do> 
so,  being  innocent  of  any  wrong  ;  Lord  Essex  might  have  eas- 
ily escaped,  but  scorned  to  d&so,  lest  his  flight  should  preju?- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        371 

dice  Lord  Russell.  But  it  weighed  upon  his  mind  that  he  had 
brought  into  their  council,  Lord  Howard— who  now  turned 
a  miserable  traitor — against  a  great  dislike  Lord  Russell  had 
always  had  of  him.  He  could  not  bear  the  reflection,  and 
destroyed  himself  before  Lord  Russell  was  brought  to  trial 
at  the  Old  Bailey. 

He  knew  very  well  that  he  nad  nothing  to  hope,  having 
always  been  manful  in  the  Protestant  cause  against  the  two 
false  brothers,  the  one  on  the  throne,  and  the  other  standing 
next  to  it.  He  had  a  wife,  one  of  the  noblest  and  best  of 
women,  who  acted  as  his  secretary  on  his  trial,  who  comforted 
him  in  his  prison,  who  supped  with  him  on  the  night  before  he 
died,  and  whose  love  and  virtue  and  devotion  have  made  her 
name  imperishable.  Of  course,  he  was  found  guilty,  and  was 
sentenced  to  be  beheaded  in  Lincoln's  Inn-fields,  not  many 
yards  from  his  own  house.  When  he  had  parted  from  his 
children  on  the  evening  before  his  death,  his  wife  still  staid 
with  him  until  ten  o'clock  at  night ;  and  when  their  final 
separation  in  this  world  was  over,  and  he  had  kissed  her  many 
times,  he  still  sat  for  a  long  while  in  his  prison,  talking  of  her 
goodness.  Hearing  the  rain  fall  fast  at  the  time,  he  calmly 
said,  "  Such  a  rain  to-morrow  will  spoil  a  great  show,  which 
is  a  dull  thing  on  a  rainy  day."  At  midnight  he  went  to  bed, 
and  slept  till  four  ;  even  when  his  servant  called  him  he  fell 
asleep  again  while  his  clothes  were  being  made  ready.  He 
rode  to  the  scaffold  in  his  own  carriage,  attended  by  two 
famous  clergymen,  Tillotson  and  Burnet,  and  sang  a  psalm 
to  himself  very  softly,  as  he  went  along.  He  was  as  quiet 
and  as  steady  as  if  he  had  been  going  out  for  an  ordinary 
ride.  After  saying  that  he  was  surprised  to  see  so  great  a 
crowd,  he  laid  down  his  head  upon  the  block,  as  if  upon  the 
pillow  of  his  bed,  and  had  it  struck  off  at  the  second  blow. 
His  noble  wife  was  busy  for  him  even  then  ;  for  that  true- 
hearted  lady  printed  and  widely  circulated  his  last  words,  of 
which  he  had  given  her  a  copy.  They  made  the  blood  of  all 
the  honest  men  in  England  boil. 

The  University  of  Oxford  distinguished  itself  on  the  very 
same  day  by  pretending  to  believe  that  the  accusation  against 
Lord  Russell  was  true,  and  by  calling  the  King,  in  a  written 
paper,  the  Breath  of  their  Nostrils  and  the  Anointed  of  the 
Lord.  This  paper  the  Parliament  afterward  caused  to  be 
burned  by  the  common  hangman  ;  which  I  am  sorry  for,  as  I 
wish  it  had  been  framed  and  glazed  and  hung  up  in  some 


372         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

public  place,  as  a  monument  of  baseness  for  the  scorn  of 
mankind. 

Next,  came  the  trial  of  Algernon  Sidney,  at  which  Jeffreys 
presided,  like  a  great  crimson  toad,  sweltering  and  swelling 
with  rage.  "  I  pray  God,  Mr.  Sidney,"  said  this  Chief  Jus- 
tice of  a  merry  reign,  after  passing  sentence,  "  to  work  in  you 
a  temper  fit  to  go  to  the  other  world,  for  I  see  you  are  not 
fit  for  this."  "  My  lord,"  said  the  prisoner,  composedly 
holding  out  his  arm,  "  feel  my  pulse,  and  see  if  I  be  disor- 
dered. I  thank  Heaven  I  never  was  in  better  temper  than  I 
am  now."  Algerdon  Sidney  was  executed  on  Tower  Hill,  on 
the  seventh  of  December,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and 
eighty-three.  He  died  a  hero,  and  died,  in  his  own  words, 
"  For  that  good  old  cause  in'  which  he  had  been  engaged 
from  his  youth,  and  for  which  God  had  so  often  and  so  won- 
derfully declared  himself." 

The  Duke  of  Monmouth  had  been  making  his  uncle,  the 
Duke  of  York,  very  jealous,  by  going  about  the  country  in  a 
royal  sort  of  way,  playing  at  the  people's  games,  becoming 
god-father  to  their  children,  and  even  touching  for  the  King's 
evil,  or  stroking  the  faces  of  the  sick  to  cure  them — though, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  I  should  say  he  did  them  about  as 
much  good  as  any  crowned  king  could  have  done.  His 
father  had  got  him  to  write  a  letter,  confessing  his  having 
had  a  part  in  the  conspiracy,  for  which  Lord  Russell  had 
been  beheaded  ;  but  he  was  ever  a  weak  man,  and  as  soon 
as  he  had  written  it,  he  was  ashamed  of  it  and  got  it  back 
again.  For  this,  he  was  banished  to  the  Netherlands  ;  but 
he  soon  returned  and  had  an  interview  with  his  father,  un- 
known to  his  uncle.  It  would  seem  that  he  was  coming  into 
the  Merry  Monarch's  favor  again,  and  that  the  Duke  of  York 
was  sliding  out  of  it,  when  death  appeared  to  the  merry  gal- 
leries at  Whitehall,  and  astonished  the  debauched  lords  and 
gentlemen,  and  the  shameless  ladies,  very  considerably. 

On  Monday,  the  second  of  February,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  eighty-five,  the  merry  pensioner  and  servant  of 
the  King  of  France  fell  down  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  By  the 
Wednesday  his  case  was  hopeless,  and  on  the  Thursday  he 
was  told  so.  As  he  made  a  difficulty  about  taking  the  sacra- 
ment from  the  Protestant  Bishop  of  Bath,  the  Duke  of  York 
got  all  who  were  present  away  from  the  bed,  and  asked  his 
brother,  in  a  whisper,  if  he  should  send  for  a  Catholic  priest  ? 
The  King  replied,  "  For  God's  sake,  brother,  do  !  "     The 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND         373 

Duke  smuggled  in,  up  the  back  stairs,  disguised  in  a  wig  and 
gown,  a  priest  named  Huddleston,  who  had  saved  the  King's 
life  after  the  battle  of  Worcester  ;  telling  him  that  this 
worthy  man  in  the  wig  had  once  saved  his  body,  and  was 
now  come  to  save  his  soul. 

The  Merry  Monarch  lived  through  that  night,  and  died 
before  noon  on  the  next  day,  which  was  Friday,  the  sixth. 
Two  of  the  last  things  he  said  were  of  a  human  sort,  and 
your  remembrance  will  give  him  the  full  benefit  of  them. 
When  the  Queen  sent  to  say  she  was  too  unwell  to  attend 
him  and  to  ask  his  pardon,  he  said,  "  Alas  !  poor  woman, 
she  beg  my  pardon  !  I  beg  hers  with  all  my  heart.  Take 
back  that  answer  to  her."  And  he  also  said,  in  reference  to 
Nell  Gwyn,  "  Do  not  let  poor  Nelly  starve." 

He  died  in  the  fifty-fifth  year  of  his  age,  and  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  his  reign. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

ENGLAND    UNDER    JAMES    THE    SECOND. 

King  James  the  Second  was  a  man  so  very  disagreeable, 
that  even  the  best  of  historians  has  favored  his  brother 
Charles,  as  becoming,  by  comparison,  quite  a  pleasant  char- 
acter. The  one  object  of  his  short  reign  was  to  re-establish 
the  Catholic  religion  in  England  ;  and  this  he  doggedly  pur- 
sued with  such  a  stupid  obstinacy,  that  his  career  very  soon 
came  to  a  close. 

The  first  thing  he  did,  was,  to  assure  his  council  that  he 
would  make  it  his  endeavor  to  preserve  the  Government,  both 
in  Church  and  State,  as  it  was  by  law  established  ;  and  that 
he  would  always  take  care  to  defend  and  support  the 
Church.  Great  public  acclamations  were  raised  over  this 
fair  speech,  and  a  great  deal  was  said,  from  the  pulpits  and 
elsewhere,  about  the  word  of  a  King  which  was  never  broken, 
by  credulous  people  who  little  supposed  that  he  had  formed 
a  secret  council  for  Catholic  affairs,  of  which  a  mischievous 
Jesuit,  called  Father  Petre,  was  one  of  the  chief  members. 
With  tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes,  he  received,  as  the  beginning  of 
his  pension  from  the  King  of  France,  five  hundred  thousand 
livres  ;  yet,  with  a  mixture  of  meanness  and  arrogance  that 
belonged  to  his  contemptible  character,  he  was  always  jealous 


374       A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

of  making  some  show  of  being  indepeadent  of  the  King  of 
France,  while  he  pocketed  his  money.  As — notwithstanding 
his  publishing  two  papers  in  favor  of  Popery  (and  not  likely 
to  do  it  much  service,  I  should  think)  written  by  the  King, 
his  brother,  and  found  in  his  strong-box  ;  and  his  open  dis- 
play of  himself  attending  mass — the  Parliament  was  very 
obsequious,  and  granted  him  a  large  sum  of  money,  he  began 
his  reign  with  a  belief  that  he  could  do  what  he  pleased,  and 
with  a  determination  to  do  it. 

Before  we  proceed  to  its  principal  events,  let  us  dispose  of 
Titus  Oates.  He  was  tried  for  perjury,  a  fortnight  after  the 
coronation,  and  besides  being  very  heavily  fined,  was  sen- 
tenced to  stand  twice  in  the  pillory,  to  be  whipped  from  Aid- 
gate  to  Newgate  one  day,  and  from  Newgate  to  Tyburn  two 
days  afterwards,  and  to  stand  in  the  pillory  five  times  a  year 
as  long  as  he  lived.  This  fearful  sentence  was  actually  in- 
flicted on  the  rascal.  Being  unable  to  stand  after  his  first 
flogging,  he  was  dragged  on  a  sledge  from  Newgate  to  Ty- 
burn, and  flogged  as  he  was  drawn  along.  He  was  so  strong 
a  villain  that  he  did  not  die  under  the  torture,  but  lived  to  be 
afterward  pardoned  and  rewarded,  though  not  to  be  ever 
believed  in  any  more.  Dangerfield,  the  only  other  one  of 
that  crew  left  alive,  was  not  so  fortunate.  He  was  almost 
killed  by  a  whipping  from  Newgate  to  Tyburn,  and,  as  if  that 
were  not  punishment  enough,  a  ferocious  barrister  of  Gray's 
Inn  gave  him  a  poke  in  the  eye  with  his  cane,  which  caused 
his  death  ;  for  which  the  ferocious  barrister  was  deservedly 
tried  and  executed. 

As  soon  as  James  was  on  the  throne,  Argyle  and  Mon- 
mouth went  from  Brussels  to  Rotterdam,  and  attended  a 
meeting  of  Scottish  exiles  held  there,  to  concert  measures 
fbr  a  rising  in  England.  It  was  agreed  that  Argyle  should 
effect  a  landing  in  Scotland,  and  Monmouth  in  England  ;  and 
that  two  Englishmen  should  be  sent  with  Argyle  to  be  in 
his  confidence,  and  two  Scotchmen  with  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth. 

Argyle  was  the  first  to  act  upon  this  contract.  But  two 
of  his  men  being  taken  prisoners  at  the  Orkney  Islands,  the 
Government  became  aware  of  his  intention,  and  was  able 
to  act  against  him  with  such  vigor  as  to  prevent  his  raising 
more  than  two  or  three  thousand  Highlanders,  although  he 
sent  a  fiery  cross,  by  trusty  messengers,  from  clan  to  clan 
and  from  glen  to  glen,  as  the  custom  then  was  when  those 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         37$ 

wild  people  were  to  be  excited  by  their  chiefs.  As  he  was 
moving  toward  Glasgow  with  his  small  force,  he  was  be- 
trayed by  some  of  his  followers,  taken,  and  carried,  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  his  back,  to  his  old  prison  in  Edinburgh 
Castle.  James  ordered  him  to  be  executed,  on  his  old  shame- 
fully unjust  sentence,  within  three  days  ;  and  he  appears  to 
have  been  anxious  that  his  legs  should  have  been  pounded 
with  his  old  favorite  the  boot.  However,  the  boot  was  not 
applied  ;  he  was  simply  beheaded,  and  his  head  was  set  upon 
the  top  of  Edinburgh  Jail.  One  of  those  Englishmen  who 
had  been  assigned  to  him  was  that  old  soldier  Rumbold,  the 
master  of  the  Rve  House.  He  was  sorely  wounded,  and 
within  a  week  after  Argyle  had  suffered  with  great  courage, 
was  brought  up  for  trial,  lest  he  should  die  and  disappoint 
the  King.  He,  too,  was  executed,  after  defending  himself 
with  great  spirit,  and  saying  that  he  did  not  believe  that  God 
had  made  the  greater  part  of  mankind  to  carry  saddles  on 
their  backs  and  bridles  in  their  mouths,  and  to  be  ridden  by 
a  few,  booted  and  spurred  for  the  purpose — in  which  1  thor- 
oughly agree  with  Rumbold. 

The  Duke  of  Monmouth,  partly  through  being  detained 
and  partly  through  idling  his  time  away,  was  five  or  six 
weeks  behind  his  friend  when  he  landed  at  Lyme,  in  Dorset ; 
having  at  his  right  hand  an  unlucky  nobleman  called  Lord 
Grey  of  Werk,  who  of  himself  would  have  ruined  a  far  more 
promising  expedition.  He  immediately  set  up  his  standard 
in  the  market-place,  and  proclaimed  the  King  a  tyrant,  and  a 
Popish  usurper,  and  I  know  not  what  else  ;  charging  him 
not  only  with  what  he  had  done,  which  was  bad  enough,  but 
with  what  neither  he  nor  any  body  else  had  done,  such  as 
setting  fire  to  London,  and  poisoning  the  late  King.  Raising 
some  four  thousand  men  by  these  means,  he  marched  on  to 
Taunton,  where  there  were  many  Protestant  dissenters  who 
were  strongly  opposed  to  the  Catholics.  Here,  both  the  rich 
and  poor  turned  out  to  receive  him,  ladies  waved  a  welcome 
to  him  from  all  the  windows  as  he  passed  along  the  streets, 
flowers  were  strewn  in  his  way,  and  every  compliment  and 
honor  that  could  be  devised  was  showered  upon  him.  Among 
the  rest,  twenty  young  ladies  came  forward,  in  their  best 
clothes,  and  in  their  brightest  beauty,  and  gave  him  a  Bible 
ornamented  with  their  own  fair  hands,  together  with  other 
presents. 

Encouraged  by  this  homage,  he  proclaimed  himself  King, 


376         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

and  went  on  to  Bridgewater.  But  here  the  Government 
troops,  under  the  Earl  of  Feversham,  were  close  at  hand  ; 
and  he  was  so  dispirited  at  finding  that  he  made  but  few 
powerful  friends  after  all,  that  it  was  a  question  whether  he 
should  disband  his  army  and  endeavor  to  escape.  It  was 
resolved,  at  the  instance  of  that  unlucky  Lord  Grey,  to  make 
a  night  attack  on  the  King's  army,  as  it  lay  encamped  on 
the  edge  of  a  morass  called  Sedgemoor.  The  horsemen  were 
commanded  by  the  same  unlucky  lord,  who  was  not  a  brave 
man.  He  gave  up  the  battle  almost  at  the  first  obstacle — 
which  was  a  deep  drain  ;  and  although  the  poor  country- 
men, who  had  turned  out  for  Monmouth,  fought  bravely  with 
scythes,  poles,  pitchforks,  and  such  poor  weapons  as  they 
had,  they  were  soon  dispersed  by  the  trained  soldiers,  and 
fled  in  all  directions.  When  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  himself 
fled,  was  not  known  in  the  confusion  ;  but  the  unlucky  Lord 
Grey  was  taken  early  next  day,  and  then  another  of  the  party 
was  taken,  who  confessed  he  had  parted  fr&m  the  Duke 
only  four  hours  before.  Strict  search  being  made,  he  was 
lound  disguised  as  a  peasant,  hidden  in  a  ditch  under  fern 
and  nettles,  with  a  few  peas  in  his  pocket  which  he  had  gath- 
ered in  the  fields  to  eat.  The  only  other  articles  he  had  upon 
him  were  a  few  papers  and  little  books  :  one  of  the  latter 
being  a  strange  jumble,  in  his  own  writing,  of  charms,  songs, 
recipes,  and  prayers.  He  was  completely  broken.  He  wrote 
a  miserable  letter  to  the  King,  beseeching  and  entreating  to 
be  allowed  to  see  him.  When  he  was  taken  to  London,  and 
conveyed  bound  into  the  King's  presence,  he  crawled  to  him 
on  his  knees,  and  made  a  most  degrading  exhibition.  As 
James  never  forgave  or  relented  toward  any  body,  he  was 
not  likely  to  soften  toward  the  issuer  of  the  Lyme  proclama- 
tion, so  he  told  the  suppliant  to  prepare  for  death. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  July,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and 
eighty-five,  this  unfortunate  favorite  of  the  people  was 
brought  out  to  die  on  Tower  Hill.  The  crowd  was  immense, 
and  the  tops  of  all  the  houses  were  covered  with  gazers.  He 
had  seen  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch, 
in  the  Tower,  and  had  talked  much  of  a  lady  whom  he  loved 
far  better — the  Lady  Harriet  Wentworth — who  was  one  of 
the  last  persons  he  remembered  in  this  life.  Before  laying 
down  his  head  upon  the  block  he  felt  the  edge  of  the  ax, 
and  told  the  executioner  that  he  feared  it  was  not  sharp 
enough,  and  that  the  ax  was  not  heavy  enough.     On  the 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         377 

executioner  replying  that  it  was  of  the  proper  kind,  the  Duke 
said,  "  I  pray  you  have  a  care,  and  do  not  use  me  so  awk- 
wardly as  you  used  ray  Lord  Russell."  The  executioner, 
made  nervous  by  this,  and  trembling,  struck  once,  and  merely 
gashed  him  in  the  neck.  Upon  this,  the  Duke  of  Monmouth 
raised  his  head  and  looked  the  man  reproachfully  in  the  face. 
Then  he  struck  twice,  and  then  thrice,  and  then  threw  down 
the  ax,  and  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  horror  that  he  could  not 
finish  that  work.  The  sheriffs,  however,  threatening  him 
with  what  should  be  done  to  himself,  if  he  did  not,  he  took  it 
up  again  and  struck  a  fourth  time  and  a  fifth  time.  Then 
the  wretched  head  at  last  fell  off,  and  James,  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth, was  dead,  in  the  thirty-sixth  year  of  his  age.  He 
was  a  showy  graceful  man,  with  many  popular  qualities,  and 
had  found  much  favor  in  the  open  hearts  of  the  English. 

The  atrocities,  committed  by  the  Government,  which  fol- 
lowed this  Monmouth  rebellion,  form  the  blackest  and  most 
lamentable  page  in  English  history.  The  poor  peasants, 
having  been  dispersed  with  great  loss,  and  their  leaders 
having  been  taken,  one  would  think  that  the  implacable 
King  might  have  been  satisfied.  But  no  ;  he  let  loose  upon 
them,  among  other  intolerable  monsters,  a  Colonel  Kirk, 
who  had  served  against  the  Moors,  and  whose  soldiers — 
called  by  the  people  Kirk's  lambs,  because  they  bore  a  lamb 
upon  their  flag,  as  the  emblem  of  Christianity — were  worthy 
of  their  leader.  The  atrocities  committed  by  these  demons 
in  human  shape  are  far  too  horrible  to  be  related  here.  It 
is  enough  to  say,  that  besides  most  ruthlessly  murdering 
and  robbing  them,  and  ruining  them,  by  making  them  buy 
their  pardons  at  the  price  of  all  they  possessed,  it  was  one  of 
Kirk's  favorite  amusements,  as  he  and  his  officers  sat  drink- 
ing after  dinner,  and  toasting  the  King,  to  have  batches  of 
prisoners  hanged  outside  the  windows  for  the  company's  di- 
version ;  and  that  when  their  feet  quivered  in  the  convul- 
sions of  death,  he  used  to  swear  that  they  should  have  mu- 
sic to  their  dancing,  and  would  order  the  drums  to  beat  and 
the  trumpets  to  play.  The  detestable  King  informed  him, 
as  an  acknowledgment  of  these  services,  that  he  was  "very 
well  satisfied  with  his  proceedings."  But  the  King's  great 
delight  was  in  the  proceedings  of  Jeffreys,  now  a  peer,  who 
went  down  into  the  west,  with  four  other  judges,  to  try  per- 
sons accused  of  having  had  any  share  in  the  rebellion.  The 
King  pleasantly  called  this  "  Jeffreys's  campaign."  The  peo- 


37*         A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

pie  down  in  that  part  of  the  country  remember  it  to  this  day 
as  the  Bloody  Assize. 

It  began  at  Winchester,  where  a  poor  deaf  old  lady,  Mrs. 
Alicia  Lisle,  the  widow  of  one  of  the  judges  of  Charles  the 
First  (who  had  been  murdered  abroad  by  some  Royalist  as- 
sassins), was  charged  with  having  given  shelter  in  her  house 
to  two  fugitives  from  Sedgemoor.  Three  times  the  jury  re- 
fused to  find  her  guilty,  until  Jeffreys  bullied  and  frightened 
them  into  that  false  verdict.  When  he  had  extorted  it  from 
them,  he  said,  "  Gentlemen,  if  I  had  been  one  of  you,  and 
she  had  been  my  own  mother,  I  would  have  found  her  guil- 
ty ; "  as  I  dare  say  he  would.  He  sentenced  her  to  be 
burned  alive,  that  very  afternoon.  The  clergy  of  the  cathe- 
dral and  some  others  interfered  in  her  favor,  and  she  was 
beheaded  within  a  week.  As  a  high  mark  of  his  approba- 
tion, the  King  made  Jeffreys  Lord  Chancellor,  and  he  then 
went  on  to  Dorchester,  to  Exeter,  to  Taunton,  and  to  Wells. 
It  is  astonishing,  when  we  read  of  the  enormous  injustice 
and  barbarity  of  this  beast,  to  know  that  no  one  struck  him 
dead  on  the  judgment-seat.  It  was  enough  for  any  man  or 
woman  to  be  accused  by  an  enemy,  before  Jeffreys,  to  be 
found  guilty  of  high  treason.  One  man  who  pleaded  not 
guilty,  he  ordered  to  be  taken  out  of  court  upon  the  instant 
and  hanged,  and  this  so  terrified  the  prisoners  in  general  that 
they  mostly  pleaded  guilty  at  once.  At  Dorchester  alone, 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  Jeffreys  hanged  eighty  people  ; 
besides  whipping,  transporting,  imprisoning,  and  selling  as 
slaves,  great  numbers.  He  executed,  in  all,  two  hundred 
and  fifty,  or  three  hundred. 

These  executions  took  place,  among  the  neighbors  and 
friends  of  the  sentenced,  in  thirty-six  towns  and  villages. 
Their  bodies  were  mangled,  steeped  in  caldrons  of  boiling 
pitch  and  tar,  and  hung  up  by  the  roadsides,  in  the  streets, 
over  the  very  churches.  The  sight  and  smell  of  heads  and 
limbs,  the  hissing  and  bubbling  of  the  infernal  caldrons,  and 
the  tears  and  terrors  of  the  people,  were  dreadful  beyond  all 
description.  One  rustic,  who  was  forced  to  steep  the  re- 
mains in  the  black  pot,  was  ever  afterward  called  "  Tom 
Boilman."  The  hangman  has  ever  since  been  called  Jack 
Ketch,  because  a  man  of  that  name  went  hanging  and  hang- 
ing, all  day  long,  in  the  train  of  Jeffreys.  You  will  hear 
much  of  the  horrors  of  the  great  French  Revolution.  Many 
and   terrible,  they  were,  there   is  no   doubt ;  but   I  know  o£ 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.         379 

nothing  worse  done  by  the  maddened  people  of  France  in 
that  awful  time,  than  was  done  by  the  highest  judge  in  En- 
gland, with  the  express  approval  of  the  King  of  England,  in 
The  Bloody  Assize. 

Nor  was  even  this  all.  Jeffreys  was  as  fond  of  money  for 
himself  as  of  misery  for  others,  and  he  sold  pardons  whole- 
sale to  fill  his  pockets.  The  King  ordered,  at  one  time,  a 
thousand  prisoners  to  be  given  to  certain  of  his  favorites,  in 
order  that  they  might  bargain  with  them  for  their  pardons. 
The  young  ladies  of  Taunton,  who  had  presented  the  Bible, 
were  bestowed  upon  the  maids  of  honor  at  court  ;  and  those 
precious  ladies  made  very  hard  bargains  with  them  indeed. 
When  The  Bloody  Assize  was  at  its  most  dismal  height,  the 
King  was  diverting  himself  with  horse-races  in  the  very  place 
where  Mrs.  Lisle  had  been  executed.  When  Jeffreys  had 
done  his  worst,  and  came  home  again,  he  was  particularly 
complimented  in  the  Royal  Gazette  ;  and  when  the  King 
heard  that  through  drunkenness  and  raging  he  was  very  ill, 
his  odious  majesty  remarked  that  such  another  man  could 
not  easily  be  found  in  England.  Besides  all  this,  a  former 
sheriff  of  London,  named  Cornish,  was  hanged  within  sight 
of  his  own  house,  after  an  abominably  conducted  trial,  for 
having  had  a  share  in  the  Rye  House  Plot,  on  evidence 
given  by  Rumsey,  which  that  villain  was  obliged  to  confess 
was  directly  opposed  to  the  evidence  he  had  given  on  the 
trial  of  Lord  Russell.  And  on  the  very  same  day,  a  worthy 
widow,  named  Elizabeth  Gaunt,  was  burned  alive  at  Ty- 
burn, for  having  sheltered  a  wretch  who  himself  gave  evi- 
dence against  her.  She  settled  the  fuel  about  herself  with 
her  own  hands,  so  that  the  flames  should  reach  her  quickly; 
and  nobly  said,  with  her  last  breath,  that  she  had  obeyed 
the  sacred  command  of  God,  to  give  refuge  to  the  outcast, 
and  not  to  betray  the  wanderer. 

After  all  this  hanging,  beheading,  burning,  boiling,  muti- 
lating, exposing,  robbing,  transporting,  and  selling  into  slav- 
ery, of  his  unhappy  subjects,  the  King  not  unnaturally 
thought  that  he  could  do  whatever  he  would.  So,  he  went 
to  work  to  change  the  religion  of  the  country,  with  all  pos- 
sible speed  ;  and  what  he  did  was  this. 

He  first  of  all  tried  to  get  rid  of  what  was  called  the  Test 
A.ct — which  prevented  the  Catholics  from  holding  public  em- 
ployments— by  his  own  power  of  dispensing  with  the  pen- 
alties.    He  tried  it  in  one  case,  and,  eleven  of  the  twelve 


380        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

judges  deciding  in  his  favor,  he  exercised  it  in  three  others, 
being  those  of  three  dignitaries  of  University  College,  Ox- 
ford, who  had  become  Papists,  and  whom  he  kept  in  their 
places  and  sanctioned.  He  revived  the  hated  Ecclesiastical 
Commission,  to  get  rid  of  Compton,  Bishop  of  London,  who 
manfully  opposed  him.  He  solicited  the  Pope  to  favor  En- 
gland with  an  ambassador,  which  the  Pope  (who  was  a  sensi- 
ble man  then)  rather  unwillingly  did.  He  flourished  Father 
Petre  before  the  eyes  of  the  people  on  all  possible  occasions. 
He  favored  the  establishment  of  convents  in  several  parts 
of  London.  He  was  delighted  to  have  the  streets,  and  even 
the  court  itself,  filled  with  monks  and  friars  in  the  habits  of 
their  orders.  He  constantly  endeavored  to  make  Catholics 
of  the  Protestants  about  him.  He  held  private  interviews, 
which  he  called  "  closetings,"  with  those  Members  of 
Parliament  who  held  offices,  to  persuade  them  to  consent  to 
the  design  he  had  in  view.  When  they  did  not  consent, 
they  were  removed,  or  resigned  of  themselves,  and  their 
places  were  given  to  Catholics.  He  displaced  Protestant 
officers  from  the  army,  by  every  means  in  his  power,  and  got 
Catholics  into  their  places  too.  He  tried  the  same  thing  with 
the  corporations,  and  also  (though  not  so  successfully)  with 
the  lord  lieutenants  of  counties.  To  terrify  the  people 
into  the  endurance  of  all  these  measures,  he  kept  an  army 
of  fifteen  thousand  men  encamped  on  Hounslow  Heath, 
where  mass  was  openly  performed  in  the  General's  tent,  and 
where  priests  went  among  the  soldiers  endeavoring  to  per- 
suade them  to  become  Catholics.  For  circulating  a  paper 
among  those  men  advising  them  to  be  true  to  their  religion, 
a  Protestant  clergyman,  named  Johnson,  the  chaplain  of  the 
late  Lord  Russell,  was  actually  sentenced  to  stand  three 
times  in  the  pillory,  and  was  actually  whipped  from  Newgate 
to  Tyburn.  He  dismissed  his  own  brother-in-law  from  his 
Council  because  he  was  a  Protestant,  and  made  a  Privy 
Councilor  of  the  before-mentioned  Father  Petre.  He  handed 
Ireland  over  to  Richard  Talbot,  Earl  of  Tyrconnell,  a 
worthless,  dissolute  knave,  who  played  the  same  game  there 
for  his  master,  and  who  played  the  deeper "jgame  for  himself 
of  one  day  putting  it  under  the  protection  of  the  French 
King,  In  going  to  these  extremities,  every  man  of  sense 
and  judgment  among  the  Catholics,  from  the  Pope  to  a 
porter,  knew  that  the  King  was  a  mere  bigoted  fool,  who 
would  undo  himself  and  the  cause  he  sought  to  advance : 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        381 

but  he  was  deaf  to  all  reason,  and,  happily  for  England  ever 
afterward,  went  tumbling  off  his  throne  in  his  own  blind 
way. 

A  spirit  began  to  arise  in  the  country,  which  the  besotted 
blunderer  little  expected.  He  first  found  it  out  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Cambridge.  Having  made  a  Catholic  a  dean  at 
Oxford,  without  any  opposition,  he  tried  to  make  a  monk  a 
master  of  arts  at  Cambridge  :  which  attempt  the  University 
resisted,  and  defeated  him.  He  then  went  back  to  his  favor- 
ite Oxford.  On  the  death  of  the  President  of  Magdalen 
College,  he  commanded  that  there  should  be  elected  to  suc- 
ceed him,  one  Mr.  Anthony  Farmer,  whose  only  recommen- 
dation was,  that  he  was  of  the  King's  religion.  The  Univer- 
sity plucked  up  courage  at  last,  and  refused.  The  King 
substituted  another  man,  and  it  still  refused,  resolving  to 
stand  by  its  own  election  of  a  Mr.  Hough.  The  dull  tyrant, 
upon  this,  punished  Mr.  Hough,  and  five-and-twenty  more, 
by  causing  them  to  be  expelled  and  declared  incapable 
of  holding  any  church  preferment  ;  then  he  proceeded  to 
what  he  supposed  to  be  his  highest  step,  but  to  what  was,  in 
fact,  his  last  plunge  head  foremost  in  his  tumble  off  his 
throne. 

He  had  issued  a  declaration  that  there  should  be  no  reli- 
gious tests  or  penal  laws,  in  order  to  let  in  the  Catholics  more 
easily  ;  but  the  Protestant  dissenters,  unmindful  of  them- 
selves, had  gallantly  joined  the  regular  church  in  opposing  it 
tooth  and  nail.  The  King  and  Father  Petre  now  resolved  to 
have  this  read,  on  a  certain  Sunday,  in  all  the  churches,  and 
to  order  it  to  be  circulated  for  that  purpose  by  the  bishops. 
The  latter  took  counsel  with  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
who  was  in  disgrace  ;  and  they  resolved  that  the  declaration 
should  not  be  read,  and  that  they  would  petition  the  King 
against  it.  The  Archbishop  himself  wrote  out  the  petition, 
and  six  bishops  went  into  the  King's  bedchamber  the  same 
night  to  present  it,  to  his  infinite  astonishment.  Next  day 
was  the  Sunday  fixed  for  the  reading,  and  it  was  only  read 
by  two  hundred  clergymen  out  of  ten  thousand.  The  King 
resolved  against  all  advice  to  prosecute  the  bishops  in  the 
Court  of  King's  Bench,  and  within  three  weeks  they  were 
summoned  before  the  Privy  Council,  and  committed  to  the 
Tower.  As  the  six  bishops  were  taken  to  that  dismal  place, 
by  water,  the  people  who  were  assembled  in  immense  num- 
bers fell  upon  their  knees,  and  wept  for  diem,  and  prayed  for 


382        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

them.  When  they  got  to  the  Tower,  the  officers  and  soldiers 
on  guard  besought  them  for  their  blessing.  While  they  were 
confined  there,  the  soldiers  every  day  drank  to  their  release 
with  wild  shouts.  When  they  were  brought  up  to  the  Court 
of  King's  Bench  for  their  trial,  which  the  Attorney-General 
said  was  for  the  high  offense  of  censuring  the  Government, 
and  giving  their  opinion  about  affairs  of  state,  they  were  at- 
tended by  similar  multitudes,  and  surrounded  by  a  throng  of 
noblemen  and  gentlemen.  "When  the  jury  went  out  at  seven 
o'clock  at  night  to  consider  of  their  verdict,  every  body  (ex- 
cept the  King)  knew  that  they  would  rather  starve  than  yield 
to  the  King's  brewer,  who  was  one  of  them,  and  wanted  a 
verdict  for  his  customer.  When  they  came  into  court  next 
morning,  after  resisting  the  brewer  all  n^ght,  and  gave  a  ver- 
dict of  not  guilty,  such  a  shout  rose  up  in  Westminster  Hall  as 
it  had  never  heard  before  ;  and  it  was  passed  on  among  the 
people  away  to  Temple  Bar,  and  away  again  to  the  Tower. 
It  did  not  pass  only  to  the  east,  but  passed  to  the  west  too, 
until  it  reached  the  camp  at  Hounslow,  where  the  fifteen 
thousand  soldiers  took  it  up  and  echoed  it.  And  still,  when 
the  dull  King,  who  was  then  with  Lord  Feversha.m,  heard 
the  mighty  roar,  asked  in  alarm  what  it  was,  and  was  told 
that  it  was  "  nothing  but  the  acquittal  of  the  bishops,"  he 
said,  in  his  dogged  way,  "  Call  you  that  nothing  ?  It  is  so 
nruch  the  worse  for  them." 

Between  the  petition  and  the  trial,  the  Queen  had  given 
birth  to  a  son,  which  Father  Petre  rather  thought  was  owing 
to  Saint  Winifred.  But  I  doubt  if  Saint  Winifred  had 
much  to  do  with  it  as  the  King's  friend,  inasmuch  as  the 
entirely  new  prospect  of  a  Catholic  successor  (for  both  the 
King's  daughters  were  Protestants)  determined  the  Earls  of 
Shrewsbury,  Danby,  and  Devonshire,  Lord  Lumley,  the 
Bishop  of  London,  Admiral  Russell,  and  Colonel  Sidney,  to 
invite  the  Prince  of  Orange  over  to  England.  The  Royal 
Mole,  seeing  his  danger  at  last,  made,  in  his  fright,  many 
concessions,  besides  raising  an  army  of  forty  thousand  men  ; 
but  the  Prince  of  Orange  was  not  a  man  for  James  the  Sec- 
ond to  cope  with.  His  preparations  were  extraordinarily 
vigorous,  and  his  mind  was  resolved. 

For  a  fortnight  after  the  Prince  was  ready  to  sail  for 
England,  a  great  wind  from  the  west  prevented  the  departure 
of  his  fleet.  Even  when  the  wind  lulled,  and  it  did  sail,  it 
was  dispersed  by  a  storm,  and  was  obliged  to  put   back  to 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        3$$ 

refit.  At  last,  on  the  first  of  November,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  eighty-eight,  the  Protestant  east  wind,  as  it  was 
long  called,  began  to  blow  ;  and  on  the  third,  the  people  of 
Dover  and  the  people  of  Calais  saw  a  fleet  twenty  miles  long, 
sailing  gallantly  by,  between  the  two  places.  On  Monday, 
the  fifth,  it  anchored  at  Torbay  in  Devonshire,  and  the  Prince, 
with  a  splendid  retinue  of  officers  and  men,  marched  into 
Exeter.  But  the  people  in  that  western  part  of  the  country 
had  suffered  so  much  in  the  Bloody  Assize,  that  they  had 
lost  heart.  Few  people  joined  him  ;  and  he  began  to  think 
of  returning,  and  publishing  the  invitation  he  had  received 
from  those  lords,  as  his  justification  for  having  come  at  alb 
At  this  crisis,  some  of  the  gentry  joined  him  ;  the  Royal, 
army  began  to  falter  ;  an  engagement  was  signed,  by  which 
all  who  set  their  hand  to  it  declared  that  they  would  support 
one  another  in  defense  of  the  laws  and  liberties  of  the  three 
Kingdoms,  of  the  Protestant  religion,  and  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  From  that  time,  the  cause  received  no  check  ;  the 
greatest  towns  in  England  began,  one  after  another,  to  de- 
clare for  the  Prince  ;  and  he  knew  that  it  was  all  safe  with 
him  when  the  University  of  Oxford  offered  to  melt  down  its 
plate,  if  he  wanted  any  money. 

By  this  time  the  king  was  running  about  in  a  pitiable  way, 
touching  people  for  the  King's  evil  in  one  place,  reviewing 
his  troops  in  another,  and  bleeding  from  the  nose  in  a  third. 
The  young  Prince  was  sent  to  Portsmouth,  Father  Petre 
went  off  like  a  shot  to  France,  and  there  was  a  general  and 
swift  dispersal  of  all  the  priests  and  friars.  One  after 
another,  the  King's  most  important  officers  and  friends  de- 
serted him  and  went  over  to  the  Prince.  In  the  night,  his 
daughter  Anne  fled  from  Whitehall  Palace  ;  and  the  Bishop 
of  London,  who  had  once  been  a  soldier,  rode  before  her 
with  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and  pistols  at  his  saddle. 
"  God  help  me  ! "  cried  the  miserable  King :  "  my  very 
children  have  forsaken  me  !  "  In  his  wildness,  after  de- 
bating with  such  lords  as  were  in  London,  whether  he  should 
or  should  not  call  a  Parliament,  and  after  naming  three  of 
them  to  negotiate  with  the  Prince,  he  resolved  to  fly  to 
France.  He  had  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  brought  back 
from  Portsmouth  ;  and  the  child  and  the  Queen  crossed  the 
river  to  Lambeth  in  an  open  boat,  on  a  miserable  wet  night, 
and  got  safely  away.  This  was  on  the  night  of  the  ninth  o£ 
December. 


384        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

At  one  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  eleventh,  the  King, 
who  had,  in  the  meantime,  received  a  letter  from  the  Prince 
of  Orange,  stating  his  objects,  got  out  of  bed,  told  Lord 
Noithumberland  who  lay  in  his  room,  not  to  open  the  door 
until  the  usual  hour  in  the  morning,  and  went  down  the  back 
stairs  (the  same,  I  suppose,  by  which  the  priest  in  the  wig 
and  gown  had  come  up  to  his  brother)  and  crossed  the  river 
in  a  small  boat  :  sinking  the  great  seal  of  England  by  the 
way.  Horses  having  been  provided,  he  rode,  accompanied 
by  Sir  Edward  Hales,  to  Feversham,  where  he  embarked  in 
a  Custom  House  Hoy.  The  master  of  this  Hoy,  wanting 
more  ballast,  ran  into  the  Isle  of  Sheppy  to  get  it,  where  the 
fishermen  and  smugglers  crowded  about  the  boat,  and  in- 
formed the  King  of  their  suspicions  that  he  was  a  "hatchet- 
faced  Jesuit."  As  they  took  his  money  and  would  not  let 
him  go,  he  told  them  who  he  was,  and  that  the  Prince  of 
Orange  wanted  to  take  his  life  ;  and  he  began  to  scream  for 
a  boat — and  then  to  cry,  because  he  had  lost  a  piece  of 
wood  on  his  ride  which  he  called  a  fragment  of  Our  Saviour's 
cross.  He  put  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant of  the  county,  and  his  detention  was  made  known  to  the 
Prince  of  Orange  at  Windsor — who,  only  wanting  to  get  rid 
of  him,  and  not  caring  where  he  went,  so  that  he  went 
away,  was  very  much  disconcerted  that  they  did  not  let 
him  go.  However,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  have  him 
brought  back,  with  some  state  in  the  way  of  Life  Guards,  to 
Whitehall.  And  as  soon  as  he  got  there,  in  his  infatuation, 
he  heard  mass,  and  set  a  Jesuit  to  say  grace  at  his  public 
dinner. 

The  people  had  been  thrown  into  the  strangest  state  of 
confusion  by  his  flight,  and  had  taken  it  into  their  heads 
that  the  Irish  part  of  the  army  were  going  to  murder  thg 
Protestants.  Therefore,  they  set  the  bells  a  ringing,  and 
lighted  watch-fires,  and  burned  Catholic  chapels,  and  looked 
about  in  all  directions  for  Father  Petre  and  the  Jesuits,  while 
the  Pope's  ambassador  was  running  away  in  the  dress  of  a 
footman.  They  found  no  Jesuits  ;  but  a  man,  who  had 
once  been  a  frightened  witness  before  Jeffreys  in  court,  saw 
a  swollen  drunken  face  looking  through  a  window  down  at 
Wapping,  which  he  well  remembered.  The  face  was  in  a 
sailor's  dress,  but  he  knew  it  to  be  the  face  of  that  ac- 
cursed Judge,  and  he  seized  him.  The  people,  to  their 
lasting   honor,   did  not  tear  him  to  pieces.     After   knock- 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        385 

ing  him  about  a  little,  they  took  him,  in  the  basest  agonies 
of  terror,  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  who  sent  him,  at  his  own 
shrieking  petition,  to  the  Tower  for  safety.     There  he  died. 

Their  bewilderment  continuing,  the  people  now  lighted 
bonfires  and  made  rejoicings,  as  if  they  had  any  reason  to  be 
glad  to  have  the  King  back  again.  But  his  stay  was  very 
short,  for  the  English  guards  were  removed  from  Whitehall, 
Dutch  guards  were  marched  up  to  it,  and  he  was  told  by  one 
of  his  late  ministers  that  the  Prince  would  enter  London  next 
day,  and  he  had  better  go  to  Ham.  He  said  Ham  was  a 
cold  damp  place,  and  he  would  rather  go  to  Rochester.  He 
thought  himself  very  cunning  in  this,  as  he  meant  to  escape 
from  Rochester  to  France.  The  Prince  of  Orange  and  his 
friends  knew  that,  perfectly  well,  and  desired  nothing  more. 
So  he  went  to  Gravesend,  in  his  royal  barge,  attended  by 
certain  lords,  and  watched  by  Dutch  troops,  and  pitied  by 
the  generous  people,  who  were  far  more  forgiving  than  he 
had  ever  been,  when  they  saw  him  in  his  humiliation.  On 
the  night  of  the  twenty-third  of  December,  not  even  then 
understanding  that  every  body  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  he 
went  out,  absurdly,  through  his  Rochester  garden,  down  to 
the  Med  way,  and  got  away  to  France,  where  he  rejoined 
the  Queen. 

There  had  been  a  council  in  his  absence,  of  the  lords,  and 
the  authorities  of  London.  When  the  Prince  came,  on  the 
day  after  the  King's  departure,  he  summoned  the  lords  to 
meet  him,  and  soon  afterward,  all  those  who  had  served  in 
any  of  the  Parliaments  of  King  Charles  the  Second.  It 
was  finally  resolved  by  these  authorities  that  the  throne  was 
vacant  by  the  conduct  of  King  James  the  Second  ;  that  it 
was  inconsistent  with  the  safety  and  welfare  of  this  Protest- 
ant kingdom,  to  be  governed  by  a  Popish  prince  ;  that  the 
Prince  and  Princess  of  Orange  should  be  King  and  Queen 
during  their  lives  and  the  life  of  the  survivor  of  them  ;  and 
that  their  children  should  succeed  them,  if  they  had  any. 
That  if  they  had  none,  the  Princess  Anne  and  her  children 
should  succeed  ;  that  if  she  had  none,  the  heirs  of  the  Prince 
of  Orange  should  succeed. 

On  the  thirteenth  of  January,  one  thousand  six  hundred 
and  eighty-nine,  the  Prince  and  Princess,  sitting  on  a  throne 
in  Whitehall,  bound  themselves  to  these  conditions.  The 
Protestant  religion  was  established  in  England,  and  England's 
great  and  glorious  Revolution  was  complete. 


386        A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

I  have  now  arrived  at  the  close  of  my  little  history.  The 
events  which  succeeded  the  famous  Revolution  of  one 
thousand  six  hundred  and  eighty-eight,  would  neither  be 
easily  related  nor  easily  understood  in  such  a  book  as  this. 

William  and  Mary  reigned  together,  five  years.  After  the 
death  of  his  good  wife,  William  occupied  the  throne,  alone, 
for  seven  years  longer.  During  his  reign,  on  the  sixteenth 
of  September,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  one,  the 
poor  weak  creature  who  had  once  been  James  the  Second  of 
England,  died  in  France.  In  the  meantime  he  had  done  his 
utn.ost  (which  was  not  much)  to  cause  William  to  be  assassi- 
nated, and  to  regain  his  lost  dominions.  James's  son  was 
declared,  by  the  French  King,  the  rightful  King  of  England; 
and  was  called  in  France  the  Chevalier  Saint  George,  and 
in  England  The  Pretender.  Some  infatuated  people  in 
England,  and  particularly  in  Scotland,  took  up  the  Pretender's 
cause  from  time  to  time — as  if  the  country  had  not  had 
Stuarts  enough  ! — and  many  lives  were  sacrificed,  and  much 
misery  was  occasioned.  King  William  died  on  Sunday,  the 
seventh  of  March,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  two,  of 
the  consequences  of  an  accident  occasioned  by  his  horse 
stumbling  with  him.  He  was  always  a  brave,  patriotic  prince, 
and  a  man  of  remarkable  abilities.  His  manner  was  cold, 
and  he  made  but  few  friends  ;  but  he  had  truly  loved  his 
queen.  When  he  was  dead,  a  lock  of  her  hair,  in  a  ring, 
was  found  tied  with  a  black  ribbon  round  his  left  arm. 

He  was  succeeded  by  the  Princess,  Anne,  a  popular  Queen, 
who  reigned  twelve  years.  In  her  reign,  in  the  month  of 
May,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  seven,  the  union  be- 
tween England  and  Scotland  was  effected,  and  the  two  coun- 
tries were  incorporated  under  the  name  of  Great  Britain. 
Then,  from  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  four- 
teen to  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty, 
reigned  the  four  Georges. 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Second,  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-five,  that  the  Pretender  did  his  last 
mischief,  and  made  his  last  appearance.  Being  an  old  man 
by  that  time,  he  and  the  Jacobites — as  his  friends  were 
called — put  forward  his  son,  Charles  Edward,  known  as  the 
Young  Chevalier.     The  Highlanders  of    Scotland,  an   ex 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.        $&f 

tremely  troublesome  and  wrong-headed  race  on  the  subject 
of  the  Stuarts,  espoused  his  cause,  and  he  joined  them,  and 
there  was  a  Scottish  rebellion  to  make  him  king,  in  which 
many  gallant  and  devoted  gentlemen  lost  their  lives.  It  was 
a  hard  matter  for  Charles  Edward  to  escape  abroad  again, 
with  a  high  price  on  his  head  ;  but  the  Scottish  people  were 
extraordinarily  faithful  to  him,  and,  after  undergoing  many 
romantic  adventures,  not  unlike  those  of  Charles  the  Second, 
he  escaped  to  France.  A  number  of  charming  stories  and 
delightful  songs  arose  out  of  the  Jacobite  feelings,  and  belong 
to  the  Jacobite  times.  Otherwise  I  think  the  Stuarts  were  a 
public  nuisance  altogether. 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Third  that  England  lost 
North  America,  by  persisting  in  taxing  her  without  her  own 
consent.  That  immense  country,  made  independent  under 
Washington,  and  left  to  itself,  became  the  United  States  ; 
one  of  the  greatest  nations  of  the  earth.  In  these  times  in 
which  I  write,  it  is  honorably  remarkable  for  protecting  its 
subjects,  wherever  they  may  travel,  with  a  dignity  and  a  de- 
termination which  is  a  model  for  England.  Between  you 
and  me,  England  has  rather  lost  ground  in  this  respect  since 
the  days  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

The  union  of  Great  Britain  with  Ireland — which  had  been 
getting  on  very  ill  by  itself — took  place  in  the  reign  of 
George  the  Third,  on  the  second  of  July,  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  ninety-eight. 

William  the  Fourth  succeeded  George  the  Fourth,  in  the 
year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty,  and  reigned 
seven  years.  Queen  Victoria,  his  niece,  the  only  child  of 
the  Duke  of  Kent,  the  fourth  son  of  George  the  Third,  came 
to  the  throne  on  the  twentieth  of  June,  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  thirty  seven.  She  was  married  to  Prince  Al- 
bert of  Saxe  Gotha  on  the  tenth  of  February,  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  forty.  She  is  very  good,  and  much 
beloved.     So  I  end,  like  the  crier,  with 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 


NO  THOROUGHFARE, 

[1867.] 


THE  OVERTURE. 

Day  of  the  month  and  year,  November  the  thirtieth,  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-five.  London  time  by 
the  great  clock  of  Saint  Paul's,  ten  at  night.  All  the  lesser 
London  churches  strain  their  metallic  throats.  Some,  flip- 
pantly begin  before  the  heavy  bell  of  the  great  cathedral  ; 
some,  tardily  begin  three,  four,  half  a  dozen  strokes  behind 
it ;  all  are  in  sufficiently  near  accord,  to  leave  a  resonance 
in  the  air,  as  if  the  winged  father  who  devours  his  children, 
had  made  a  sounding  sweep  with  his  gigantic  scythe  in  fly- 
ing over  the  city. 

What  is  this  clock  lower  than  most  of  the  rest,  and  nearer 
to  the  ear,  that  lags  so  far  behind  to-night  as  to  strike  into 
the  vibration  alone  ?  This  is  the  clock  of  the  Hospital  for 
Foundling  Children.  Time  was,  when  the  foundlings  were 
received  without  question  in  a  cradle  at  the  gate.  Time  is, 
when  inquiries  are  made  respecting  them,  and  they  are 
taken  as  by  favor  from  the  mothers  who  relinquish  all 
natural  knowledge  of  them  and  claim  to  them  forevermore. 

The  moon  is  at  the  full,  and  the  night  is  fair  with  light 
clouds.  The  day  has  been  otherwise  than  fair,  for  slush 
and  mud,  thickened  with  the  droppings  of  heavy  fog,  lie 
black  in  the  streets.  The  veiled  lady  who  flutters  up  and 
down  near  the  postern-gate  of  the  Hospital  for  Foundling 
Children  has  need  to  be  well  shod  to-night. 

She  flutters  to  and  fro,  avoiding  the  stand  of  hackney- 
coaches,  and  often  pausing  in  the  shadow  of  the  western  end 
of  the  great  quadrangle  wall,  with  her  face  turned  toward 
the  gate.  As  above  her  there  is  the  purity  of  the  moonlit 
sky,  and  below  her  there  are  the  defilements  of  the  pavement, 


2  NO  THOROUGHFARE 

so  may  she,  haply,  be  divided  in  the  mind  between  two 
vistas  of  reflection  or  experience  ?  As  her  footprints  cross- 
ing and  re-crossing  one  another  have  made  a  labyrinth  in 
the  mire,  so  may  her  track  in  life  have  involved  itself  in  an 
intricate  and  unravelable  tangle  ? 

The  postern-gate  of  the  Hospital  for  Foundling  Children 
opens,  and  a  young  woman  comes  out.  The  lady  stands 
aside,  observes  closely,  sees  that  the  gate  is  quietly  closed 
again  from  within,  and  follows  the  young  woman. 

Two  or  three  streets  have  been  traversed  in  silence  before 
she,  following  close  behind  the  object  of  her  attention, 
stretches  out  her  hand  and  touches  her.  Then  the  young 
woman  stops  and  looks  round,  startled. 

"  You  touched  me  last  night,  and,  when  I  turned  my  head, 
you  would  not  speak.  Why  do  you  follow  me  like  a  silent 
ghost  ? " 

"  It  was  not,"  returned  the  lady,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  I 
would  not  speak,  but  that  I  could  not  when  I  tried." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  I  have  never  done  you  any 
harm  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Do  I  know  you  ? " 

"No." 

"  Then  what  can  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  Here  are  two  guineas  in  this  paper.  Take  my  poor  little 
present,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Into  the  young  woman's  face,  which  is  honest  and  comely, 
comes  a  flush  as  she  replies  :  "  There  is  neither  grown 
person  nor  child  in  all  the  large  establishment  that  I  belong 
to,  who  hasn't  a  good  word  for  Sally.  I  am  Sally.  Could 
I  be  so  well  thought  of  if  I  was  to  be  bought  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  buy  you  ;  I  mean  to  only  reward  you 
very  slightly." 

Sally  firmly,  but  not  ungently,  closes  and  puts  back  the 
offering  hand.  "  If  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you, 
ma'am,  that  I  will  not  do  for  its  own  sake,  you  are  much 
mistaken  in  me  if  you  think  that  I  will  do  it  for  money. 
What  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"  You  are  one  of  the  nurses  or  attendants  at  the  hospital  ; 
I  saw  you  leave  to-night  and  last  night." 

"  Yes,  I  am.     I  am  Sally." 

"  There  is  a  pleasant  patience  in  your  face  which  makes 
me  believe  that  very  young  children  would  take  readily  to 

you," 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  3 

"  God  bless  'em  !     So  they  do." 

The  lady  lifts  her  veil,  and  shows  a  face  no  older  than  the 
nurse's.  A  face  far  more  refined  and  capable  than  hers,  but 
wild  and  worn  with  sorrow. 

"  I  am  the  miserable  mother  of  a  baby  lately  received  under 
your  care.     I  have  a  prayer  to  make  to  you." 

Instinctively  respecting  the  confidence  which  has  drawn 
aside  the  veil,  Sally — whose  ways  are  all  ways  of  simplicity 
and  spontaneity — replaces  it,  and  begins  to  cry. 

"  You  will  listen  to  my  prayer  ?  "  the  lady  urges.  "  You 
will  not  be  deaf  to  the  agonized  entreaty  of  such  a  broken 
suppliant  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear  !  "  cries  Sally.  What  shall  I  say,  or 
can  I  say  !  Don't  talk  of  prayers.  Prayers  are  to  be  put 
up  to  the  Good  Father  of  All,  and  not  to  nurses  and  such. 
And  there  I  am  only  to  hold  my  place  for  half  a  year  longer, 
till  another  young  woman  can  be  trained  up  to  it.  I  am 
going  to  be  married.  I  shouldn't  have  been  out  last  night, 
and  I  shouldn't  have  been  out  to-night,  but  that  my  Dick 
(he  is  the  young  man  I  am  going  to  be  married  to)  lies  ill, 
and  I  help  his  mother  and  sister  to  watch  him.  Don't  take 
on  so,  don't  take  on  so  !  " 

"  Oh  good  Sally,  dear  Sally,"  moans  the  lady,  catching  at 
her  dress  entreatingly.  "  As  you  are  hopeful  and  I  am 
hopeless ;  as  a  fair  way  in  life  is  before  you,  which  can  never 
be  before  me  ;  as  you  can  aspire  to  become  a  respected  wife, 
and  as  you  can  aspire  to  become  a  proud  mother  ;  as  you 
are  a  living,  loving  woman,  and  must  die  ;  for  God's  sake 
hear  my  distracted  petition  !  " 

"  Deary,  deary,  deary  me  !  "  cries  Sally,  her  desperation 
culminating  in  the  pronoun,  "  What  am  I  ever  to  do  ?  And 
there  !  See  how  you  turn  my  own  words  back  upon  me.  I 
tell  you  I  am  going  to  be  married,  on  purpose  to  make  it 
clearer  to  you  that  I  am  going  to  leave,  and  therefore  couldn't 
help  you  if  I  would,  poor  thing,  and  you  make  it  seem  to 
my  own  self  as  if  I  was  cruel  in  going  to  be  married  and  not 
helping  you.     It  ain't  kind.     Now,  is  it  kind,  poor  thing  ?  " 

"  Sally  !  Hear  me,  my  dear.  My  entreaty  is  for  no  help 
in  the  future.  It  applies  to  what  is  past.  It  is  only  to  be 
told  in  two  words." 

"  There  !  This  is  worse  and  worse,"  cries  Sally,  "  sup- 
posing that  I  understand  what  two  words  you  mean." 

"  You  do  understand.  What  are  the  names  they  have 
given  my  poor  baby  ?     I  ask  no  more  than  that.     I  have 


4  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

read  of  the  customs  of  the  place.  He  has  been  christened 
in  the  chapel,  and  registered  by  some  surname  in  the  book. 
He  was  received  last  Monday  evening.  What  have  they 
called  him  ? " 

Down  upon  her  knees  in  the  foul  mud  of  the  by-way  into 
which  they  have  strayed — an  empty  street  without  a  thorough- 
fare giving  on  the  dark  gardens  of  the  hospital — the  lady 
would  drop  in  her  passionate  entreaty,  but  that  Sally  pre- 
vents her. 

"  Don't !  Don't !  You  make  me  feel  as  if  I  was  setting 
myself  up  to  be  good.  Let  me  look  in  your  pretty  face  again. 
Put  your  two  hands  in  mine.  Now,  promise.  You  will 
never  ask  me  any  thing  more  than  the  two  words  ?  " 

"  Never  !     Never  !  " 

"  You  will  never  put  them  to  a  bad  use,  if  I  say  them 

"  Never  !      Never  !  " 

"  Walter  Wilding." 

The  lady  lays  her  face  upon  the  nurse's  breast,  draws  her 
close  to  her  embrace  with  both  arms,  murmurs  a  blessing 
and  the  words,  "  Kiss  him  for  me  !  "  and  is  gone. 

Day  of  the  month  and  year,  the  first  Sunday  in  October, 
one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  forty-seven.  London  time 
by  the  great  clock  of  St.  Paul's  half-past  one  in  the  after- 
noon. The  clock  of  the  Hospital  for  Foundling  Children  is 
well  up  with  the  cathedral  to-day.  Service  in  the  chapel  is 
over  and  the  foundling  children  are  at  dinner. 

There  are  numerous  lookers-on  at  the  dinner,  as  the  cus- 
tom is.  There  are  two  or  three  governors,  whole  families 
from  the  congregation,  smaller  groups  of  both  sexes,  indi- 
vidual stragglers  of  various  degrees.  The  bright  autumnal 
sun  strikes  freshly  into  the  wards  ;  and  the  heavy-framed 
windows  through  which  it  shines,  and  the  paneled  walls  on 
which  it  strikes,  are  such  windows  and  such  walls  as  per- 
vade Hogarth's  pictures.  The  girl's  refectory  (including 
that  of  the  younger  children)  is  the  principal  attraction. 
Neat  attendants  silently  glide  about  the  orderly  and  silent 
tables  ;  the  lookers-on  move  or  stop  as  the  fancy  takes  them  ; 
comments  in  whispers,  on  face  such  a  number  from  such  a 
window  are  not  unfrequent  ;  many  of  the  faces  are  of  a 
character  to  fix  attention.  Some  of  the  visitors  from 
the  outside  public  are  accustomed  visitors.  They  have 
established  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  the  occupants  of 
particular  seats  at  the  tables,  and  halt  at  those  points  to  bend 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  5 

down  and  say  a  word  or  two.  It  is  no  disparagement  to  their 
kindness  that  those  points  are  generally  points  where  personal 
attractions  are.  The  monotony  of  the  long,  spacious  rooms 
and  the  double  lines  of  faces  is  agreeably  relieved  by  these 
incidents,  although  so  light. 

A  veiled  lady,  who  has  no  companion,  goes  among  the 
company.  It  would  seem  that  curiosity  and  opportunity 
have  never  brought  her  there  before.  She  has  the  air  of 
being  a  little  troubled  by  the  sight,  and,  as  she  goes  the  length 
of  the  tables,  it  is  with  a  hesitating  step  and  an  uneasy  man- 
ner. At  length  she  comes  to  the  refectory  of  the  boys. 
They  are  so  much  less  popular  than  the  girls  that  it  is  bare 
of  visitors  when  she  looks  in  at  the  doorway. 

But  just  within  the  doorway,  chances  to  stand,  inspecting, 
an  elderly  female  attendant :  some  order  of  matron  or  house- 
keeper. To  whom  the  lady  addresses  natural  questions  : 
As,  how  many  boys  ?  At  what  age  are  they  usually  put  out 
in  life  ?  Do  they  often  take  a  fancy  to  the  sea  ?  So,  lower 
and  lower  in  tone  until  the  lady  puts  the  question  :  "  Which 
is  Walter  Wilding  ?" 

Attendant's  head  shaken.     Against  the  rules. 

"  You  know  which  is  Walter  Wilding  ?  " 

So  keenly  does  the  attendant  feel  the  closeness  with  which 
the  lady's  eyes  examine  her  face,  that  she  keeps  her  own  eyes 
fast  upon  the  floor,  lest  by  wandering  in  the  right  direction 
they  should  betray  her. 

"  I  know  which  is  Walter  Wilding,  but  it  is  not  my  place, 
ma'am,  to  tell  names  to  visitors." 

"  But  you  can  show  me  without  telling  me." 

The  lady's  hand  moves  quietly  to  the  attendant's  hand. 
Pause  and  silence. 

"  I  am  going  to  pass  round  the  tables,"  says  the  lady's 
interlocutor,  without  seeming  to  address  her.  u  Follow  me 
with  your  eyes.  The  boy  that  I  stop  at  and  speak  to,  will 
not  matter  to  you.  But  the  boy  that  I  touch,  will  be  Walter 
Wilding.     Say  nothing  more  to  me,  and  move  a  little  away." 

Quickly  acting  on  the  hint,  the  lady  passes  on  into  the 
room  and  looks  about  her.  After  a  few  moments,  the  attend- 
ant, in  a  staid,  official  way,  walks  down  outside  the  line  of 
tables  commencing  on  her  left  hand.  She  goes  the  whole 
length  of  the  line,  turns,  and  comes  back  on  the  inside. 
Very  slightly  glancing  in  the  lady's  direction,  she  stops, 
bends  forward,  and  speaks.  The  boy  whom  she  addresses, 
lifts  his  head  and  replies.     Good-humoredly  and  easily,  as 


6  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

she  listens  to  what  he  says,  she  lays  her  hand  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  next  boy  on  his  right.  That  the  action  may 
be  well  noted,  she  keeps  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  while  speak- 
ing in  return,  and  pats  it  twice  or  thrice  before  moving  away. 
She  completes  her  tour  of  the  tables,  touching  no  one  else, 
and  passes  out  by  a  door  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  long 
room. 

Dinner  is  done,  and  the  lady,  too,  walks  down  outside  the 
line  of  tables  commencing  on  her  left  hand,  goes  the  whole 
length  of  the  line,  turns,  and  comes  back  on  the  inside. 
Other  people  have  strolled  in,  fortunately  for  her,  and  stand 
sprinkled  about.  She  lifts  her  veil,  and,  stopping  at  the 
touched  boy,  asks  how  old  he  is  ? 

"  I  am  twelve,  ma'am,"  he  answers,  with  his  bright  eyes 
fixed  on  hers. 

"  Are  you  well  and  happy  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  May  you  take  these  sweetmeats  from  my  hand  ?  " 

"  If  you  please  to  give  them  to,  me." 

In  stooping  low  for  the  purpose,  the  lady  touches  the  boy's 
face  with  her  forehead  and  with  her  hair.  Then,  lowering 
her  veil  again,  she  passes  on,  and  passes  out  without  look- 
ing back. 


ACT  I. 

THE   CURTAIN   RISES. 

In  a  court-yard  in  the  City  of  London,  which  was  no 
thoroughfare  either  for  vehicles  or  foot-passengers  ;  a  court- 
yard diverging  from  a  steep,  a  slippery,  and  a  winding  street 
connecting  Tower  Street  with  the  Middlesex  shore  of  the 
Thames  ;  stood  the  place  "  business  of  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine 
Merchants.  Probably  as  a  jocose  acknowledgment  of  the 
obstructive  character  f  this  main  approach,  the  point  near- 
est to  its  base  at  which  one  :ould  take  the  river  (if  so  in- 
odorously  minded)  bore  the  appellation  Break- Neck-Stairs. 
The  court-yard  itself  had  likewise  been  descriptively  entitled 
in  old  time,  Cripple  Corner. 

Years  before  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
sixty-one,  people  had  left  off  taking  boat  at  Break-Neck-Stairs 
and  watermen  had  ceased  to  ply  there.  The  slimy  little  cause- 
way had  dropped  into  the  river  by  a  slow  process  of  suicide, 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  ? 

and  two  or  three  stumps  of  piles  and  a  rusty  iron  mooring- 
ring  were  all  that  remained  of  the  departed  Break-Neck 
glories.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  laden  coal  barge  would  bump 
itself  into  the  place  and  certain  laborious  heavers,  seemingly 
mud-engendered,  would  arise,  deliver  the  cargo  in  the 
neighborhood,  shove  off  and  vanish  ;  but  at  most  times  the 
only  commerce  of  Break-Neck-Stairs  arose  out  of  the  con- 
veyance of  casks  and  bottles  both  full  and  empty,  both  to 
and  from  the  cellars  of  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine  Merchants. 
Even  that  commerce  was  but  occasional,  and  through  three- 
fourths  of  its  rising  tides  the  dirty  indecorous  drab  of  a 
river  would  come  solitarily  oozing  and  lapping  at  the  rusty 
ring,  as  if  it  had  heard  of  the  Doge  and  the  Adriatic,  and 
wanted  to  be  married  to  the  great  conserver  of  its  filthiness 
the  Right  Honorable  the  Lord  Mayor. 

Some  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  on  the  right,  up  the 
opposite  hill  (approaching  it  from  the  low  ground  of  Break- 
Neck-Stairs)  was  Cripple  Corner.  There  was  a  pump  in 
Cripple  Corner,  there  was  a  tree  in  Cripple  Corner.  All 
Cripple  Corner  belonged  to  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine  Merchants. 
Their  cellars  burrowed  under  it,  their  mansion  towered  over 
it.  It  really  had  been  a  mansion  in  the  days  when  mer- 
chants inhabited  the  city,  and  had  a  ceremonious  shelter  to 
the  doorway  without  visible  support,  like  the  sounding  board 
over  an  old  pulpit.  It  had  also  a  number  of  long  narrow 
strips  of  window,  so  disposed  in  its  grave  brick  front  as  to 
render  it  symmetrically  ugly.  It  had  also  on  its  roof,  a 
cupola  with  a  bell  in*  it. 

"  When  a  man  at  flve-and-twenty  can  put  his  hat  on,  and 
can  say,  '  This  hat  covers  the  owner  of  this  property  and  of 
the  business  which  is  transacted  on  this  property,'  I  consid- 
er, Mr.  Bintrey,  that,  without  being  boastful,  he  may  be 
allowed  to  be  deeply  thankful.  I  don't  know  how  it  may 
appear  to  you,  but  so  it  appears  to  me." 

Thus  Mr.  Walter  Wilding  to  his  man  of  law,  in  his  own 
counting-house  ;  taking  his  hat  down  from  its  peg  to  suit  the 
action  to  the  word,  and  hanging  it  up  again  when  he  had  done 
so,  not  to  overstep  the  modesty  of  nature. 

An  innocent,  open-speaking,  unused-looking  man,  Mr. 
Walter  Wilding,  with  a  remarkably  pink  and  white  com- 
plexion, and  a  figure  much  too  bulky  for  so  young  a  man, 
though  of  a  good  stature.  With  crispy,  curling  brown  hair, 
and  amiable  bright  blue  eyes.  An  extremely  communica- 
tive man  :  a  man  with  whom  loquacity  was  the  irrestrainable 


8  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

outpouring  of  contentment  and  gratitude.  Mr.  Bintrey,  oft 
the  other  hand,  a  cautious  man  with  twinkling  beads  of  eyes 
in  a  large  overhanging  bald  head,  who  inwardly  but  intense- 
ly enjoyed  the  comicality  of  openness  of  speech,  or  hand,  or 
heart. 
•     "  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bintrey.     "  Yes.     Ha,  ha  !  " 

A  decanter,  two  wine-glasses,  and  a  plate  of  biscuits,  stood 
on  the  desk. 

"  You  like  this  forty-five  year  old  port  wine  ? "  said  Mr. 
Wilding. 

11  Like  it  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Bintrey.     "  Rather,  sir  !  " 

"  It's  from  the  best  corner  of  our  best  forty-five  year  old 
bin,"  said  Mr.  Wilding. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bintrey.  "  It's  most  excel- 
lent." 

He  laughed  again  as  he  held  up  his  glass  and  ogled  it,  at 
the  highly  ludicrous  idea  of  giving  away  such  wine. 

"And  now,"  said  Wilding,  with  a  childish  enjoyment  in 
the  discussion  of  affairs,  "  I  think  we  have  got  every  thing 
straight,  Mr.  Bintrey." 

"  Every  thing  straight,"  said  Bintrey. 

"  A  partner  secured — " 

"Partner  secured,"  said  Bintrey. 

"  A  housekeeper  advertised  for — " 

"  Housekeeper  advertised  for,"  said  Bintrey.  "Apply  per- 
sonally at  Cripple  Corner,  Great  Tower  Street,  from  ten  to 
twelve — to-morrow,  by  the  by." 

"  My  late  dear  mother's  affairs  wound  up — " 

"  Wound  up,"  said  Bintrey. 

"  And  all  charges  paid." 

"  And  all  charges  paid,"  said  Bintrey,  with  a  chuckle, 
probably  occasioned  by  the  droll  circumstance  that  they  had 
been  paid  without  a  haggle. 

"  The  mention  of  my  late  dear  mother,"  Mr.  Wilding 
continued,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears  and  his  pocket  hand- 
kerchief drying  them,  "  unmans  me  still,  Mr.  Bintrey.  You 
know  how  I  loved  her  ;  you,  her  lawyer,  know  how  she 
loved  me.  The  utmost  love  of  mother  and  child  was  cher- 
ished between  us,  and  we  never  experienced  one  moment's 
division  or  unhappiness  from  the  time  when  she  took  me 
under  her  care.  Thirteen  years  in  all  ?  Thirteen  years 
under  my  late  dear  mother's  care,  Mr.  Bintrey,  and  eight  of 
them  her  confidentially  acknowledged  son.  You  know  the 
story,  Mr.  Bintrey,  who  but  you,  sir  !  "  Mr.  Wilding  sobbed 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  9 

and  dried  his  eyes,  without  attempt  at   concealment,   during 
these  remarks. 

Mr.  Bintrey  enjoyed  his  comical  port,  and  said,  after  roll- 
ing it  in  his  mouth,  "  I  know  the  story." 

My  late  dear  mother,  Mr.  Bintrey,"  pursued  the  wine  mer- 
chant, "  had  been  deeply  deceived,  and  had  cruelly  suffered. 
But  on  that  subject  my  late  dear  mother's  lips  were  for- 
ever sealed.  By  whom  deceived,  or  under  what  circum- 
stances, heaven  only  knows.  My  late  dear  mother  never 
betrayed  her  betrayer." 

"  She  had  made  up  her  mind,"  said  Mr.  Bintrey,  again 
turning  his  wine  on  his  palate,  "  and  she  could  hold  her 
peace."  An  amused  twinkle  in  his  eyes  pretty  plainly  added 
— "  A  devilish  deal  better  than  jw*  ever  will !  " 

"  '  Honor '  "  said  Mr.  Wilding,  sobbing  as  he  quoted  from 
the  Commandments,  "  '  thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy 
days  may  be  long  in  the  land.'  When  I  was  in  the  Found- 
ling, Mr.  Bintrey,  I  was  at  such  a  loss  how  to  do  it,  that  I 
apprehended  my  days  would  be  short  in  the  land.  But  I 
afterward  came  to  honor  my  mother  deeply,  profoundly. 
And  I  honor  and  revere  her  memory.  For  seven  happy 
years,  Mr.  Bintrey,"  pursued  Wilding,  still  with  the  same 
innocent  catching  in  his  breath,  and  the  same  unabashed 
tears,  "  did  my  excellent  mother  article  me  to  my  predeces- 
sors in  this  business,  Pebbleson  Nephew.  Her  affectionate 
forethought  likewise  apprenticed  me  to  the  Vintners'  Com- 
pany, and  made  me  in  time  a  free  Vintner,  and — and — every 
thing  else  that  the  best  of  mothers  could  desire.  When  I 
came  of  age,  she  bestowed  her  inherited  share  in  this  busi- 
ness upon  me  ;  it  was  her  money  that  afterward  bought  out 
Pebbleson  Nephew,  and  painted  in  Wilding  &  Co.  ;  it  was 
she  who  left  me  every  thing  she  possessed,  but  the  mourning 
ring  you  wear.  And  yet,  Mr.  Bintrey,"  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
honest  affection,  "  she  is  no  more.  It  is  little  over  half  a 
year  since  she  came  into  the  Corner  to  read  on  that  door- 
post with  her  own  eyes,  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine  Mer- 
chants.    And  yet  she  is  no  more  !  " 

"  Sad.  But  the  common  lot,  Mr.  Wilding,"  observed  Bin- 
trey. "  At  some  time  or  other  we  must  all  be  no  more." 
He  placed  the  forty-five  year  old  port  wine  in  the  universal 
condition,  with  a  relishing  sigh. 

"  So  now,  Mr.  Bintrey,"  pursued  Wilding,  putting  away 
his  pocket  handkerchief,  and  smoothing  his  eyelids  with  his 
fingers,  "  now  that  I  can  no  longer  show  my  love  and  honor 


io  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

for  the  dear  parent  to  whom  my  heart  was  mysteriously 
turned  by  nature  when  she  first  spoke  to  me,  a  strange  lady,  I 
sitting  at  our  Sunday  dinner-table  in  the  Foundling,  I  can  at 
least  show  that  I  am  not  ashamed  of  having  been  a  found- 
ling, and  that  I,  who  never  knew  a  father  of  my  own,  wish 
to  be  a  father  to  all  in  my  employment.  Therefore,"  contin- 
ued Wilding,  becoming  enthusiastic  in  his  loquacity,  "  there- 
fore, I  want  a  thoroughly  good  housekeeper  to  undertake 
this  dwelling-house  of  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine  Merchants, 
Cripple  Corner,  so  that  I  may  restore  it  to  some  of  the  old 
relations  betwixt  employer  and  employed  !  So  that  I  may 
live  in  it  on  the  spot  where  my  money  is  made  !  So  that  I 
may  daily  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table  at  which  the  people 
in  my  employment  eat  together,  and  may  eat  of  the  same 
roast  and  boiled,  and  drink  of  the  same  beer  !  So  that  the 
people  in  my  employment  may  lodge  under  the  same  roof 
with  me  !  So  that  we  may  one  and  all — I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Bintrey,  but  that  old  singing  in  my  head  has  suddenly 
come  on,  and  I  shall  feel  obliged  if  you  will  lead  me  to  the 
pump." 

Alarmed  by  the  excessive  pinkness  of  his  client,  Mr.  Bin- 
trey lost  not  a  moment  in  leading  him  forth  into  the  court- 
yard. It  was  easily  done  ;  for  the  counting-house  in  which 
they  talked  together  opened  on  to  it,  at  one  side  of  the 
dwelling-house.  There  the  attorney  pumped  with  a  will, 
obedient  to  a  sign  from  the  client,  and  the  client  laved  his 
head  and  face  with  both  hands,  and  took  a  hearty  drink. 
After  these  remedies,  he  declared  himself  much  better. 

"  Don't  let  your  good  feelings  excite  you,"  said  Bintrey, 
as  they  returned  to  the  counting-house,  and  Mr.  Wilding 
dried  himself  on  a  jack-towel  behind  an  inner  door. 

"  No,  no.  I  won't,"  he  returned,  looking  out  of  the  towel. 
"  I  won't.     I  have  not  been  confused,  have  I  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     Perfectly  clear." 

"  Where  did  I  leave  off,  Mr.  Bintrey  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  left  off — but  I  wouldn't  excite  myself,  if  I  was 
you,  by  taking  it  up  again  just  yet." 

"  I'll  take  care.  I'll  take  care.  The  singing  in  my  head 
came  on  at  where,  Mr.  Bintrey  ?  " 

"  At  roast,  and  boiled,  and  beer,"  answered  the  lawyer, 
prompting — "  lodging  under  the  same  roof — and  one  and 
all—" 

"  Ah  !      And  one  and  all  singing  in  the  head  together — " 

"  Do  you  know,  I  really  would  not  let  my  good  feelings 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  n 

excite  me,  if  I  was  you,*'  hinted  the  lawyer  again,  anxiously. 
"  Try  some  more  pump." 

"  No  occasion,  no  occasion.  All  right,  Mr.  Bintrey.  And 
one  and  all  forming  a  kind  of  family  !  You  see,  Mr.  Bintrey,  I 
was  not  used  in  my  childhood  to  that  sort  of  individual  exist- 
ence which  most  individuals  have  led,  more  or  less,  in  their 
childhood.  After  that  time  I  became  absorbed  in  my  late  dear 
mother.  Having  lost  her,  I  find  that  I  am  more  fit  for  being 
one  of  a  body  than  one  by  myself.  To  be  that,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  do  my  duty  to  those  dependent  on  me,  and  at- 
tach them  to  me,  has  a  patriarchal  and  pleasant  air  about  it. 
I  don't  know  how  it  may  appear  to  you,  Mr.  Bintrey,  but  so 
it  appears  to  me." 

"  It  is  not  I  who  am  all-important  in  the  case,  but  you," 
returned  Bintrey.  "  Consequently  how  it  may  appear  to  me 
is  of  very  small  importance." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Wilding  in  a  glow,  "  hope- 
ful, useful,  delightful !  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  hinted  the  lawyer  again,  "  I  really  would 
not  ex — " 

"  I  am  not  going  to.     Then  there's  Handel." 

"  There's  who  ? "  asked  Bintrey. 

"  Handel,  Mozart,  Hadyn,  Kent,  Purcell,  Doctor  Arne, 
Greene,  Mendelssohn.  I  know  the  choruses  to  those  anthems 
by  heart.  Foundling  Chapel  Collections.  Why  shouldn't 
we  learn  them  together?" 

"Who  learn  them  together?"  asked  the  lawyer,  rather 
shortly. 

"  Employer  and  employed." 

"Ay,  ay,"  returned  Bintrey,  mollified  ;  as  if  he  had  half- 
expected  the  answer  to  be  lawyer  and  client.  "  That's  an- 
other thing." 

"  Not  another  thing,  Mr.  Bintrey  !  The  same  thing.  A 
part  of  the  bond  among  us.  We  will  form  a  choir  in  some 
quiet  church  near  the  corner  here,  and  having  sung  together 
of  a  Sunday  with  a  relish,  we  will  come  home  and  take  an 
early  dinner  together  with  a  relish.  The  object  that  I  have 
at  heart  now  is,  to  get  this  system  well  in  action  without  de- 
lay, so  that  my  new  partner  may  find  it  founded  when  he 
enters  on  his  partnership." 

"  All  good  be  with  it !  "  exclaimed  Bintrey,  rising.  "  May 
it  prosper  !  Is  Joey  Ladle  to  take  a  share  in  Handel,  Mo- 
zart, Hadyn,  Kent,  Purcell,  Doctor  Arne,  Greene,  and  Men- 
delssohn ? " 


12  NO   THOROUGHFARE. 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  I  wish  them  all  well  out  of  it,'*  returned  Bintrey,  with 

much  heartiness.     "  Good-by,  sir." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted.  Then  (first  knocking  with- 
his  knuckles  for  leave)  entered  to  Mr.  Wilding  from  a  door 
of  communication  between  his  private  counting-house  and' 
that  in  which  his  clerks  sat,  the  head  cellarman  of  the  cel- 
lars of  Wilding  &  Co.,  Wine  Merchants,  and  erst  head  cel- 
lerman  of  the  cellars  of  Pebbleson  Nephew.  The  Joey- 
Ladle  in  question.  A  slow  and  ponderous  man,  of  the  dray- 
man order  of  human  architecture,  dressed  in  a  corrugated 
suit  and  bibbed  apron,  apparently  a  composite  of  door-mat 
and  rhinoceros  hide. 

"  Respecting  this  same  boarding  and  lodging,  young  Mas- 
ter Wilding,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  Joey  ?  " 

"  Speaking  for  myself,  young  Master  Wilding — and  I  never 
did  speak  and  I  never  do  speak  for  no  one  else — /  don't 
want  no  boarding  nor  yet  no  lodging.  But  if  you  wish  to 
board  me  and  to  lodge  me,  take  me.  I  can  peck  as  well  as 
most  men.  Where  I  peck  ain't  so  high  a  object  with  me  as 
what  I  peck.  Nor  even  so  high  an  object  with  me  as  how 
much  I  peck.  Is  all  to  live  in  the  house,  young  Master 
Wilding  ?  The  two  cellarmen,  the  three  porters,  the  two  'pren- 
tices, and  the  odd  men  ?" 

"  Yes.     I  hope  we  all  shall  be  a  united  family,  Joey." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Joey.     u  I  hope  they  may  be." 

"  They  ?     Rather  say  we,  Joey." 

Joey  Ladle  shook  his  head.  "  Don't  look  to  me  to  make 
we  on  it,  young  Master  Wilding,  not  at  my  time  of  life  and 
under  the  circumstances  which  has  formed  my  disposition. 
I  have  said  to  Pebbleson  Nephew  many  a  time,  when  they 
have  said  to  me  '  Put  a  livelier  face  upon  it,  Joey ' — I  have 
said  to  them,  '  Gentlemen,  it  is  all  very  well  for  you  that 
has  been  accustomed  to  take  your  wine  into  your  systems, 
by  the  conwivial  channel  of  your  throttles,  to  put  a  lively 
face  upon  it ;  but,'  I  says,  *  I  have  been  accustomed  to  take 
my  wine  in  at  the  pores  of  the  skin,  and,  took  that  way,  it 
acts  different.  It  acts  depressing.  It's  one  thing,  gentle- 
men,' I  says  to  Pebblesome  Nephew,  *  to  charge  your  glasses 
in  the  dining-room  with  a  hip  hurrah,  and  a  jolly  compan- 
ions every  one,  and  it's  another  thing  to  be  charged  your- 
self, through  the  pores,  in  a  low  dark  cellar  and  a  moldy  at- 
mosphere.    It  makes   the  difference  betwixt  bubbles  and 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  13 

wapors,'  I  tells  Pebbleson  Nephew.  And  so  it  do.  I've 
been  a  cellarman  my  life  through,  with  my  mind  fully 
given  to  the  business.  What's  the  consequence  ?  I'm  as 
muddled  a  man  as  lives — you  won't  find  a  muddler  man 
than  me — nor  yet  you  won't  find  my  equal  in  molloncolly. 
Sing  of  Filling  the  bumper  fair,  Every  drop  you  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  care,  Smooths  away  a  wrinkle  ?  Yes. 
P'raps  so.  But  try  filling  yourself  through  the  pores,  under- 
ground, when  you  don't  want  to  do  it  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,  Joey.  I  had  even  thought  that 
you  might  join  a  singing-class  in  the  house." 

"  Me,  sir  ?  No,  no,  young  Master  Wilding,  you  won't 
catch  Joey  Ladle  muddling  the  'armony.  A  pecking  ma- 
chine, sir,  is  all  that  I  am  capable  of  proving  myself  out  of  my 
cellars  ;  but  that  you're  welcome  to,  if  you  think  it's  worth 
your  while  to  keep  such  a  thing  on  your  premises." 

"  I  do,  Joey." 

il  Say  no  more,  sir.  The  business's  word  is  my  law.  And 
you're  a-going  to  take  young  Master  George  Vendale  part- 
ner into  the  old  business  ?  " 

"  I  am,  Joey." 

"  More  changes,  you  see  ;  but  don't  change  the  name  of 
the  firm  again.  Don't  do  it,  young  Master  Wilding.  It  was 
bad  luck  enough  to  make  it  yourself  and  Co.  Better  by 
far  have  left  it  Pebbleson  Nephew  that  good  luck  always 
stuck  to.     You  should  never  change  luck  when  it's  good,  sir." 

"  At  all  events,  I  have  no  intention  of  changing  the  name 
of  the  house  again,  Joey." 

*  Glad  to  hear  it,  and  wish  you  good-day,  young  Master 
Wilding.  But  you  had  better  by  half,"  muttered  Joey  Ladle 
inaudibly,  as  he  closed  the  door  and  shook  his  head,  "  have 
let  the  name  alone  from  the  first.  You  had  better  by  half 
have  followed  the  luck  instead  of  crossing  it." 


Enter  the  Housekeeper. 

The  wine-merchant  sat  in  his  dining-room  next  morning, 
to  receive  the  personal  applicants  for  the  vacant  post  in  his 
establishment.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  wainscoted  room  ; 
the  panels  ornamented  with  festoons  of  flowers  carved  in 
wood  ;  with  an  oaken  floor,  a  well-worn  Turkey  carpet,  and 
dark  mahogany  furniture,  all  of  which  had  seen  service  and 
polish  under  Pebbleson  Nephew.     The  great  sideboard  had 


i4  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

assisted  at  many  business-dinners  given  by  Pebbleson  Nephew 
to  their  connection,  on  the  principle  of  throwing  sprats 
overboard  to  catch  whales  ;  and  Pebbleson  Nephew's  com- 
prehensive three-sided  plate-warmer,  made  to  fit  the  whole 
front  of  a  large  fire-place,  kept  watch  beneath  it  over  a 
sarcophagus-shaped  cellaret  that  had  in  its  time  held  many 
a  dozen  of  Pebbleson  Nephew's  wine.  But  the  little  rubi- 
cund old  bachelor  with  a  pigtail,  whose  portrait  was  over 
the  sideboard  (and  who  could  easily  be  identified  as  decid- 
edly Pebbleson  and  decidedly  not  Nephew),  had  retired 
into  another  sarcophagus,  and  the  plate-warmer  had  grown 
as  cold  as  he.  So,  the  golden  and  black  griffins  that  sup- 
ported the  candelabra,  with  black  balls  in  their  mouths  at  the 
end  of  gilded  chains,  looked  as  if  in  their  old  age  they  had 
lost  all  heart  for  playing  at  ball,  and  were  dolefully  exhibit- 
ing their  chains  in  the  missionary  line  of  inquiry,  whether 
they  had  not  earned  emancipation  by  this  time,  and  were  not 
griffins  and  brothers. 

Such  a  Columbus  of  a  morning  was  the  summer  morning, 
that  it  discovered  Cripple  Corner.  The  light  and  warmth 
pierced  in  at  the  open  windows,  and  irradiated  the  picture 
of  a  lady  hanging  over  the  chimney-piece,  Jhe  only  other 
decoration  of  the  walls. 

"  My  mother  at  five-and-twenty,"  said  Mr.  Wilding  to 
himself,  as  his  eyes  enthusiastically  followed  the  light  to 
the  portrait's  face,  "  I  hang  up  here,  in  order  that  visitors 
may  admire  my  mother  in  the  bloom  of  her  youth  and 
beauty.  My  mother  at  fifty  I  hang  in  the  seclusion  of  my 
own  chamber,  as  a  remembrance  sacred  to  me.  Oh  !  It's 
you,  Jarvis  !  " 

These  latter  words  he  addressed  to  a  clerk  who  had  tapped 
at  the  door,  and  now  looked  in. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  merely  wish  to  mention  that  it's  gone  ten, 
sir,  and  that  there  are  several  females  in  the  counting-house." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  wine  merchant,  deepening  in  the 
pink  of  his  complexion  and  whitening  in  the  white,  "  are  there 
several  ?  So  many  as  several  ?  I  had  better  begin  before 
there  are  more.  I'll  see  them  one  by  one,  Jarvis,  in  the 
order  of  their  arrival." 

Hastily  entrenching  himself  in  his  easy-chair  at  the  table 
behind  a  great  inkstand,  having  first  placed  a  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table  opposite  his  own  seat,  Mr.  Wilding 
entered  on  his  task  with  considerable  trepidation. 

He  ran  the  gauntlet  that  must  be  run  on  any  such  occasion. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  15 

There  were  the  usual  species  of  profoundly  unsympathetic 
women,  and  the  usual  species  of  much  too  sympathetic  women. 
There  were  buccaneering  widows  who  came  to  seize  him,  and 
who  griped  umbrellas  under  their  arms,  as  if  each  umbrella 
were  he,  and  each  griper  had  got  him.  There  were  towering 
maiden  ladies  who  had  seen  better  days,  and  who  came  armed 
with  clerical  testimonials  to  their  theology,  as  if  he  were  Saint 
Peter  with  his  keys.  There  were  gentle  maiden  ladies  who 
came  to  marry  him.  There  were  professional  housekeepers, 
like  non-commissioned  officers,  who  put  him  through  his  do- 
mestic exercise,instead  of  submitting  themselves  to  catechism. 
There  were  languid  invalids,  to  whom  salary  was  not  so  much 
an  object  as  the  comforts  of  a  private  hospital.  There  were 
sensitive  creatures  who  burst  into  tears  on  being  addressed, 
and  had  to  be  restored  with  glasses  of  cold  water.  There 
were  some  respondents  who  came  two  together,  a  highly 
promising  one  and  a  wholly  unpromising  one  :  of  whom  the 
promising  one  answered  all  questions  charmingly,  until  it 
would  at  last  appear  that  she  was  not  a  candidate  at  all,  but 
only  the  friend  of  the  unpromising  one,  who  had  glowered 
in  absolute  silence  and  apparent  injury. 

At  last,  when  the  good  wine-merchant's  simple  heart  was 
failing  him,  there  entered  an  applicant  quite  different  from 
all  the  rest.  A  woman,  perhaps  fifty,  but  looking  younger, 
with  a  face  remarkable  for  placid  cheerfulness,  and  a  man- 
ner no  less  remarkable  for  its  quiet  expression  of  equability 
of  temper.  Nothing  in  her  dress  could  have  been  changed 
to  her  advantage.  Nothing  in  the  noiseless  self-possession 
of  her  manner  could  have  been  changed  to  her  advantage. 
Nothing  could  have  been  in  better  unison  with  both,  than 
her  voice  when  she  answered  the  question  :  "  What  name 
shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  noting  down  ? "  with  the  words, 
"  My  name  is  Sarah  Goldstraw.  Mrs.  Goldstraw.  My  hus- 
band has  been  dead  many  years,  and  we  had  no  family." 

Half  a  dozen  questions  had  scarcely  extracted  as  much 
to  the  purpose  from  any  one  else.  The  voice  dwelt  so 
agreeably  on  Mr.  Wilding's  ear  as  he  made  his  note,  that  he 
was  rather  long  about  it.  When  he  looked  up  again,  Mrs. 
Goldstraw's  glance  had  naturally  gone  round  the  room,  and 
now  returned  to  him  from  the  chimney-piece.  Its  expres- 
sion was  one  of  frank  readiness  to  be  questioned,  and  to  an- 
swer straight. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  asking  you  a  few  questions  ?  "  said 
the  modest  wine-merchant. 


i6  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  Oh,  surely,  sir.     Or  I  should  have  no  business  here. 

"  Have  you  filled  the  station  of  housekeeper  before  ?  " 

"  Only  once.  I  have  lived  with  the  same  widow  lady  for 
twelve  years.  Ever  since  I  lost  my  husband.  She  was  an 
invalid,  and  is  lately  dead  :  which  is  the  occasion  of  my  now 
wearing  black." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  she  has  left  you  the  best  creden- 
tials ?  "  said  Mr.  Wilding. 

"  I  hope  I  may  say,  the  very  best.  I  thought  it  would  save 
trouble,  sir,  if  I  wrote  down  the  name  and  address  of  her 
representatives,  and  brought  it  with  me."  Laying  a  card 
on  the  table. 

"  You  singularly  remind  me,  Mrs.  Goldstraw,"  said  Wild- 
ing, taking  the  card  beside  him,  "  of  a  manner  and  tone  of 
voice  that  I  was  once  acquainted  with.  Not  of  an  indi- 
vidual—I feel  sure  of  that,  though  I  can  not  recall  what  it  is 
I  have  in  my  mind — but  of  a  general  bearing.  I  ought  to 
add,  it  was  a  kind  and  pleasant  one." 

She  smiled,  as  she  rejoined  :  "  At  least,  I  am  very  glad  of 
that,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  wine-merchant,  thoughtfully  repeating  his 
last  phrase,  with  a  momentary  glance  at  his  future  house- 
keeper, "  it  was  a  kind  and  pleasant  one.  But  that  is  the 
most  I  can  make  of  it.  Memory  is  sometimes  like  a  half- 
forgotten  dream.  I  don't  know  how  it  may  appear  to  you, 
Mrs.  Goldstraw,  but  so  it  appears  to  me." 

Probably  it  appeared  to  Mrs.  Goldstraw  in  a  similar  light, 
for  she  quietly  assented  to  the  proposition.  Mr.  Wilding 
then  offered  to  put  himself  at  once  in  communication  with 
the  gentlemen  named  upon  the  card  :  a  firm  of  proctors  in 
Doctors'  Commons.  To  this,  Mrs.  Goldstraw  thankfully  as- 
sented. Doctors'  Commons  not  being  far  off,  Mr.  Wilding 
suggested  the  feasibility  of  Mrs.  Goldstraw's  looking  in  again, 
say  in  three  hours'  time.  Mrs.  Goldstraw  readily  undertook 
to  do  so.  In  fine,  the  result  of  Mr.  Wilding's  inquiries  be- 
ing eminently  satisfactory,  Mrs.  Goldstraw  was  that  after- 
noon engaged  (on  her  own  perfectly  fair  terms)  to  come 
to-morrow  and  set  up  her  rest  as  housekeeper  in  Cripple 
Corner. 

The  Housekeeper  Speaks. 

On  the  next  day  Mrs.  Goldstraw  arrived,  to  enter  on  her 
domestic  duties. 

Having  settled  herself  in  her  own  room,  without  troub- 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  17 

ling  the  servants,  and  without  wasting  time,  the  new  house- 
keeper announced  herself  as  waiting  to  be  favored  with  any 
instructions  which  her  master  might  wish  to  give  her.  The 
wine-merchant  received  Mrs.  Goldstraw  in  the  dining-room, 
in  which  he  had  seen  her  on  the  previous  day  ;  and,  the 
usual  preliminary  civilities  having  passed  on  either  side,  the 
two  sat  down  to  take  counsel  together  on  the  affairs  of  the 
house. 

"  About  the  meals,  sir  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Goldstraw.  "  Have  I 
a  large,  or  small,  number  to  provide  for  ?  " 

"  If  I  can  carry  out  a  certain  old-fashioned  plan  of  mine," 
replied  Mr.  Wilding,  "  you  will  have  a  large  number  to  provide 
for.  I  am  a  lonely  single  man,  Mrs.  Goldstraw  ;  and  I  hope  to 
live  with  all  the  persons  in  my  employment  as  if  they  were  mem- 
bers of  my  family.  Until  that  time  comes,  you  will  only 
have  me,  and  the  new  partner  whom  I  expect  immediately, 
to  provide  for.  What  my  partner's  habits  may  be,  I  can  not 
yet  say.  But  I  may  describe  myself  as  a  man  of  regular 
hours,  with  an  invariable  appetite  that  you  may  depend  upon 
to  an  ounce." 

11  About  breakfast,  sir?"  asked  Mrs.  Goldstraw.  "  Is  there 
any  thing  particular —  ?  " 

She  hesitated,  and  left  the  sentence  unfinished.  Her  eyes 
turned  slowly  away  from  her  master,  and  looked  toward  the 
chimney-piece.  If  she  had  been  a  less  excellent  and  experi- 
enced housekeeper,  Mr.  Wilding  might  have  fancied  that  her 
attention  was  beginning  to  wander  at  the  very  outset  of  the 
interview. 

"  Eight  o'clock  is  my  breakfast-hour,"  he  resumed.  "  It  is 
one  of  my  virtues  to  be  never  tired  of  broiled  bacon,  and  it 
is  one  of  my  vices  to  be  habitually  suspicious  of  the  fresh- 
ness of  eggs."  Mrs.  Goldstraw  looked  back  at  him,  still  a 
little  divided  between  her  master's  chimney-piece  and  her 
master.  "  I  take  tea,"  Mr.  Wilding  went  on  ;  "  and  I  am 
perhaps  rather  nervous  and  fidgety  about  drinking  it,  with- 
in a  certain  time  after  it  is  made.  If  my  tea  stands  too 
long—" 

He  hesitated,  on  his  side,  and  left  the  sentence  unfin- 
ished. If  he  had  not  been  engaged  in  discussing  a  subject 
of  such  paramount  interest  to  himself  as  his  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Goldstraw  might  have  fancied  that  his  attention  was  begin- 
ning to  wander  at  the  very  outset  of  the  interview. 

"If  your  tea  stands  too  long,  sir — ?"  said  the  house- 
keeper, politely  taking  up  her  master's  lost  thread. 


iS  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  If  my  tea  stands  too  long,"  repeated  the  wine-merchant 
mechanically,  his  mind  getting  further  and  further  away  from 
his  breakfast,  and  his  eyes  fixing  themselves  more  and  more 
inquiringly  on  his  housekeeper's  face.  "  If  my  tea —  Dear, 
dear  me,  Mrs.  Goldstraw!  what  is  the  manner  and  tone  of 
voice  that  you  remind  me  of  ?  It  strikes  me  even  more 
strongly  to-day,  than  it  did  when  I  saw  you  yesterday.  What 
can  it  be  ?  " 

"  What  can  it  be  ? "  repeated  Mrs.  Goldstraw. 

She  said  the  words,  evidently  thinking  while  she  spoke 
them  of  something  else.  The  wine-merchant,  still  looking 
at  her  inquiringly,  observed  that  her  eyes  wandered  toward 
the  chimney-piece  once  more.  They  fixed  on  the  portrait 
of  his  mother,  which  hung  there,  and  looked  at  it  with  that 
slight  contraction  of  the  brow  which  accompanies  a  scarcely 
conscious  effort  of  memory.     Mr.  Wilding  remarked  : 

"  My  late  dear  mother,  when  she  was  five-and-twenty." 

Mrs.  Goldstraw  thanked  him  with  a  movement  of  the  head 
for  being  at  the  pains  to  explain  the  picture,  and  said,  with  a 
cleared  brow,  that  it  was  the  portrait  of  a  very  beautiful  lady. 

Mr.  Wilding,  falling  back  into  his  former  perplexity,  tried 
once  more  to  recover  that  lost  recollection,  associated  so 
closely,  and  yet  so  undiscoverably,  with  his  new  house- 
keeper's voice  and  manner. 

"  Excuse  my  asking  you  a  question  which  has  nothing  to 
do  with  me  or  my  breakfast,"  he  said.  "  May  I  inquire  if 
you  have  ever  occupied  any  other  situation  than  the  situation 
of  housekeeper  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  I  began  life  as  one  of  the  nurses  at  the 
Foundling." 

.  "  Why,  that's  it  !  "  cried  the  wine-merchant,  pushing  back 
his  chair.  "  By  heaven  !  Their  manner  is  the  manner  you 
remind  me  of  !  " 

In  an  astonished  look  at  him,  Mrs.  Goldstraw  changed 
color,  checked  herself,  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and 
sat  still  and  silent. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wilding. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  were  in  the  Foundling,  sir  ? " 

"  Certainly.     I  am  not  ashamed  to  own  it." 

"  Under  the  name  you  now  bear  ?  " 

"  Under  the  name  of  Walter  Wilding." 

"  And  the  lady  ?  "  Mrs.  Goldstraw  stopped  short  with  a 
look  at  the  portrait  which  was  now  unmistakably  a  look  of 
alarm. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  19 

"  You  mean  my  mother,"  interrupted  Mr.  Wilding. 

"Your — mother,"  repeated  the  housekeeper,  a  little  con- 
strainedly, "  removed  you  from  the  Foundling  ?  At  what  age, 
sir  ? " 


"  At  between  eleven  and  twelve  years  old.  It's  quite  a  ro- 
mantic adventure,  Mrs.  Goldstraw." 

He  told  the  story  of  the  lady  having  spoken  to  him,  while 
he  sat  at  dinner  with  the  other  boys  in  the  Foundling  and  of 
all  that  had  followed,  in  his  innocently  communicative  way. 
"  My  poor  mother  could  never  have  discovered  me,"  he 
added,  "if  she  had  not  met  with  one  of  the  matrons  who 
pitied  her.  The  matron  consented  to  touch  the  boy  whose 
name  was  '  Walter  Wilding  '  as  she  went  round  the  dinner- 
tables — and  so  my  mother  discovered  me  again,  after  having 
parted  from  me  as  an  infant  at  the  Foundling  door." 

At  those  words  Mrs.  G-oldstraw's  hand,  resting  on  the  table, 
dropped  helplessly  into  her  lap.  She  sat,  looking  at  her  new 
master,  with  a  face  that  had  turned  deadly  pale,  and  with 
eyes  that  expressed  an  unutterable  dismay. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? "  asked  the  wine-merchant. 
"  Stop  !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  there  something  else  in  the  past 
time  which  I  ought  to  associate  with  you  ?  I  remember  my 
mother  telling  me  of  another  person  at  the  Foundling,  to 
whose  kindness  she  owed  a  debt  of  gratitude.  When  she 
first  parted  with  me,  as  an  infant,  one  of  the  nurses  informed 
her  of  the  name  that  had  been  given  to  me  in  the  institution. 
You  were  that  nurse  ?  " 

"  God  forgive  me,  sir — I  was  that  nurse  !  " 

"  God  forgive  you  ?  " 

"  We  had  better  get  back,  sir  (if  I  may  make  so  bold  as 
to  say  so),  to  my  duties  in  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Goldstraw. 
"  Your  breakfast-hour  is  eight.  Do  you  lunch,  or  dine,  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  ?  " 

The  excessive  pinkness  which  Mr.  Bintrey  had  noticed  in 
his  client's  face  began  to  appear  there  once  more.  Mr. 
Wilding  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  mastered  some  mo- 
mentary confusion  in  that  quarter,  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  Mrs.  Goldstraw,"  he  said,  "  you  are  concealing  something 
from  me  !  " 

The  housekeeper  obstinately  repeated,  "  Please  to  favor 
me,  sir,  by  saying  whether  you  lunch,  or  dine,  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  do  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  I 
ian't  enter  into  my  household  affairs,  Mrs.  Goldstraw,  till  I 


2o  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

know  why  you  regret  an  act  of  kindness  to  my  mother,  which 
she  always  spoke  of  gratefully  to  the  end  of  her  life.  You 
are  not  doing  me  "a  service  by  your  silence.  You  are  agitat- 
ing me,  you  are  alarming  me,  you  are  bringing  on  the  singing 
in  my  head." 

His  hand  went  up  to  his  head  again,  and  the  pink  in  his 
face  deepened  by  a  shade  or  two. 

"  It's  hard,  sir,  on  just  entering  your  service,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  "  to  say  what  may  cost  me  the  loss  of  your 
good-will.  Please  to  remember,  end  how  it  may,  that  I  only 
speak  because  you  have  insisted  on  my  speaking,  and  because 
I  see  that  I  am  alarming  you  by  my  silence.  When  I  told 
the  poor  lady,  whose  portrait  you  have  got  there,  the  name 
by  which  her  infant  was  christened  in  the  Foundling,  I  al- 
lowed myself  to  forget  my  duty,  and  dreadful  consequences, 
I  am  afraid,  have  followed  from  it.  I'll  tell  you  the  truth, 
as  plainly  as  I  can.  A  few  months  from  the  time  when  I 
had  informed  the  lady  of  her  baby's  name,  there  came  to  our 
institution  in  the  country  another  lady  (a  stranger),  whose 
object  was  to  adopt  one  of  our  children.  She  brought  the 
needful  permission  with  her,  and  after  looking  at  a  great 
many  of  the  children,  without  being  able  to  make  up  her 
mind,  she  took  a  sudden  fancy  to  one  of  the  babies — a  boy 
— under  my  care.  Try,  pray  try,  to  compose  yourself,  sir ! 
It's  no  use  disguising  it  any  longer.  The  child  the  stranger 
took  away  was  the  child  of  that  lady  whose  portrait  hangs 
there  !  " 

Mr.  Wilding  started  to  his  feet.  "  Impossible  !  "  he  cried 
out,  vehemently.  "  What  are  you  talking  about?  What  absurd 
story  are  you  telling  me  now  ?  There's  her  portrait !  Haven't 
I  told  you  so  already  ?     The  portrait  of  my  mother  !  " 

"  When  that  unhappy  lady  removed  you  from  the  Found- 
ling, in  after  years,"  said  Mrs.  Goldstraw,  gently,  "  she  was  the 
victim,  and  you  were  the  victim,  sir,  of  a  dreadful  mistake." 

He  dropped  back  into  his  chair.  "  The  room  goes  round 
with  me,"  he  said.  "  My  head  !  my  head  !  "  The  housekeeper 
rose  in  alarm,  and  opened  the  windows.  Before  she  could 
get  to  the  door  to  call  for  help,  a  sudden  burst  of  tears  re- 
lieved the  oppression  which  had  at  first  almost  appeared  to 
threaten  his  life.  He  signed  entreatingly  to  Mrs.  Goldstraw 
not  to  leave  him.  She  waited  until  the  paroxysm  of  weeping 
had  worn  itself  out.  He  raised  his  head  as  he  recovered 
himself,  and  looked  at  her  with  the  angry,  unreasoning  sus- 
picion of  a  weak  man. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  21 

"  Mistake  ? "  he  said,  wildly  repeating  her  last  word. 
"  How  do  I  know  you  are  not  mistaken  yourself  ? " 

11  There  is  no  hope  that  I  am  mistaken,  sir.  I  will  tell 
you  why,  when  you  are  better  fit  to  hear  it." 

"  Now  !  now  !  " 

The  tone  in  which  he  spoke  warned  Mrs.  Goldstraw  that 
it  would  be  cruel  kindness  to  let  him  comfort  himself  a  mo- 
ment longer  with  the  vain  hope  that  she  might  be  wrong.  A 
few  words  more  would  end  it — and  those  few  words  she  de- 
termined to  speak. 

M  I  have  told  you,"  she  said,  "  that  the  child  of  the  lady 
whose  portrait  hangs  there,  was  adopted  in  its  infancy,  and 
taken  away  by  a  stranger.  I  am  as  certain  of  what  I  say  as 
that  I  am  now  sitting  here,  obliged  to  distress  you,  sir,  sorely 
against  my  will.  Please  to  carry  your  mind  on,  now,  to  about 
three  months  after  that  time.  I  was  then  at  the  Foundling,  in 
London,  waiting  to  take  some  children  to  our  institution  in  the 
country.  There  was  a  question  that  day  about  naming  an  in- 
fant— a  boy — who  had  just  been  received.  We  generally 
named  them  out  of  the  directory.  On  this  occasion  one  of  the 
gentlemen  who  managed  the  hospital  happened  to  be  look- 
ing over  the  register.  He  noticed  that  the  name  of  the  baby 
who  had  been  adopted  (4  Walter  Wilding  ')  was  scratched 
out — for  the  reason,  of  course,  that  the  child  had  been  re- 
moved for  good  from  our  care.  '  Here's  a  name  to  let,'  he 
said.  '  Give  it  to  the  new  foundling  who  has  been  received 
to-day.'  The  name  was  given,  and  the  child  was  christened. 
You,  sir,  were  that  child." 

The  wine  merchant's  head  dropped  on  his  breast.  "  I  was 
that  child  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  trying  helplessly  to  fix  the 
idea  in  his  mind.     "  I  was  that  child  !  " 

"  Not  very  long  after  you  had  been  received  into  the  insti- 
tution, sir,"  pursued  Mrs.  Goldstraw,  "  I  left  my  situation 
there  to  be  married.  If  you  will  remember  that,  and  if 
you  can  give  your  mind  to  it,  you  will  see  for  yourself  how 
the  mistake  happened.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  years 
passed  before  the  lady,  whom  you  have  believed  to  be  your 
mother,  returned  to  the  Foundling,  to  find  her  son  and  to 
remove  him  to  her  own  home.  The  lady  only  knew  that 
her  infant  had  been  called  '  Walter  Wilding.'  The  matron 
who  took  pity  on  her,  could  but  point  out  the  only  '  Walter 
Wilding '  known  in  the  institution.  I,  who  might  have 
set  the  matter  right,  was  far  away  from  the  Foundling  and 
all  that   belonged   to  it.     There   was  nothing — there    was 


22 


NO  THOROUGHFARE. 


really  nothing  that  could  prevent  this  terrible  mistake 
from  taking  place.  I  feel  for  you — I  do,  indeed,  sir  !  You 
must  think— and  with  reason—that  it  was  in  an  evil  hour 
that  I  came  here  (innocently  enough,  I  am  sure)  to  apply 
for  your  housekeeper's  place.  I  feel  as  if  I  was  to  blame — 
I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  have  had  more  self-command.  If  I 
had  only  been  able  to  keep  my  face  from  showing  you  what 
that  portrait  and  what  your  own  words  put  into  my  mind, 
you  need  never,  to  your  dying  day,  have  known  what  you 
know  now." 

Mr.  Wilding  looked  up  suddenly.  The  inbred  honesty  of 
the  man  rose  in  protest  against  the  housekeeper's  last  words. 
His  mind  seemed  to  steady  itself,  for  the  moment,  under  the 
shock  that  had  fallen  on  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  have  concealed  this 
from  me  if  you  could  ? "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  hope  I  should  always  tell  the  truth,  sir,  if  I  was 
asked,"  said  Mrs.  Goldstraw.  "  And  I  know  it  is  better 
for  me  that  I  should  not  have  a  secret  of  this  sort  weighing 
on  my  mind.  But  is  it  better  for  you  2  What  use  can  it 
serve  now —  ?  " 

"  What  use  ?     Why,  good  Lord  !  if  your  story  is  true — " 

"  Should  I  have  told  it,  sir,  as  I  am  now  situated,  if  it  had 
not  been  true?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  wine  merchant.  "You 
must  make  allowance  for  me.  This  dreadful  discovery  is 
something  I  can't  realize,  even  yet.  We  loved  each  other 
so  dearly — I  felt  so  fondly  that  I  was  her  son.  She  died, 
Mrs.  Goldstraw,  in  my  arms — she  died  blessing  me  as  only 
a  mother  could  have  blessed  me.  And  now,  after  all  these 
years,  to  be  told  she  was  not  my  mother  !  Oh  me  !  Oh  me  ! 
I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying  !  "  he  cried,  as  the  impulse 
of  self-control  under  which  he  had  spoken  a  moment  since, 
nickered  and  died  out.  "  It  was  not  this  dreadful  grief— it 
was  something  else,  that  I  had  in  my  mind  to  speak  of. 
Yes,  yes.  You  surprised  me — you  wounded  me  just  now. 
You  talked  as  if  you  would  have  hidden  this  from  me,  if 
you  could.  Don't  talk  in  that  way  again.  It  would  have 
been  a  crime  to  have  hidden  it.  You  mean  well,  I  know 
I  don't  want  to  distress  you — you  are  a  kind-hearted  woman 
But  you  don't  remember  what  my  position  is.  She  left  me 
all  that  I  possess,  in  the  firm  persuasion  that  I  was  her  son 
I  am  not  her  son.  I  have  taken  the  place,  I  have  innocently 
got  the  inheritance  of  another  man.     He  must  be  found  ' 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  23 

How  do  I  know  he  is  not  at  this  moment  in  misery,  without 
bread  to  eat  ?  He  must  be  found  !  My  only  hope  of  bearing 
up  against  the  shock  that  has  fallen  on  me,  is  the  hope  of 
doing  something  which  she  would  have  approved.  You 
must  know  more,  Mrs.  Goldstraw,  than  you  have  told  me  yet. 
Who  was  the  stranger  who  adopted  the  child  ?  You  must 
have  heard  fhe  lady's  name  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  it,  sir.  I  have  never  seen  her,  or  heard  of 
her  since." 

"  Did  she  say  nothing  when  she  took  the  child  away  ? 
Search  your  memory.     She  must  have  said  something." 

"  Only  one  thing,  sir,  that  I  can  remember.  It  was  a  mis- 
erably bad  season  that  year  ;  and  many  of  the  children  were 
suffering  from  it.  When  she  took  the  baby  away  the  lady 
said  to  me,  laughing,  '  Don't  be  alarmed  about  his  health. 
He  will  be  brought  up  in  a  better  climate  than  this — I  am 
going  to  take  him  to  Switzerland." 

M  To  Switzerland  ?     What  part  of  Switzerland  ? " 

"  She  didn't  say,  sir." 

"Only  that  faint  clew?"  said  Mr.  Wilding.  "And  a 
quarter  of  a  century  has  passed  since  the  child  was  taken 
away  ?     What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  I  hope  you  won't  take  offense  at  my  freedom,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  Goldstraw;  "  but  why  should  you  distress  yourself  about 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  He  may  not  be  alive  now,  for  any 
thing  you  know.  And,  if  he  is  alive,  it's  not  likely  he  can 
be  in  any  distress.  The  lady  who  adopted  him  was  a  bred 
and  born  lady — it  was  easy  to  see  that.  And  she  must  have 
satisfied  them  at  the  Foundling  that  she  could  provide  for 
the  child,  or  they  would  never  have  let  her  take  him  away. 
If  I  was  in  your  place,  sir — please  to  excuse  my  saying  so — 
I  should  comfort  myself  with  remembering  that  I  had  loved 
that  poor  lady  whose  portrait  you  have  got  there — truly 
loved  her  as  my  mother,  and  that  she  had  truly  loved  me  as 
her  son.  All  she  gave  to  you,  she  gave  for  the  sake  of  that 
love.  It  never  altered  while  she  lived  ;  and  it  won't  alter, 
I'm  sure,  as  long  as  you  live.  How  can  you  have  a  better 
right,  sir,  to  keep  what  you  have  got  than  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Wilding's  immovable  honesty  saw  the  fallacy  in  his 
housekeeper's  point  of  view  at  a  glance. 

"You- don't  understand  me,"  he  said.  "  It's  because  I 
loved  her  that  I  feel  it  a  duty — a  sacred  duty — to  do  justice 
to  her  son.  If  he  is  a  living  man,  I  must  find  him  ;  for  my 
own  sake  as  well  as  for  his.     I  shall  break  down  under  this 


24  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

dreadful  trial,  unless  I  employ  myself— actively,  instantly 
employ  myself— in  doing  what  my  conscience  tells  ought  to 
be  done.  I  must  speak  to  my  lawyer  ;  I  must  set  my  lawyer 
at  work  before  I  sleep  to-night."  He  approached  a  tube  in 
the  wall  of  the  room,  and  called  down  through  it  to  the  office 
below.  "  Leave  me  for  a  little,  Mrs.  Goldstraw,"  he  re- 
sumed ;  "  I  shall  be  more  composed,  I  shall  be  better  able  to 
speak  to  you  later  in  the  day.  We  shall  get  on  well— I  hope 
we  shall  get  on  well  together — in  spite  of  what  has  happened. 
It  isn't  your  fault ;  I  know  it  isn't  your  fault.  There  ! 
there  !  shake  hands  ;  and— and  do  the  best  you  can  in  the 
house.     I  can't  talk  about  it  now." 

The  door  opened  as  Mrs.  Goldstraw  advanced  toward  it  ; 
and  Mr.  Jarvis  appeared. 

"  Send  for  Mr.  Bintrey,"  said  the  wine-merchant.  "  Say 
I  want  to  see  him  directly." 

The  clerk  unconsciously  suspended  the  execution  of  the 
order,  by  announcing  "  Mr.  Vendale,"  and  showing  in  the 
new  partner  in  the  firm  of  Wilding  &  Co. 

"  Pray  excuse  me  for  one  moment,  George  Vendale,"  said 
Wilding.  "  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  Jarvis.  Send  for  Mr. 
Bintrey,"  he  repeated — "send  at  once." 

Mr.  Jarvis  laid  a  letter  on  the  table  before  he  left  the 
room. 

"  From  our  correspondents  at  Neuchatel,  I  think,  sir.  The 
letter  has  got  the  Swiss  postmark." 

New  Characters  on  the  Scene. 

The  words,  "  The  Swiss  Postmark,"  following  so  soon 
upon  the  housekeeper's  reference  to  Switzerland,  wrought 
Mr.  Wilding's  agitation  to  such  a  remarkable  height,  that 
his  new  partner  could  not  decently  make  a  pretense  of  let- 
ting it  pass  unnoticed. 

"  Wilding,"  he  asked  hurriedly,  and  yet  stopping  short  and 
glancing  around  as  if  for  some  visible  cause  of  his  state  of 
mind  :   "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  My  good  George  Vendale,"  returned  the  wine-merchant, 
giving  his  hand  with  an  appealing  look,  rather  as  if  he 
wanted  help  to  get  over  some  obstacle,  than  as  if  he  gave  it 
in  welcome  or  salutation  :  "  my  good  George  Vendale,  so 
much  is  the  matter,  that  I  shall  never  be  myself  again.  It 
is  impossible  that  I  can  ever  be  myself  again.  For,  in  fact, 
I  am  not  myself." 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  25 

The  new  partner,  a  brown-cheeked,  handsome  fellow,  of 
about  his  own  age,  with  a  quick  determined  eye  and  an  im- 
pulsive manner,  retorted  with  natural  astonishment :  "  Not 
yourself  ? " 

"  Not  what  I  supposed  myself  to  be,"  said  Wilding. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  wonder,  did  you  suppose  yourself 
to  be  that  you  are  not  ?  "  was  the  rejoinder,  delivered  with  a 
cheerful  frankness,  inviting  confidence  from  a  more  reticent 
man,  "  I  may  ask  without  impertinence,  now  that  we  are 
partners." 

"  There  again  I  "  cried  Wilding,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
with  a  lost  look  at  the  other.  "  Partners  !  I  had  no  right 
to  come  into  this  business.  It  was  never  meant  for  me.  My 
mother  never  meant  it  should  be  mine.  I  mean,  his  mother 
meant  it  should  be  his — if  I  mean  any  thing — or  if  I  am 
any  body." 

"  Come,  come,"  urged  his  partner,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
and  taking  possession  of  him  with  that  calm  confidence 
which  inspires  a  strong  nature  when  it  honestly  desires  to 
aid  a  weak  one.  "  Whatever  has  gone  wrong,  has  gone  wrong 
through  no  fault  of  yours,  I  am  very  sure.  I  was  not  in  this 
counting-house  with  you,  under  the  old  regi??ie,  for  three 
years,  to  doubt  you,  Wilding.  We  were  not  younger  men 
than  we  are,  together,  for  that.  Let  me  begin  our  partner- 
ship by  being  a  serviceable  partner,  and  setting  right  what- 
ever isSvrong.     Has  that  letter  any  thing  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Hah  !  "  said  Wilding,  with  his  hand  to  his  temple. 
"  There  again  !  My  head  !  I  was  forgetting  the  coinci- 
dence.    The  Swiss  postmark." 

"  At  a  second  glance  I  see  that  the  letter  is  unopened,  so 
it  is  not  very  likely  to  have  much  to  do  with  the  matter," 
said  Vendale,  with  comforting  composure.  "  Is  it  for  you, 
or  for  us  ?  " 

"  For  us,"  said  Wilding. 

"  Suppose  I  open  it  and  read  it  aloud,  to  get  it  out  of 
our  way  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you." 

"  The  letter  is  only  from  our  champagne-making  friends, 
the  house  at  Neuchatel.  '  Dear  Sir — We  are  in  receipt  of 
yours  of  the  28th  ult.,  informing  us  that  you  have  taken  your 
Mr.  Vendale  into  partnership,  whereon  we  beg  you  to  receive 
the  assurance  of  our  felicitations.  Permit  us  to  embrace  the 
occasion  of  specially  commending  to  you  M.  Jules  Oben- 
reizer.'    Impossible  !  "  * 


26  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

Wilding  looked  up  in  quick  apprehension,  and  cried 
"Eh?" 

"  Impossible  sort  of  name,"  returned  his  partner,  slightly — 
"  Obenreizer.  ' — Of  specially  commending  to  you  M. 
Jules  Obenreizer,  of  Soho  Square,  London  (north  side), 
henceforth  rully  accredited  as  our  agent,  and  who  has 
already  had  the  honor  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  your 
Mr.  Vendale,  in  his  (said  M.  Obenreizer's)  native  country, 
Switzerland.'  To  be  sure  !  pooh  pooh,  what  have  I  been 
thinking  of !  I  remember  now.  '  When  traveling  with  his 
niece.'  " 

"  With  his — ?  "  Vendale  had  so  slurred  the  last  word, 
that  Wilding  had  not  heard  it. 

"  When  traveling  with  his  niece.  Obenreizer's  niece," 
said  Vendale,  in  a  somewhat  superfluously  lucid  manner. 
"Niece  of  Obenreizer.  (I  met  them  in  my  first  Swiss  tour, 
traveled  a  little  with  them,  and  lost  them  for  two  years  ;  met 
them  again,  my  Swiss  tour  before  last,  and  have  lost  them 
ever  since.)  Obenreizer.  Niece  of  Obenreizer.  To  be 
sure  !  Passable  sort  of  name,  after  all  !  '  M.  Obenreizer 
is  in  possession  of  our  absolute  confidence,  and  we  do  not 
doubt  you  will  esteem  his  merits.'  Duly  signed  by  the 
house,  *  Defresnier  et  Cie*'  Very  well.  I  undertake  to  see 
M.  Obenreizer  presently,  and  clear  him  out  of  the  way. 
That  clears  the  Swiss  postmark  out  of  the  way.  So  now, 
my  dear  Wilding,  tell  me  what  I  can  clear  out  of  your  way, 
and  I'll  find  a  way  to  clear  it." 

More  than  ready  and  grateful  to  be  thus  taken  charge  of, 
the  honest  wine  merchant  wrung  his  partner's  hand,  and 
beginning  his  tale  by  pathetically  declaring  himself  an  im- 
postor, told  it. 

"  It  was  on  this  matter,  no  doubt,  that  you  were  sending 
for  Bintrey  when  I  came  in  ? "  said  his  partner,  after 
reflecting. 

"  It  was." 

"  He  has  experience  and  a  shrewd  head  ;  I  shall  be 
anxious  to  know  his  opinion.  It  is  bold  and  hazardous  in 
me  to  give  you  mine  before  I  know  his,  but  I  am  not  good 
at  holding  back.  Plainly,  then,  I  do  not  see  these  circum- 
stances as  you  see  them.  I  do  not  see  your  position  as  you 
see  it.  As  to  your  being  an  impostor,  my  dear  Wilding, 
that  is  simply  absurd,  because  no  man  can  be  that  without 
being  a  consenting  party  to  an  imposition.  Clearly  you 
never  were  so.     As  to  your  enrichment  by  the  lady  who 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  27 

believed  you  to  be  her  son,  and  whom  you  were  forced  to 
believe,  on  her  showing,  to  be  your  mother,  consider  whether 
that  did  not  arise  out  of  the  personal  relations  between  you. 
You  gradually  became  much  attached  to  her  ;  she  gradually 
became  much  attached  to  you.  It  was  on  you,  personally 
you,  as  I  see  the  case,  that  she  conferred  these  worldly 
advantages  ;  it  was  from  her,  personally  her,  that  you  took 
them." 

"  She  supposed  me,"  objected  Wilding,  shaking  his  head, 
"  to  have  a  natural  claim  upon  her,  which  I  had  not." 

"  I  must  admit  that,"  replied  his  partner,  "  to  be  true. 
But  if  she  had  made  the  discovery  that  you  have  made,  six 
months  before  she  died,  do  you  think  it  would  have  can- 
celed the  years  you  were  together,  and  the  tenderness  that 
each  of  you  had  conceived  for  the  other,  each  on  increasing 
knowledge  of  the  other  ?  " 

"  What  I  think,"  said  Wilding,  simply  but  stoutly  holding 
to  the  bare  fact,  "  can  no  more  change  the  truth  than  it  can 
bring  down  the  sky.  The  truth  is  that  I  stand  possessed  of 
what  was  meant  for  another  man." 

"  He  may  be  dead,"  said  Vendale. 

"  He  may  be  alive,"  said  Wilding.  "  And  if  he  is  alive 
have  I  not — innocently,  I  grant  you  innocently — robbed  him 
of  enough  ?  Have  I  not  robbed  him  of  all  the  happy  time 
that  I  enjoyed  in  his  stead  ?  Have  I  not  robbed  him  of 
the  exquisite  delight  that  filled  my  soul  when  that  dear 
lady,"  stretching  his  hand  toward  the  picture,  "  told  me  she 
was  my  mother  ?  Have  I  not  robbed  him  of  all  the  care 
she  lavished  on  me  ?  Have  I  not  even  robbed  him  of  all 
the  devotion  and  duty  that  I  so  proudly  gave  to  her  ?  There- 
fore it  is  that  I  ask  myself,  George  Vendale,  and  I  ask  you, 
where  is  he  ?     What  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  Who  can  tell !  " 

"  I  must  try  to  find  out  who  can  tell.  I  must  institute  in- 
quiries. I  must  never  desist  from  prosecuting  inquiries.  I 
will  live  upon  the  interest  of  my  share — I  ought  to  say  his 
share — in  this  business,  and  will  lay  up  the  rest  for  him.  When 
I  find  him,  I  may  perhaps  throw  myself  upon  his  gener- 
osity ;  but  I  will  yield  up  all  to  him.  I  will,  I  swear.  As  I 
loved  and  honored  her,"  said  Wilding,  reverently  kissing  his 
hand  toward  the  picture,  and  then  covering  his  eyes  with 
it.  "  As  I  loved  and  honored  her,  and  have  a  world  of  rea- 
sons to  be  grateful  to  her  !  "  *  And  so  broke  down  again. 


28  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

His  partner  rose  from  the  chair  he  had  occupied,  and  stood 
beside  him  with  a  hand  softly  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  M  Wal- 
ter, I  knew  you  before  to-day  to  be  an  upright  man,  with  a 
pure  conscience  and  a  fine  heart.  It  is  very  fortunate  for 
me  that  I  have  the  privilege  to  travel  on  in  life  so  near  to  so 
trustworthy  a  man.  I  am  thankful  for  it.  Use  me  as  your 
right  hand,  and  rely  upon  me  to  the  death.  Don't  think  the 
worse  of  me  if  I  protest  to  you  that  my  uppermost  feeling  at 
present  is  a  confused,  you  may  call  it  an  unreasonable  one. 
I  feel  far  more  pity  for  the  lady  and  for  you,  because  you 
did  not  stand  in  your  supposed  relations,  than  I  can  feel  for 
the  unknown  man  (if  he  ever  became  a  man),  because  he 
was  unconsciously  displaced.  You  have  done  well  in  send- 
ing for  Mr.  Bintrey.  What  I  think  will  be  a  part  of  his  ad- 
vice, I  know  is  the  whole  of  mine.  Do  not  move  a  step  in 
this  serious  matter  precipitately.  The  secret  must  be  kept 
among  us  with  great  strictness,  for  to  part  with  it  lightly 
would  be  to  invite  fraudulent  claims,  to  encourage  a  host  of 
knaves,  to  let  loose  a  flood  of  perjury  and  plotting.  I  have 
no  more  to  say  now,  Walter,  than  to  remind  you  that  you 
sold  me  a  share  in  your  business,  expressly  to  save  yourself 
from  more  work  than  your  present  health  is  fit  for,  and  that 
I  bought  it  expressly  to  do  work,  and  mean  to  do  it." 

With  these  words  and  a  parting  grip  of  his  partner's  shoul- 
der that  gave  them  the  best  emphasis  they  could  have  had, 
George  Vendale  betook  himself  presently  to  the  counting- 
house,  and  presently  afterward  to  the  address  of  M.  Jules 
Obenreizer. 

As  he  turned  into  Soho  Square,  and  directed  his  steps 
toward  its  north  side,  a  deepened  color  shot  across  his  sun- 
browned  face,  which  Wrilding,  if  he  had  been  a  better  ob 
server,  or  had  been  less  occupied  with  his  own  trouble,  might 
have  noticed  when  his  partner  read  aloud  a  certain  passage 
in  their  Swiss  correspondent's  letter,  which  he  had  not  read 
so  distinctly  as  the  rest. 

A  curious  colony  of  mountaineers  has  long  been  inclosed 
within  that  small  flat  London  district  of  Soho.  Swiss  watch- 
makers, Swiss  silver-chasers,  Swiss  jewelers,  Swiss  importers 
of  Swiss  musical  boxes  and  Swiss  toys  of  various  kinds,  draw 
close  together  there.  Swiss  professors  of  music,  painting 
and  languages ;  Swiss  artificers  in  steady  work ;  Swiss 
couriers,  and  other  Swiss  servants  chronically  out  of  place ; 
industrious  Swiss  laundresses  dnd  clear-starchers  ;  mysteri- 
ously existing  Swiss  of  both  sexes ;  Swiss  creditable  and 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  29 

Swiss  discreditable  ;  Swiss  to  be  trusted  by  all  means,  and 
Swiss  to  be  trusted  by  no  means  ;  these  diverse  Swiss  parti- 
cles are  attracted  to  a  center  in  the  district  of  Soho.  Shabby 
Swiss  eating-houses,  coffee-houses,  and  lodging-houses, 
Swiss  drinks  and  dishes,  Swiss  service  for  Sundays,  and 
Swiss  schools  for  week-days,  are  all  to  be  found  there. 
Even  the  native-born  English  taverns  drive  a  sort  of  broken- 
English  trade  ;  announcing  in  their  windows  Swiss  whets 
and  drams,  and  sheltering  in  their  bars  Swiss  skirmishes  of 
love  and  animosity  on  most  nights  in  the  year. 

When  the  new  partner  of  Wilding  and  Co.  rung  the  bell  of 
a  door  bearing  the  blunt  inscription  Obenreizer  on  a  brass 
plate — the  inner  door  of  a  substantial  house,  whose  ground 
story  was  devoted  to  the  sale  of  Swiss  clocks — he  passed  at 
once  into  domestic  Switzerland.  A  white-tiled  stove  for 
winter-time  filled  the  fireplace  of  the  room  into  which  he 
was  shown,  the  room's  bare  floor  was  laid  together  in  a  neat 
pattern  of  several  ordinary  woods,  the  room  had  a  prevalent 
air  of  surface  bareness  and  much  scrubbing  ;  and  the  little 
square  of  flowery  carpet  by  the  sofa,  and  the  velvet  chim- 
ney-board with  its  capacious  clock  and  vases  of  artificial 
flowers,  contended  with  that  tone,  as  if,  in  bringing  out  the 
whole  effect,  a  Parisian  had  adapted  a  dairy  to  domestic 
purposes. 

Mimic  water  was  dropping  off  a  mill-wheel  under  the  clock. 
The  visitor  had  not  stood  before  it,  following  it  with  his 
eyes,  a  minute,  when  M.  Obenreizer,  at  his  elbow,  startled 
him  by  saying,  in  very  good  English,  very  slightly  clipped  : 
"  How  do  you  do  ?     So  glad  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  didn't  hear  you  come  in." 

"  Not  at  all  !     Sit,  please." 

Releasing  his  visitor's  two  arms,  which  he  had  lightly  pin- 
ioned  at  the  elbows  by  way  of  embrace,  M.  Obenreizer  also 
sat,  remarking,  with  a  smile  :  "You  are  well  ?  So  glad  !  " 
and  touching  his  elbows  again. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Vendale,  after  exchange  of  saluta- 
tions, "  whether  you  may  yet  have  heard  of  me  from  your 
house  at  Neuchatel  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes  !  " 

"  In  connection  with  Wilding  &  Co.  ?  " 

"  Ah,  surely  !  " 

"  Is  it  not  odd  that  I  should  come  to  you,  in  London 
here,  as  one  of  the  firm  of  Wilding  &  Co.,  to  pay  the  firm's 
respects  ? " 


30  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  Not  at  all  !  What  did  I  always  observe  when  we  were 
on  the  mountains  ?  We  called  them  vast  ;  but  the  world  is 
so  little.  So  little  is  the  world,  that  one  can  not  keep  away 
from  persons.  There  are  so  few  persons  in  the  world,  that 
they  continually  cross  and  re-cross.  So  very  little  in  the 
world,  that  one  can  not  get  rid  of  a  person.  Not,"  touching 
his  elbows  again,  with  an  ingratiatory  smile,  "  that  one 
would  desire  to  get  rid  of  you." 
"  I  hope  not,  M.  Obenreizer." 

"  Please  call  me,  in  your  country,  Mr.  I  call  myself  so, 
for  I  love  your  country.  If  I  could  be  English  !  But  I  am 
born.  And  you  ?  Though  descended  from  so  fine  a  family, 
you  have  had  the  condescension  to  come  into  trade  ?  Stop 
though.  Wines  ?  Is  it  trade  in  England  or  profession  ?  Not 
fine  art  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Obenreizer,"  returned  Vendale,  somewhat  out  of 
countenance,  "  I  was  but  a  silly  young  fellow,  just  of  age, 
when  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  traveling  with  you,  and 
when  you  and  I  and  mademoiselle  your  niece — who  is 
well  ?  " 

"  Thank  you.     Who  is  well." 

" — Shared  some  slight  glacier  dangers  together.  If,  with 
a  boy's  vanity,  I  rather  vaunted  my  family,  I  hope  I  did  so 
as  a  kind  of  introduction  of  myself.  It  was  very  weak,  and 
in  very  bad  taste  ;  but  perhaps  you  know  our  English  prov- 
erb, '  Live  and  learn.'  " 

"  You  make  too  much  of  it,"  returned  the  Swiss.  "  And 
what  the  devil  !  After  all,  yours  was  a  fine  family." 

George  Vendale's  laugh  betrayed  a  little  vexation  as  he 
rejoined  :  "  Well !  I  was  strongly  attached  to  my  parents,  and 
when  we  first  traveled  together,  Mr.  Obenreizer,  I  was  in 
the  first  flush  of  coming  into  what  my  father  and  mother 
left  me.  So  I  hope  it  may  have  been,  after  all,  more  youth- 
ful openness  of  speech  and  heart  than  boastfulness." 

"  All  openness  of  speech  and  heart  !  No  boastfulness  !  " 
cried  Obenreizer.  "  You  tax  yourself  too  heavily.  You 
tax  yourself,  my  faith  !  as  if  you  were  your  government 
taxing  you  !  Besides,  it  commenced  with  me.  I  remember 
that  evening  in  the  boat  upon  the  lake,  floating  among  the 
reflections  of  the  mountains  and  valleys,  the  crags  and  pine 
woods,  which  were  my  earliest  remembrance,  I  drew  a 
word-picture  of  my  sordid  childhood.  Of  our  poor  hut,  by 
the  waterfall  which  my  mother  showed  to  travelers  ;  of  the 
cow-shed  where  I  slept  with   the   cow  ;    of  my  idiot  half- 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  31 

brother  always  sitting  at  the  door,  or  limping  down  the 
pass  to  beg  ;  of  my  half-sister  always  spinning,  and  resting 
her  enormous  goiter  on  a  great  stone  ;  of  my  being  a  fam- 
ished, naked  little  wretch  of  two  or  three  years,  when  they 
were  men  and  women  with  hard  hands  to  beat  me,  I  the 
only  child  of  my  father's  second  marriage — if  it  even  was  a 
marriage.  What  more  natural  than  for  you  to  compare 
notes  with  me,  and  say,  '  We  are  as  one  by  age  ;  at  that 
same  time  I  sat  upon  my  mother's  lap  in  my  father's  car- 
riage, rolling  through  the  rich  English  streets,  all  luxury 
surrounding  me,  all  squalid  poverty  kept  far  from  me.  Such 
is  my  earliest  remembrance  as  opposed  to  yours  !  " 

Mr.  Obenreizer  was  a  black-haired  young  man  of  a  dark 
complexion,  through  whose  swarthy  skin  no  red  glow  ever 
shone.  When  color  would  have  come  into  another  cheek, 
a  hardly  discernible  beat  would  come  into  his,  as  if  the 
machinery  for  bringing  up  the  ardent  blood  were  there,  but 
the  machinery  were  dry.  He  was  robustly  made,  well  pro- 
portioned, and  had  handsome  features.  Many  would  have 
perceived  that  some  surface  change  in  him  would  have  set 
them  more  at  their  ease  with  him,  without  being  able  to 
define  what  change.  If  his  lips  could  have  been  made  much 
thicker,  and  his  neck  much  thinner,  they  would  have  found 
their  want  supplied. 

But  the  great  Obenreizer  peculiarity  was,  that  a  certain 
nameless  film  would  come  over  his  eyes — apparently  by  the 
action  of  his  own  will — which  would  impenetrably  veil,  not 
only  from  those  tellers  of  tales,  but  from  his  face  at  large, 
every  expression  save  one  of  attention.  It  by  no  means 
followed  that  his  attention  should  be  wholly  given  to  the 
person  with  whom  he  spoke,  or  even  wholly  bestowed  on 
present  sounds  and  objects.  Rather,  it  was  a  comprehen- 
sive watchfulness  of  every  thing  he  had  in  his  own  mind, 
and  every  thing  that  he  knew  to  be,  or  suspected  to  be,  in 
the  minds  of  other  men. 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Obenreizer's  film 
came  over  him. 

"  The  object  of  my  present  visit,"  said  Vendale,  "  is,  I 
need  hardly  say,  to  assure  you  of  the  friendliness  of  Wild- 
ing &  Co.,  and  of  the  goodness  of  your  credit  with  us,  and 
of  our  desire  to  be  of  service  to  you.  We  hope  shortly 
to  offer  you  our  hospitality.  Things  are  not  quite  in 
train  with  us  yet,  for  my  partner,  Mr.  WTilding,  is  reorganiz- 
ing the  domestic   part  of  our  establishment,  and  is  inter- 


32  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

rupted  by  some  private  affairs.  You  don't  know  Mr.  Wild- 
ing, I  believe  ? " 

Mr.  Obenreizer  did  not. 

"  You  must  come  together  soon.  He  will  be  glad  to  have 
made  your  acquaintance,  and  I  think  I  may  predict  that 
you  will  be  glad  to  have  made  his.  You  have  not  been  long 
established  in  London,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Obenreizer  ? " 

"  It  is  only  now  that  I  have  undertaken  this  agency." 

"  Mademoiselle  you,  niece — is — not  married  ?  " 

"  Not  married." 

George  Vendale  glanced  about  him,  as  if  for  any  tokens 
of  her. 

u  She  has  been  in  London  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  London  ? " 

"  When,  and  where,  might  I  have  the  honor  of  recalling 
myself  to  her  remembrance  ?  " 

Mr.  Obenreizer,  discarding  his  film  and  touching  his  vis- 
itor's elbows  as  before,  said  lightly  :  "  Come  up  stairs." 

Fluttered  enough  by  the  suddenness  with  which  the  inter- 
view he  had  sought  was  coming  upon  him  after  all,  George 
Vendale  followed  up  stairs.  In  a  room  over  the  chamber 
he  had  just  quitted — a  room  also  Swiss-appointed — a  young 
lady  sat  near  one  of  the  three  windows,  working  at  an 
embroidery-frame  ;  and  an  older  lady  sat  with  her  face 
turned  close  to  another  white-tiled  stove  (though  it  was 
summer,  and  the  stove  not  lighted),  cleaning  gloves.  The 
young  lady  wore  an  unusual  quantity  of  fair  bright  hair,  very 
prettily  braided  about  a  rather  rounder  white  forehead  than 
the  average  English  type,  and  so  her  face  might  have  been 
a  shade — or  say  a  light — rounder  than  the  average  English 
face,  and  her  figure  slightly  rounder  than  the  average  English 
girl  at  nineteen.  A  remarkable  indication  of  freedom  and 
grace  of  limb,  in  her  quiet  attitude,  and  a  wonderful 
purity  and  freshness  of  color  in  her  dimpled  face  and 
bright  gray  eyes,  seemed  fraught  with  mountain  air.  Switzer- 
land too,  though  the  general  fashion  of  her  dress  was 
English,  peeped  out  of  the  fanciful  bodice  she  wore,  and 
lurked  in  the  curious  clocked  red  stocking,  and  in  its  little 
silver-buckled  shoe.  As  to  the  elder  lady,  sitting  with  her 
feet  apart  upon  the  lower  brass  edge  of  the  stove,  support- 
ing a  lap  full  of  gloves  while  she  cleaned  one  strerched  on 
her  left  hand,  she  was  a  true  Swiss  impersonation  of  another 
kind  ;  from  the  breadth  of  her  cushion-like  back,  and  the 
ponderosity  of  her  respectable  legs  (if  the  word  be  admis- 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  33 

sible),  to  the  black  velvet  band  tied  tightly  round  her  throat 
for  the  repression  of  a  rising  tendency  to  goiter  ;  or,  higher 
still,  to  her  great  copper-colored  ear-rings  ;  or,  higher  still, 
to  her  head-dress  of  black  gauze  stretched  on  wire. 

"  Miss  Marguerite,"  said  Obenreizer  to  the  young  lady, 
"  do  you  recollect  this  gentleman  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  she  answered,  rising  from  her  seat,  surprised 
and  a  little  confused,  "  it  is  Mr.  Vendale  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  Obenreizer,  dryly.  "  Permit  me,  Mr. 
Vendale.     Madame  Dor." 

The  elder  lady  by  the  stove,  with  the  glove  stretched  on 
her  left  hand,  like  a  glover's  sign,  half  got  up,  half  looked 
over  her  broad  shoulder,  and  wholly  plumped  down  again 
and  rubbed  away. 

"  Madame  Dor,"  said  Obenreizer,  smiling,  "  is  so  kind  as 
to  keep  me  free  from  stain  or  tear.  Madame  Dor  humors 
my  weakness  for  being  always  neat,  and  devotes  her  time  to 
removing  every  one  of  my  specks  and  spots." 

Madame  Dor,  with  the  stretched  glove  in  the  air,  and  her 
eyes  closely  scrutinizing  its  palm,  discovered  a  tough  spot 
in  Mr.  Obenreizer  at  that  instant,  and  rubbed  hard  at  him. 
George  Vendale  took  his  seat  by  the  embroidery-frame 
(having  first  taken  the  fair  right  hand  that  his  entrance  had 
checked),  and  glanced  at  the  gold  cross  that  dipped  into 
the  bodice,  with  something  of  the  devotion  of  a  pilgrim  who 
had  reached  his  shrine  at  last.  Obenreizer  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat-pockets, 
and  became  filmy. 

"  He  was  saying  down  stairs,  Miss  Obenreizer,"  observed 
Vendale,  "  that  the  world  is  so  small  a  place,  that  people 
can  not  escape  one  another.  I  have  found  it  much  too  large 
for  me  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  Have  you  traveled  so  far,  then  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Not  so  far,  for  I  have  only  gone  back  to  Switzerland 
each  year  ;  but  I  could  have  wished — and  indeed  I  have 
wished  very  often — that  the  little  world  did  not  afford  such 
opportunities  for  long  escapes  as  it  does.  If  it  had  been 
less,  I  might  have  found  my  fellow-travelers  sooner,  you 
know." 

The  pretty  Marguerite  colored,  and  very  slightly  glanced 
in  the  direction  of  Madame  Dor. 

"  You  find  us  at  length,  Mr.  Vendale.  Perhaps  you  may 
lose  us  again." 


34  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  I  trust  not.  The  curious  coincidence  that  has  enabled 
me  to  find  you,  encourages  me  to  hope  not." 

"  What  is  that  coincidence,  sir,  if  you  please  ?  "  A  dainty 
little  native  touch  in  this  turn  of  speech,  and  in  its  tone,  made 
it  perfectly  captivating,  thought  George  Vendale,  when  again 
he  noticed  an  instantaneous  glance  toward  Madame  Dor. 
A  caution  seemed  to  be  conveyed  in  it,  rapid  flash  though  it 
was  ;  so  he  quietly  took  heed  of  Madame  Dor  from  that  time 
forth. 

"  It  is  that  I  happen  to  have  become  a  partner  in  a  house 
of  business  in  London,  to  which  Mr.  Obenreizer  happens 
this  very  day  to  be  expressly  recommended  :  and  that,  too, 
by  another  house  of  business  in  Switzerland,  in  which  (as  it 
turns  out)  we  both  have  a  commercial  interest.  He  has  not 
told  you  ?" 

"Ah!"  cried  Obenreizer,  striking  in,  filmless.  "  No.  I 
had  not  told  Miss  Marguerite.  The  world  is  so  small  and 
so  monotonous  that  a  surprise  is  worth  having  in  such  a  lit- 
tle jog-trot  place.  It  is  as  he  tells  you,  Miss  Marguerite. 
He,  of  so  fine  a  family,  and  so  proudly  bred,  has  conde- 
scended to  trade.  To  trade  !  Like  us  poor  peasants  who 
have  risen  from  ditches  !  " 

A  cloud  crept  over  the  pale  brow,  and  she  cast  down  her 
eyes. 

"  Why  it  is  good  for  trade  !  "  pursued  Obenreizer,  enthu- 
siastically. "  It  ennobles  trade  !  It  is  the  misfortune  of 
trade,  it  is  its  vulgarity,  that  any  low  people — for  example, 
we  poor  peasants — may  take  to  it  and  climb  by  it.  See  you, 
my  dear  Vendale  !  "  He  spoke  with  great  energy.  "  The 
father  of  Miss  Marguerite,  my  eldest  half-brother,  more  than 
two  times  your  age  or  mine,  if  living  now,  wandered  without 
shoes,  almost  without  rags,  from  that  wretched  pass — wan- 
dered— wandered — got  to  be  fed  with  the  mules  and  dogs  at 
an  inn  in  the  main  valley  far  away — got  to  be  boy  there — 
got  to  be  hostler — got  to  be  waiter — got  to  be  cook — got  to  be 
landlord.  As  landlord,  he  took  me  (could  he  take  the  idiot 
beggar  his  brother,  or  the  spinning  monstrosity  his  sister  ?) 
to  put  as  pupil  to  the  famous  watchmaker,  his  neighbor  and 
friend.  His  wife  dies  when  Miss  Marguerite  is  born.  What 
is  his  will,  and  what  are  his  words,  to  me,  when  he  dies,  she 
being  between  girl  and  woman  !  '  All  for  Marguerite,  ex- 
cept so  much  by  the  year  for  you.  You  are  young,  but  I 
make  her  your  ward,  for  you  were  of  the  obscurest  and  the 
poorest  peasantry,  and  so  was  I,  and  so  was  her  mother  ;  we 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  35 

were  abject  peasants  all,  and  you  will  remember  it.'  The 
thing  is  equally  true  of  most  of  my  countrymen,  now  in 
trade  in  this  your  London  quarter  of  Soho.  Peasants  once  ; 
low-born  drudging  Swiss  peasants.  Theu  how  good  and 
great  for  trade  :  "  here,  from  having  been  warm,  he  became 
playfully  jubilant,  and  touched  the  young  wine  merchant's 
elbows  again  with  his  light  embrace  :  ik  to  be  exalted  by 
gentlemen." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Marguerite,  with  a  flushed 
cheek,  and  a  look  away  from  the  visitor,  that  was  almost 
defiant.     "  I  think  it  is  as  much  exalted  by  us  peasants." 

w  Fie,  fie,  Miss  Marguerite,"  said  Obenreizer.  "  You 
speak  in  proud  England." 

u  I  speak  in  proud  earnest,"  she  answered,  quietly  resum- 
ing her  work,  "  and  I  am  not  English,  but  a  Swiss  peasant's 
daughter." 

There  was  a  dismissal  of  the  subject  in  her  words,  which 
Vendale  could  not  contend  against.  He  only  said  in  an 
earnest  manner,  "  I  most  heartily  agree  with  you,  Miss  Oben- 
reizer, and  I  have  already  said  so,  as  Mr.  Obenreizer  will 
bear  witness,"  which  he  by  no  means  did,  "in  this  house." 

Now  Vendale's  eyes  were  quick  eyes,  and  sharply  watch- 
ing Madame  Dor  by  times,  noted  something  in  the  broad 
back  view  of  that  lady.  There  was  considerable  pantomi- 
mic expression  in  her  glove-cleaning.  It  had  been  very 
softly  done  when  he  spoke  with  Marguerite,  or  it  had  alto 
gether  stopped,  like  the  action  of  a  listener.  When  Oben- 
reizer's  peasant-speech  came  to  an  end,  she  rubbed  most 
vigorously,  as  if  applauding  it.  And  once  or  twice,  as  the 
glove  (which  she  always  held  before  her  a  little  above  her 
face)  turned  in  the  air,  or  as  this  ringer  went  down,  or  that 
went  up,  he  even  fancied  that  it  made  some  telegraphic 
communication  to  Obenreizer  :  whose  back  was  certainly 
never  turned  upon  it,  though  he  did  not  seem  at  all  to 
heed  it. 

Vendale  observed  too,  that  in  Marguerite's  dismissal  of  the 
subject  twice  forced  upon  him  to  his  misrepresentation,  there 
was  an  indignant  treatment  of  her  guardian  which  she  tried  to 
check  ;  as  though  she  would  have  flamed  out  against  him,  but 
for  the  influence  of  fear.  He  also  observed — though  this  was 
not  much — that  he  never  advanced  within  the  distance  of  her 
at  which  he  first  placed  himself  :  as  though  there  were  limits 
fixed  between  them.  Neither  had  he  ever  spoken  of  her  with- 
out the  prefix  "  Miss,"  though  whenever  he  uttered  it,  it  was 


36  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

with  the  faintest  trace  of  an  air  of  mockery.  And  now  it  oc- 
curred to  Vendale  for  the  first  time  that  something  curious  in 
the  man,  which  he  had  never  before  been  able  to  define,  was 
definable  as  a  certain  subtle  essence  of  mockery  that  eluded 
touch  or  analysis.  He  felt  convinced  that  Marguerite  was 
in  some  sort  a  prisoner  as  to  her  free  will — though  she  held 
her  own  against  those  two  combined,  by  the  force  of  her 
character,  which  was  nevertheless  inadequate  to  her  release. 
To  feel  convinced  of  this,  was  not  to  feel  less  disposed  to 
love  her  than  he  had  always  been.  In  a  word,  he  was  des- 
perately in  love  with  her,  and  thoroughly  determined  to  pur- 
sue the  opportunity  which  had  opened  at  last. 

For  the  present,  he  merely  touched  upon  the  pleasure  that 
Wilding  &  Co.  would  soon  have  in  entreating  Miss  Oben- 
reizer  to  honor  their  establishment  with  her  presence — a 
curious  old  place,  though  a  bachelor  house  withal — and  so 
did  not  protract  his  visit  beyond  such  a  visit's  ordinary  length. 
Going  down  stairs,  conducted  by  his  host,  he  found  the 
Obenreizer  counting-house  at  the  back  of  the  entrance-hall, 
and  several  shabby  men  in  outlandish  garments  hanging 
about,  whom  Obenreizer  put  aside  that  he  might  pass,  with  a 
few  words  in  patois. 

"  Countrymen,"  he  explained,  as  he  attended  Vendale  to 
the  door.  "  Poor  compatriots.  Grateful  and  attached,  like 
dogs  !     Good-by.     To  meet  again.     So  glad  !  " 

Two  more  light  touches  on  his  elbows  dismissed  him  into 
the  street. 

Sweet  Marguerite  at  her  frame,  and  Madame  Dor's  broad 
back  at  her  telegraph,  floated  before  him  to  Cripple  Corner. 
On  his  arrival  there,  Wilding  was  closeted  with  Bintrey. 
The  cellar  doors  happening  to  be  open,  Vendale  lighted  a 
candle  in  a  cleft  stick,  and  went  down  for  a  cellarous  stroll. 
Graceful  Marguerite  floated  before  him  faithfully,  but 
Madame  Dor's  broad  back  remained  outside. 

The  vaults  were  very  spacious,  and  very  old.  There  had 
been  a  stone  crypt  down  there,  when  bygones  were  not  by- 
gones ;  some  said,  part  of  a  monkish  refectory  ;  some  said, 
of  a  chapel  ;  some  said,  of  a  pagan  temple.  It  was  all  one 
now.  Let  who  would  make  what  he  liked  of  a  crumbled  pil- 
lar and  a  broken  arch  or  so.  Old  time  had  made  what  he 
liked  of  it,  and  was  quite  indifferent  to  contradiction. 

The  close  air,  the  musty  smell,  and  the  thunderous  rum- 
bling in  the  streets  above,  as  being  out  of  the  routine  of 
ordinary  life,  went  well  enough  with  the  picture  of  pretty 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  37 

Marguerite  holding  her  own  against  those  two.  So  Vendale 
went  on  until,  at  a  turning  in  the  vaults,  he  saw  a  light  like 
the  light  he  carried. 

0  Oh  !     You  are  here,  are  you,  Joey  ?  " 

"Oughtn't  it  rather  to  go,  '  Oh  !  You're  here,  are  you, 
Master  George  ? '  For  it's  my  business  to  be  here.  But  it 
ain't  yourn." 

"  Don't  grumble,  Joey." 

"  Oh  !  /  don't  grumble,"  returned  the  cellarman.  "  If 
any  thing  grumbles,  it's  what  I've  took  in  through  the  pores; 
it  ain't  me.  Have  a  care  as  something  in  you  don't  begin 
a-grumbling,  Master  George.  Stop  here  long  enough  for  the 
wapors  to  work,  and  they'll  be  at  it." 

His  present  occupation  consisted  of  poking  his  head  into 
the  bins,  making  measurements  and  mental  calculations,  and 
entering  them  in  a  rhinoceros-hide-looking  note-book,  like  a 
piece  of  himself. 

*'  They'll  be  at  it,"  he  resumed,  laying  the  wooden  rod  that 
he  measured  with  across  two  casks,  entering  his  last  calcula- 
tion, and  straightening  his  back,  "  trust  'em  !  And  so  you've 
regularly  come  into  business,  Master  George  !'" 

"  Regularly.     I  hope  you  don't  object,  Joey  !  " 

"  I  don't,  bless  you.  But  wapors  objects  that  you're  too 
young.     You're  both  on  you  too  young." 

"  We  shall  get  over  that  objection  day  by  day,  Joey." 

"  Ay,  Master  George  ;  but  I  shall  day  by  day  get  over  the 
objection  that  I'm  too  old,  and  so  I  shan't  be  capable  of 
seeing  much  improvement  in  you." 

The  retort  so  tickled  Joey  Ladle  that  he  grunted  forth  a 
laugh  and  delivered  it  again,  grunting  forth  another 
laugh  after  the  second  addition  of  "  improvement  in 
you." 

"  But  what's  no  laughing  matter,  Master  George,"  he  re- 
sumed, straightening  his  back  once  more,  "  is,  that  young 
Master  Wilding  has  gone  and  changed  the  luck.  Mark  my 
words.  He  has  changed  the  luck,  and  he'll  find  it  out.  / 
ain't  been  down  here  all  my  life  for  nothing  !  /  know  by 
what  I  notices  down  here,  when  it's  a-going  to  rain,  when  it's 
a-going  to  hold  up,  when  it's  a-going  to  blow,  when  it's 
a-going  to  be  calm.  1  know,  by  what  I  notices  down  here, 
when  the  luck's  changed,  quite  as  well." 

"  Has  this  growth  on  the  roof  any  thing  to  do  with  your 
divination  ? "  asked  Vendale,  holding  his  light  toward  a 
gloomy,  ragged  growth  of  dark  fungus,  pendent  from  the 


38  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

arches  with  a  very  disagreeable  and  repellent  effect.     u  We 
are  famous  for  this  growth  in  this  vault,  aren't  we  ?  n 

"  We  are,  Master  George,"  replied  Joey  Ladle,  moving  a 
step  or  two  away,  "  and  if  you'll  be  advised  by  me,  you'll 
let  it  alone." 

Taking  up  the  rod  just  now  laid  across  the  two  casks,  and 
faintly  moving  the  languid  fungus  with  it,  Vendale  asked, 
"  Ay,  indeed  ?     Why  so  ?  " 

"  Why  not  so  much  because  it  rises  from  the  casks  of 
wine,  and  may  leave  you  to  judge  what  sort  of  stuff  a  cellar- 
man  takes  into  himself  when  he  walks  in  the  same  all  the 
days  of  his  life,  nor  yet  so  much  because  at  a  stage  of  its 
growth  it's  maggots,  and  you'll  fetch  'em  down  upon  you," 
returned  Joey  Ladle,  still  keeping  away,  "  as  for  another 
reason,  Master  George." 

"  What  other  reason  ?  " 

"  (I  wouldn't  keep  on  touchin'  it,  if  I  was  you,  sir.)  I'll 
tell  you  if  you'll  come  out  of  the  place.  First,  take  a  look 
at  its  color,  Master  George." 

"  I  am  doing  so." 

"  Done,  sir.     Now,  come  out  of  the  place." 

He  moved  away  with  his  light,  and  Vendale  followed  with 
his.  When  Vendale  came  up  with  him,  and  they  were  going 
back  together,  Vendale,  eying  him  as  they  walked  through 
the  arches,  said  :  "  Well,  Joey  ?     The  color." 

"  Is  it  like  clotted  blood,  Master  George  ? " 

"  Like  enough,  perhaps." 

"  More  than  enough,  I  think,"  muttered  Joey  Ladle,  shak- 
ing his  head  solemnly. 

"  Well,  say  it  is  like  ;  say  it  is  exactly  like.     What  then  ? " 

"  Master  George,  they  do  say — " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  who  ?  "  rejoined  the  cellarman,  ap- 
parently much  exasperated  by  the  unreasonable  nature  of 
the  question.  "  Them  !  Them  as  says  pretty  well  every 
thing,  you  know.  How  should  I  know  who  they  are,  if  you 
don't  ?  " 

"  True.     Go  on." 

"  They  do  say  that  the  man  that  gets  by  any  accident  a 
piece  of  that  dark  growth  right  upon  his  breast,  will,  for  sure 
and  certain,  die  by  murder." 

As  Vendale  laughingly  stopped  to  meet  the  cellarman's 
eyes,  which  he  had  fastened  on  his  light  while  dreamily  say- 
ing those   words,  he   suddenly  became  conscious  of  being 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  39 

struck  upon  his  own  breast  by  a  heavy  hand.  Instantly  fol- 
lowing with  his  eyes  the  action  of  the  hand  that  struck  him 
— which  was  his  companion's — he  saw  that  it  had  beaten  off 
his  breast  a  web  or  clot  of  the  fungus,  even  then  floating  to 
the  ground. 

For  a  moment  he  turned  upon  the  cellarman  almost  as 
scared  a  look  as  the  cellarman  turned  upon  him.  But  in 
another  moment  they  had  reached  the  daylight  at  the  foot 
of  the  cellar-steps,  and  before  he  cheerfully  sprang  up  them, 
he  blew  out  his  candle  and  the  superstition  together. 

Exit   Wilding. 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  Wilding  went  out  alone, 
after  leaving  a  message  with  his  clerk.  "  If  Mr.  Vendale 
should  ask  for  me,"  he  said,  "or  if  Mr.  Bintrey  should  call, 
tell  them  I  am  gone  to  the  Foundling."  All  that  his  part- 
ner had  said  to  him,  all  that  his  lawyer,  following  on  the 
same  side,  could  urge,  had  left  him  persisting  unshaken  in  his 
own  point  of  view.  To  find  the  lost  man,  whose  place  he 
had  usurped,  was  now  the  paramount  interest  of  his  life,  and 
to  inquire  at  the  Foundling  was  plainly  to  take  the  first  step 
in  the  direction  of  discovery.  To  the  Foundling,  accord- 
ingly, the  wine  merchant  now  went. 

The  once  familiar  aspect  of  the  building  was  altered  to 
him,  as  the  look  of  the  portrait  over  the  chimney-piece  was 
altered  to  him.  His  one  dearest  association  with  the 
place  which  had  sheltered  his  childhood  had  been  broken 
away  from  it  forever.  A  strange  reluctance  possessed  him, 
when  he  stated  his  business  at  the  door.  His  heart  ached 
as  he  sat  alone  in  the  waiting-room  while  the  treasurer  of 
the  institution  was  being  sent  for  to  see  him.  When  the 
interview  began,  it  was  only  by  a  painful  effort  that  he 
could  compose  himself  sufficiently  to  mention  the  nature  of 
his  errand. 

The  treasurer  listened  with  a  face  which  promised  all  need- 
ful attention,  and  promised  nothing  more. 

"We  are  obliged  to  be  cautious,"  he  said,  when  it  came 
to  his  turn  to  speak,  "  about  all  inquiries  which  are  made  by 
strangers." 

"  You  can  hardly  consider  me  a  stranger,"  answered  Wild- 
ing, simply,  "  I  was  one  of  your  poor  lost  children  here,  in 
the  by-gone  time." 

The    treasurer  politely   rejoined    that    this    circumstance 


46  NO  THOROUGHFARE, 

inspired  him  with  a  special  interest  in  his  visitor.  But  he 
pressed,  nevertheless,  for  that  visitor's  motive,  in  making  his 
inquiry.  Without  further  preface,  Wilding  told  him  his 
motive,  suppressing  nothing.  The  treasurer  rose,  and  led 
the  way  into  the  room  in  which  the  registers  of  the  institu- 
tion were  kept.  "  All  the  information  which  our  books  can 
give  is  heartily  at  your  service,"  he  said.  "  After  the  time 
that  has  elapsed,  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  only  information  we 
have  to  offer  you." 

The  books  were  consulted,  and  the  entry  was  found  ex- 
pressed as  follows  : 

"3d  March,  1836.  Adopted,  and  removed  from  the 
Foundling  Hospital,  a  male  infant,  named  Walter  Wilding. 
Name  and  condition  of  the  person  adopting  the  child — Mrs. 
Jane  Ann  Miller,  widow.  Address — Lime-tree  Lodge, 
Groombridge  Wells.  References — the  Reverend  John 
Harker,  Groombridge  Wells  ;  and  Messrs.  Giles,  Jeremie 
and  Giles,  bankers,  Lombard  Street." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  the  wine  merchant.  "  Had  you  no 
after-communication  with  Mrs.  Miller  ?  " 

"  None — or  some  reference  to  it  must  have  appeared  in 
this  book." 

"  May  I  take  a  copy  of  the  entry  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  You  are  a  little  agitated.  Let  me  make  a 
copy  for  you." 

"  My  only  chance,  I  suppose,"  said  Wilding,  looking  sadly 
at  the  copy,  "  is  to  inquire  at  Mrs.  Miller's  residence,  and  to 
try  if  her  references  can  help  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  only  chance  I  see  at  present,"  answered  the 
treasurer.  "  I  heartily  wish  I  could  have  been  of  some  fur- 
ther assistance  to  you." 

With  those  farewell  words  to  .comfort  him,  Wilding  set 
forth  on  the  journey  of  investigation  which  began  from  the 
Foundling  doors.  The  first  stage  to  make  for,  was  plainly 
the  house  of  business  of  the  bankers  in  Lombard  Street.  Two 
of  the  partners  in  the  firm  were  inaccessible  to  chance  visi- 
tors when  he  asked  for  them.  The  third,  after  raising  cer- 
tain inevitable  difficulties,  consented  to  let  a  clerk  examine 
the  ledger  marked  with  the  initial  letter  "  M."  The  account 
of  Mrs.  Miller,  widow,  of  Groombridge  Wells,  was  found. 
Two  long  lines,  in  faded  ink,  were  drawn  across  it  ;  and  at 
the  bottom  of  the  page  there  appeared  this  note  :  "  Account 
closed,  September  30th,  1837." 

So  the  first  stage  of  the  journey  was  reached — and  so  it 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  41 

ended  in  No  Thoroughfare  !    After  sending  a  note  to  Cripple 
Corner  to  inform  his  partner  that  his  absence  might  be  pro- 
longed for  some  hours,  Wilding  took  his  place  in  the  train 
and  started  for  the  second  stage  on  the  journey — Mrs.  Mil. 
ler's  residence  at  Groombridge  Wells. 

Mothers  and  children  traveled  with  him  ;  mothers  and 
children  met  each  other  at  the  station  ;  mothers  and  chiL 
dren  were  in  the  shops  when  he  entered  them  to  inquire  for 
Lime-tree  Lodge.  Everywhere,  the  nearest  and  dearest  of 
human  relations  showed  itself  happily  in  the  happy  light  of 
day.  Everywhere,  he  was  reminded  of  the  treasured  delu- 
sion from  which  he  had  been  awakened  so  cruelly — of  the 
lost  memory  which  had  passed  from  him  like  a  reflection 
from  a  glass. 

Inquiring  here,  inquiring  there,  he  could  hear  of  no  such 
place  as  Lime-tree  Lodge.  Passing  a  house-agent's  office, 
he  went  in  wearily,  and  put  the  question  for  the  last  time. 
The  house-agent  pointed  across  the  street  to  a  dreary  man- 
sion of  many  windows,  which  might  have  been  a  manufact- 
ory, but  which  was  an  hotel.  That's  where  Lime-tree 
Lodge  stood,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "ten  years  ago." 

The  second  stage  reached,  and  No  Thoroughfare  again  ! 

But  one  chance  was  left.  The  clerical  reference,  Mr.  Har- 
ker,  still  remained  to  be  found.  Customers  coming  in  at 
the  moment  to  occupy  the  house-agent's  attention,  Wilding 
went  down  the  street,  and  entering  a  bookseller's  shop,  asked 
if  he  could  be  informed  of  the  Reverend  John  Harker's  pres- 
ent address. 

The  bookseller  looked  unaffectedly  shocked  and  aston- 
ished, and  made  no  answer. 

Wilding  repeated  his  question. 

The  bookseller  took  up  from  his  counter  a  prim  little  vol- 
ume in  a  binding  of  sober  gray.  He  handed  it  to  his  visitor 
open  at  the  title  page.     Wilding  read  : 

"  The  martyrdom  of  the  Reverend  John  Harker  in  New 
Zealand.     Related  by  a  former  member  of  his  flock." 

Wilding  put  the  book  down  on  the  counter.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  he  said,  thinking  a  little,  perhaps,  of  his  own  pres- 
ent martyrdom  while  he  spoke.  The  silent  bookseller 
acknowledged  the  apology  by  a  bow.     Wilding  went  out. 

Third  and  last  stage,  and  No  Thoroughfare  for  the  third 
and  last  time. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  ;  there  was  absolutely 
no  choice  but  to  go  back  to  London,  defeated  at  all  points. 


42  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

From  time  to  time  on  the  return  journey,  the  wine  merchant 
looked  at  his  copy  of  the  entry  in  the  Foundling  register. 
There  is  one  among  the  many  forms  of  despair — perhaps 
the  most  pitiable  of  all — which  persists  in  disguising  itself  as 
hope.  Wilding  checked  himself  in  the  act  of  throwing  the 
useless  morsel  of  paper  out  of  the  carriage  window.  "  It 
may  lead  to  something  yet,"  he  thought.  "  While  I  live, 
I  won't  part  with  it.  When  I  die,  my  executors  shall  find 
it  sealed  up  with  my  will." 

Now,  the  mention  of  this  will  set  the  good  wine  merchant 
on  a  new  track  of  thought,  without  diverting  his  mind  from 
its  engrossing  subject.     He  must  make  his  will  immediately. 

The  application  of  the  phrase  No  Thoroughfare  to  the 
case  had  originated  with  Mr.  Bintrey.  In  their  first  long 
conference  following  the  discovery,  that  sagacious  personage 
had  a  hundred  times  repeated,  with  an  obstructive  shake  of 
the  head,  "  No  Thoroughfare,  sir,  No  Thoroughfare.  My 
belief  is  that  there  is  no  way  out  of  this  at  this  time  of  day, 
and  my  advice  is,  make  yourself  comfortable  where  you 
are." 

In  the  course  of  the  protracted  consultation,  a  magnum  of 
the  forty-five  year  old  port-wine  had  been  produced  for  the 
wetting  of  Mr.  Bintrey's  legal  whistle  ;  but  the  more  clearly 
he  saw  his  way  through  the  wine,  the  more  emphatically  he 
did  not  see  his  way  through  the  case  ;  repeating  as  often  as 
he  set  his  glass  down  empty,  "  Mr.  Wilding,  No  Thorough- 
fare.    Rest  and  be  thankful." 

It  is  certain  that  the  honest  wine  merchant's  anxiety  to 
make  a  will  originated  in  profound  conscientiousness;  though 
it  is  possible  (and  quite  consistent  with  his  rectitude)  that  he 
may  unconsciously  have  derived  some  feeling  of  relief  from 
the  prospect  of  delegating  his  own  difficulty  to  two  other 
men  who  were  to  come  after  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he 
pursued  his  new  track  of  thought  with  great  ardor,  and  lost 
no  time  in  begging  George  Vendale  and  Mr.  Bintrey  to  meet 
him  in  Cripple  Corner  and  share  his  confidence. 

"  Being  all  three  assembled  with  closed  doors,"  said  Mr. 
Bintrey,  addressing  the  new  partner  on  the  occasion,  "  I  wish 
to  observe,  before  our  friend  (and  my  client)  intrusts  us  with 
his  further  views,  that  I  have  indorsed  what  I  understand 
from  him  to  have  been  your  advice,  Mr.  Vendale,  and  what 
would  be  the  advice  of  every  sensible  man.  I  have  told  him 
that  he  positively  must  keep  his  secret.  I  have  spoken  with 
Mrs.  Goldstraw,  both  in  his  presence  and  in  his  absence  ;  and 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  43 

if  any  body  is  to  be  trusted  (which  is  a  very  large  IF),  I  think 
she  is  to  be  trusted  to  that  extent.  I  have  pointed  out  to 
our  friend  (and  my  client)  that  to  set  on  foot  random  inqui- 
ries would  not  only  be  to  raise  the  devil,  in  the  likeness  of  all 
the  swindlers  in  the  kingdom,  but  would  also  be  to  waste  the 
estate.  Now,  you  see,  Mr.  Vendale,  our  friend  (and  my  client) 
does  not  desire  to  waste  the  estate,  but,  on  the  contrary,  de- 
sires to  husband  it  for  what  he  considers — but  I  can't  say  I 
do — the  rightful  owner  ;  if  such  rightful  owner  should  ever 
be  found.  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  he  ever  will  be,  but 
never  mind  that.  Mr.  Wilding  and  I  are  at  least  agreed  that 
the  estate  is  not  to  be  wasted.  Now,  I  have  yielded  to  Mr. 
Wilding's  desire  to  keep  an  advertisement  at  intervals  flow- 
ing through  the  newspapers,  cautiously  inviting  any  person 
who  may  know  any  thing  about  that  adopted  infant,  taken 
from  the  Foundling  Hospital,  to  come  to  my  office  ;  and  I 
have  pledged  myself  that  such  advertisement  shall  regularly 
appear.  I  have  gathered  from  our  friend  (and  my  client) 
that  I  meet  you  here  to-day  to  take  his  instructions,  not  to 
give  him  advice.  I  am  prepared  to  receive  his  instructions, 
and  to  respect  his  wishes  ;  but  you  will  please  observe  that 
this  does  not  imply  my  approval  of  either  as  a  matter  of  pro- 
fessional opinion." 

Thus  Mr.  Bintrey,  talking  quite  as  much  at  Wilding  as  to 
Vendale.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  his  care  for  his  client,  he  was 
so  amused  by  his  client's  Quixotic  conduct,  as  to  eye  him 
from  time  to  time  with  twinkhV*  :ves,  in  the  light  of  a  highly 
comical  curiosity. 

"  Nothing,"  observed  Wilding,  "  can  be  clearer.  I  only 
wish  my  head  were  as  clear  as  yours,  Mr.  Bintrey." 

"  If  you  feel  that  singing  in  it  coming  on,"  hinted  the 
lawyer,  with  an  alarmed  glance,  "  put  it  off.  I  mean  the 
interview." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  said  Wilding.  "  What  was  I 
going  to — " 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,  Mr.  Wilding,"  urged  the  lawyer. 

"  No  ;  I  wasn't  going  to,"  said  the  wine  merchant.  u  Mr. 
Bintrey  and  George  Vendale,  would  you  have  any  hesitation 
or  objection  to  become  my  joint  trustees  and  executors, 
or  can  you  at  once  consent  ?" 

"  I  consent,"  replied  George  Vendale,  readily. 

"  /consent,"  said  Bintrey,  not  so  readily. 

11  Thank  you  both.  Mr.  Bintrey,  my  instructions  for  my 
last  will  and  testament  are  short  and  plain.     Perhaps  you 


44  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

will  now  have  the  goodness  to  take  them  down.  I  leave  the 
whole  of  my  real  and  personal  estate,  without  any  exception 
or  reservation  whatsoever,  to  you  two,  my  joint  trustees  and 
executors,  in  trust  to  pay  over  the  whole  to  the  true  Walter 
Wilding  if  he  shall  be  found  and  identified  within  two  years 
after  the  day  of  my  death.  Failing  that,  in  trust  to  you  two 
to  pay  over  .the  whole  as  a  benefaction  and  legacy  to  the 
Foundling  Hospital." 

"  Those  are  all  your  instructions,  are  they,  Mr.  Wilding  ?  *' 
demanded  Bintrey,  after  a  blank  silence,  during  which  no- 
body had  looked  at  any  body. 

"  The  whole." 

"  And  as  to  those  instructions,  you  have  absolutely  made 
up  your  mind,  Mr.  Wilding  ?  " 

"  Absolutely,  decidedly,  finally." 

"  It  only  remains,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  one  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  "  to  get  them  into  technical  and  binding  form, 
and  to  execute  and  attest.  Now,  does  that  press  ?  Is  there 
any  hurry  about  it  ?     You  are  not  going  to  die  yet,  sir." 

Mr.  Bintrey,"  answered  Wilding,  gravely,  "  when  I  am 
going  to  die  is  within  other  knowledge  than  yours  or  mine. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  have  this  matter  off  my  mind,  if  you 
please." 

"  We  are  lawyer  and  client  again,"  rejoined  Bintrey,  who, 
for  the  nonce,  had  become  almost  sympathetic.  "  If  this  day 
week — here,  at  the  same  hour — will  suit  Mr.  Vendale  and 
yourself,  I  will  enter  in  my  diary  that  I  attended  you  ac- 
cordingly." 

The  appointment  was  made,  and  in  due  sequence  kept. 
The  will  was  formally  signed,  sealed,  delivered,  and  wit- 
nessed, and  was  carried  off  by  Mr.  Bintrey  for  safe  storage 
among  the  papers  of  his  clients,  ranged  in  their  respective 
iron  boxes,  with  their  respective  owner's  names  outside,  on 
iron  tiers  in  his  consulting-room,  as  if  that  legal  sanctuary 
were  a  condensed  family  vault  of  clients. 

With  more  heart  than  he  had  lately  had  for  former  sub- 
jects of  interest,  Wilding  then  set  about  completing  his  patri- 
archal establishment,  being  much  assisted  not  only  by  Mrs. 
Goldstraw  but  by  Vendale  too  :  who,  perhaps,  had  in  his 
mind  the  giving  of  an  Obenreizer  dinner  as  soon  as  possible. 
Anyhow,  the  establishment  being  reported  in  sound  working 
order,  the  Obenreizers,  guardian  and  ward,  were  asked  to 
dinner,  and  Madame  Dor  was  included  in  the  invitation.  If 
Vendale  had  been  over  head  and  ears  in  love  before — a 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  45 

phrase  not  to  be  taken  as  implying  the  faintest  doubt  about 
it — this  dinner  plunged  him  down  in  love  ten  thousand 
fathoms  deep.  Yet,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  get  one 
word  alone  with  charming  Marguerite.  So  surely  as  a  blessed 
moment  seemed  to  come,  Obenreizer,  in  his  filmy  state, 
would  stand  at  Vendale's  elbow,  or  the  broad  back  of 
Madame  Dor  would  appear  before  his  eyes.  That  speech- 
less matron  was  never  seen  in  a  front  view,  from  the  moment 
of  her  arrival  to  that  of  her  departure — except  at  dinner. 
And  from  the  instant  of  her  retirement  to  the  drawing-room, 
after  a  hearty  participation  in  that  meal,  she  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall  again. 

Yet,  through  four  or  five  delightful  though  distracting 
hours,  Marguerite  was  to  be  seen,  Marguerite  was  to  be  heard, 
Marguerite  was  to  be  occasionally  touched.  When  they 
made  the  round  of  the  old  dark  cellars,  Vendale  led  her  by 
the  hand  ;  when  she  sang  to  him  in  the  lighted  room  at 
night,  Vendale,  standing  by  her,  held  her  relinquished  gloves, 
and  would  have  bartered  against  them  every  drop  of  the 
forty-five  year  old,  though  it  had  been  forty-five  times  forty- 
five  years  old,  and  its  net  price  forty-five  times  forty-five 
pounds  per  dozen.  And  still,  when  she  was  gone,  and  a 
great  gap  of  an  extinguisher  was  clapped  on  Cripple  Corner, 
he  tormented  himself  by  wondering,  Did  she  think  that  he 
admired  her  !  Did  she  think  that  he  adored  her  !  Did  she 
suspect  that  she  had  won  him,  heart  and  soul !  Did  she 
care  to  think  at  all  about  it  !  And  so  did  she  and  didn't 
she,  up  and  down  the  gamut,  and  above  the  line  and  below 
the  line,  dear,  dear  !  Poor  restless  heart  of  humanity  ! 
To  think  that  the  men  who  were  mummies  thousands  of 
years  ago,  did  the  same,  and  ever  found  the  secret  how  to  be 
quiet  after  it  ! 

"What  do  you  think,  George,"  Wilding  asked  him  next 
day,  "  of  Mr.  Obenreizer  ?  (I  won't  ask  you  what  you  think 
of  Miss  Obenreizer.)  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Vendale,  "  and  I  never  did  know, 
what  to  think  of  him." 

"  He  is  well  informed  and  clever,"  said  Wilding. 

"  Certainly  clever." 

"  A  good  musician."  (He  had  played  very  well,  and  sung 
very  well,  overnight.) 

11  Unquestionably  a  good  musician." 

"  And  talks  well." 

"  Yes,"  said  George  Vendale,  ruminating,  "  and  talks  well. 


46  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

Do  you  know,  Wilding,  it  oddly  occurs  to  me,  as  I  think 
about  him,  that  he  doesn't  keep  silence  well ! " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?     He  is  not  obtrusively  talkative." 

''No,  and  I  don't  mean  that.  But  when  he  is  silent,  you 
can  hardly  help  vaguely,  though  perhaps  most  unjustly,  mis- 
trusting him.  Take  people  whom  you  know  and  like.  Take 
any  one  you  know  and  like." 

"  Soon  done,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Wilding.  "  I  take  you." 

"  I  didn't  bargain  for  that,  or  foresee  it,"  returned  Ven- 
dale,  laughing.  "  However,  take  me.  Reflect  for  a  mo- 
ment. Is  your  approving  knowledge  of  my  interesting  face 
mainly  founded  (however  various  the  momentary  expressions 
it  may  include)  on  my  face  when  I  am  silent  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  Wilding. 

"  I  think  so  too.  Now,  you  see,  when  Obenreizer  speaks 
— in  other  words,  when  he  is  allowed  to  explain  himself  away 
— he  comes  out  right  enough  ;  but  when  he  has  not  the  oppor- 
tunity of  explaining  himself  away,  he  comes  out  rather  wrong. 
Therefore  it  is,  that  I  say  he  does  not  keep  silence  well.  And 
passing  hastily  in  review  such  faces  as  I  know,  and  don't 
trust,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  now  that  I  give  my  mind  to  it, 
that  none  of  them  keep  silence  well." 

This  proposition  in  physiognomy  being  new  to  Wilding, 
he  was  at  first  slow  to  admit  it,  until  asking  himself  the 
question  whether  Mrs.  Goldstraw  kept  silence  well,  and  re- 
membering that  her  face  in  repose  decidedly  invited  trust- 
fulness, he  was  as  glad  as  men  usually  are  to  believe  what 
they  desire  to  believe. 

But,  as  he  was  very  slow  to  regain  his  spirits  or  his  health, 
his  partner,  as  another  means  of  setting  him  up — and  per- 
haps also  with  contingent  Obenreizer  views — reminded  him 
of  those  musical  schemes  of  his  in  connection  with  his  family, 
and  how  a  singing-class  was  to  be  formed  in  the  house,  and 
a  choir  in  a  neighboring  church.  The  class  was  established 
speedily,  and,  two  or  three  of  the  people  having  already 
some  musical  knowledge,  and  singing  tolerably,  the  choir 
soon  followed.  The  latter  was  led,  and  chiefly  taught,  by 
Wilding  himself  ;  who  had  hopes  of  converting  his  depend- 
ents into  so  many  foundlings,  in  respect  of  their  capacity  to 
sing  sacred  choruses. 

Now  the  Obenreizers  being  skilled  musicians,  it  was  easily 
brought  to  pass  that  they  should  be  asked  to  join  these 
musical  unions.  Guardian  and  ward  consenting,  or  guardian 
consenting  for  both,  it  was  necessarily  brought  to  pass  that 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  A1 

iTendale's  life  became  a  life  of  absolute  thraldom  and  en- 
chantment. For  in  the  moldy  Christopher- Wren  church 
on  Sundays,  with  its  dearly  beloved  brethren  assembled  and 
met  together,  five-and-twenty-strong,  was  not  that  her  voice 
that  shot  like  light  into  the  darkest  places,  thrilling  the  walls 
and  pillars  as  though  they  were  pieces  of  his  heart  !  What 
time,  too,  Madame  Dor  in  a  corner  of  the  high  pew,  turning 
her  back  upon  every  body  and  every  thing,  could  not  fail  to 
be  ritualistically  right  at  some  moment  of  the  service  ;  like 
the  man  whom  the  doctors  recommended  to  get  drunk  once 
a  month,  and  who,  that  he  might  not  overlook  it,  got  drunk 
every  day. 

But  even  those  seraphic  Sundays  were  surpassed  by  the 
Wednesday  concerts  established  for  the  patriarchal  family. 
At  those  concerts  she  would  sit  down  to  the  piano  and  sing 
them,  in  her  own  tongue,  songs  of  her  own  land,  songs,  call- 
ing from  the  mountain-tops  to  Vendale,  "  Rise  above  the 
groveling  level  country  ;  come  far  away  from  the  crowd  ;  pur- 
sue me  as  I  mount  higher,  higher,  higher,  melting  into  the 
azure  distance  ;  rise  to  my  supremest  height  and  love  me 
here  !  "  Then  would  the  pretty  bodice,  the  clocked  stock- 
ing, and  the  silver-buckled  shoe  be,  like  the  broad  forehead 
and  the  bright  eyes,  fraught  with  the  spring  of  a  very 
chamois,  until  the  strain  was  over. 

Not  even  over  Vendale  himself  did  these  songs  of  hers 
cast  a  more  potent  spell  than  over  Joey  Ladle  in  his  different 
way.  Steadily  refusing  to  muddle  the  harmony  by  taking 
any  share  in  it,  and  evincing  the  supremest  contempt  for 
scales  and  such  like  rudiments  of  music — which,  indeed, 
seldom  captivate  mere  listeners — Joey  did  at  first  give  up 
the  whole  business  for  a  bad  job,  and  the  whole  of  the  per- 
formers for  a  set  of  howling  dervishes.  But  descrying 
traces  of  unmuddled  harmony  in  a  part-song  one  day,  he 
gave  his  two  under-cellarmen  faint  hopes  of  getting  on 
toward  something  in  course  of  time.  An  anthem  of  Handel's 
led  to  further  encouragement  from  him  :  though  he  objected 
that  the  great  musician  must  have  been  down  in  some  of 
them  foreign  cellars  pretty  much,  for  to  go  and  say  the  same 
thing  so  many  times  over  ;  which,  take  it  in  how  you  might, 
he  considered  a  certain  sign  of  your  having  took  it  in  some- 
how. On  a  third  occasion,  the  public  appearance  of  Mr. 
Jarvis  with  a  flute,  and  of  an  odd  man  with  a  violin,  and  the 
performance  of  a  duet  by  the  two,  did  so  astonish  him  that, 
solely  of  his  own  impulse  and  motion,  he  became  inspired 


48  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

with  the  words,  "  Ann  Koar  !  "  repeatedly  pronouncing  them 
as  if  calling  in  a  familiar  manner  for  some  lady  who  had 
distinguished  herself  in  the  orchestra.  But  this  was  his 
final  testimony  to  the  merits  of  his  mates,  for  the  instru- 
mental duet  being  performed  at  the  first  Wednesday  con- 
cert, and  being  presently  followed  by  the  voice  of  Marguerite 
Obenreizer,  he  sat  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  entranced, 
until  she  had  finished  ;  when,  rising  in  his  place  with  much 
solemnity,  and  prefacing  what  he  was  about  to  say  with  a 
bow  that  specially  included  Mr.  Wilding  in  it,  he  delivered 
himself  of  the  gratifying  sentiment  :  "  Arter  that,  ye  may 
all  on  ye  get  to  bed  !  "  And  ever  afterward  declined  to 
render  homage  in  any  other  words  to  the  musical  powers  of 
the  family. 

Thus  began  a  separate  personal  acquaintance  between  Mar- 
guerite Obenreizer  and  Joey  Ladle.  She  laughed  so  heartily 
at  his  compliment,  and  yet  was  so  abashed  by  it,  that  Joey 
made  bold  to  say  to  her,  after  the  concert  was  over,  he 
hoped  he  wasn't  so  muddled  in  his  head  as  to  have  took  a 
liberty?  She  made  him  a  gracious  reply,  and  Joey  ducked 
in  return. 

"You'll  change  the  luck  time  about,  miss,"  said  Joey, 
ducking  again.  "  It's  such  as  you  in  the  place  that  can  bring 
round  the  luck  of  the  place." 

"  Can  I  ?  Round  the  luck  ?  "  she  answered,  in  her  pretty 
English,  and  with  a  pretty  wonder,  "  I  fear  I  do  not  under- 
stand.    I  am  so  stupid." 

"  Young  Master  Wilding,  miss,"  Joey  explained  confiden- 
tially, though  not  much  to  her  enlightenment,  "  changed  the 
luck  afore  he  took  in  young  Master  George.  So  I  say,  and 
so  they'll  find.  Lord  !  Only  come  into  the  place  and  sing 
over  the  luck  a  few  times,  miss,  and  it  won't  be  able  to  help 
itself  !  " 

With  this,  and  with  a  whole  brood  of  ducks,  Joey  backed 
out  of  the  presence.  But  Joey  being  a  privileged  person, 
and  even  an  involuntary  conquest  being  pleasant  to  youth 
and  beauty,  Marguerite  merrily  looked  out  for  him  next 
time. 

"  Where  is  my  Mr.  Joey,  please  ?  "  she  asked  of  Vendale. 

So  Joey  was  produced  and  shaken  hands  with,  and  that 
became  an  institution. 

Another  institution  arose  in  this  wise.  Joey  was  a  little 
hard  of  hearing.  He  himself  said  it  was  "  Wapors,"  and 
perhaps  it  might  have  been  ;  but  whatever  the  cause  of  the 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  49 

effect,  there  the  effect  was,  upon  him.  On  this  first  occasion 
he  had  been  seen  to  sidle  along  the  wall,  with  his  left  hand 
to  his  left  ear,  until  he  had  sidled  himself  into  a  seat  pretty 
near  the  singer,  in  which  place  and  position  he  had  remained, 
until  addressing  to  his  friends  the  amateurs  the  compliment 
before  mentioned.  It  was  observed  on  the  following 
Wednesday  that  Joey's  action  as  a  pecking  machine  was  im- 
paired at  dinner,  and  it  was  rumored  about  the  table  that 
this  was  explainable  by  his  high-strung  expectations  of  Miss 
Obenreizer's  singing,  and  his  fears  of  not  getting  a  place 
where  he  could  hear  every  note  and  syllable.  The  rumor 
reaching  Wilding's  ears,  he  in  his  good  nature  called  Joey 
to  the  front  at  night  before  Marguerite  began.  Thus  the 
institution  came  into  being  that  on  succeeding  nights,  Mar- 
guerite, running  her  hands  over  the  keys  before  singing, 
always  said  to  Vendale,  "  Where  is  my  Mr.  Joey,  please  ? " 
and  that  Vendale  always  brought  him  forth,  and  stationed 
him  near  by.  That  he  should  then,  when  all  eyes  were  upon 
him,  express  in  his  face  the  utmost  contempt  for  the  exer- 
tions of  his  friends  and  confidence  in  Marguerite  alone, 
whom  he  would  stand  contemplating,  not  unlike  the  rhino- 
ceros out  of  the  spelling-book,  tamed  and  on  his  hind  legs, 
was  a  part  of  the  institution.  Also  that  when  he  remained 
after  the  singing  in  his  most  ecstatic  state,  some  bold  spirit 
from  the  back  should  say,  "  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Joey  ?" 
and  he  should  be  goaded  to  reply,  as  having  that  instant 
conceived  the  retort,  "  Arter  that  ye  may  all  on  ye  get  to 
bed  !  "     These  were  other  parts  of  the  institution. 

But  the  simple  pleasures  and  small  jests  of  Cripple  Corner 
were  not  destined  to  have  a  long  life.  Underlying  them 
from  the  first  was  a  serious  matter,  which  every  member  of 
the  patriarchal  family  knew  of,  but  which,  by  tacit  agree- 
ment, all  forebore  to  speak  of.  Mr.  Wilding's  health  was  in 
a  bad  way. 

He  might  have  overcome  the  shock  he  had  sustained  in 
the  one  great  affection  of  his  life,  or  he  might  have  over- 
come his  congciousness  of  being  in  the  enjoyment  of  another 
man's  property  ;  but  the  two  together  were  too  much  for 
him.  A  man  haunted  by  twin  ghosts,  he  became  deeply 
depressed.  The  inseparable  spectress  sat  at  the  board  with 
him,  ate  from  his  platter,  drank  from  his  cup,  and  stood  by 
his  bedside  at  night.  When  he  recalled  his  supposed 
mother's  love,  he  felt  as  though  he  had  stolen  it.  When  he 
rallied  a  little  under  the  respect  and  attachment  of  his  de- 


So  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

pendents,  he  felt  as  though  he  were  even  fraudulent  in 
making  them  happy,  for  that  should  have  been  the  unknown 
man's  duty  and  gratification. 

Gradually,  under  the  pressure  of  his  brooding  mind,  his 
body  stooped,  his  step  lost  its  elasticity,  his  eyes  were  seldom 
lifted  from  the  ground.  He  knew  he  could  not  help  the 
deplorable  mistake  that  had  been  made,  but  he  knew  he 
could  not  mend  it  ;  for  the  days  and  weeks  went  by,  and  no 
one  claimed  his  name  or  his  possessions.  And  now  there 
began  to  creep  over  him  a  cloudy  consciousness  of  often- 
recurring  confusion  in  his  head.  He  would  unaccountably 
lose  sometimes  whole  hours,  sometimes  a  whole  day  and 
night.  Once  his  remembrance  stopped  as  he  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  dinner-table,  and  was  blank  until  daybreak.  Another 
time  it  stopped  as  he  was  beating  time  to  their  singing,  and 
went  on  again  when  he  and  his  partner  were  walking  in  the 
court-yard  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  half  the  night  later.  He 
asked  Vendale  (always  full  of  consideration,  work  and  help) 
how  this  was  ?  Vendale  only  replied,  "  You  have  not  been 
quite  well,  that's  all."  He  looked  for  explanation  into  the 
faces  of  the  people.  But  they  would  put  him  off  with, 
"  Glad  to  see  you  looking  so  much  better,  sir  ;  "  or,  "  Hope 
you're  doing  nicely  now,  sir  ; "  in  which  was  no  information 
at  all. 

At  length,  when  the  partnership  was  but  five  months  old, 
Walter  Wilding  took  to  his  bed,  and  his  housekeeper  became 
his  nurse. 

"  Lying  here,  perhaps  you  will  not  mind  my  calling  you 
Sally,  Mrs.  Goldstraw  !  "  said  the  poor  wine  merchant. 

"  It  sounds  more  natural  to  me,  sir,  than  any  other  name, 
and  I  like  it  better." 

"  Thank  you,  Sally.  I  think,  Sally,  I  must  of  late  have 
been  subject  to  fits.  Is  that  so,  Sally  ?  Don't  mind  telling 
me  so  now." 

"  It  has  happened,  sir." 

"Ah  !  That  is  the  explanation  !  "  he  quietly  remarked. 
"  Mr.  Obenreizer,  Sally,  talks  of  the  world  being  so  small 
that  it  is  not  strange  how  often  the  same  people  come  to- 
gether, and  come  together  at  various  places,  and  in  various 
stages  of  life.  But  it  does  seem  strange,  Sally,  that  I  should, 
as  I  may  say,  come  round  to  the  Foundling  to  die." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  gently  took  it. 

44  You  are  not  going  to  die,  dear  Mr.  Wilding." 

"  So  Mr.  Bintrey  said,  but  I  think  he  was  wrong.     The  old 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  $1 

child-feeling  is  coming  back  upon  me,  Sally.  The  old  hush 
and  rest  as  I  used  to  fall  asleep." 

After  an  interval  he  said,  in  a  placid  voice,  "  Please  kiss 
me,  nurse,"  and,  it  was  evident,  believed  himself  to  be  lying 
in  the  old  dormitory. 

As  she  had  been  used  to  bend  over  the  fatherless  and 
motherless  children,  Sally  bent  over  the  fatherless  and 
motherless  man,  and  put  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  murmur- 
ing : 

"  God  bless  you  !  " 

14  God  bless  you  !  "  he  replied  in  the  same  tone. 

After  another  interval,  he  opened  his  eyes  in  his  own  char- 
acter, and  said  :  "  Don't  move  me,  Sally,  because  of  what  I 
am  going  to  say  ;  I  lie  quite  easily.  I  think  my  time  is 
come.  I  don't  know  how  it  may  appear  to  you,  Sally, 
but—" 

Insensibility  fell  upon  him  for  a  few  minutes  ;  he 
emerged  from  it  once  more. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  may  appear  to  you,  Sally,  but  so  it 
appears  to  me." 

When  he  had  thus  conscientiously  finished  his  favorite 
sentence,  his  time  came,  and  he  died. 


ACT   II. 

VENDALE    MAKES   LOVE. 

The  summer  and  the  autumn  had  passed.  Christmas  and 
the  New  Year  were  at  hand. 

As  executors  honestly  bent  on  performing  tneir  duty 
toward  the  dead,  Vendale  and  Bintrey  had  held  more  than 
one  anxious  consultation  on  the  subject  of  Wilding's 
will.  The  lawyer  had  declared,  from  the  first,  that  it  was 
simply  impossible  to  take  any  useful  action  in  the  matter  at 
all.  The  only  obvious  inquiries  to  make,  in  relation  to  the 
lost  man,  had  been  made  already  by  Wilding  himself  :  with 
this  result,  that  time  and  death  together  had  not  left  a  trace 
of  him  discoverable.  To  advertise  for  the  claimant  to  the 
property,  it  would  be  necessary  to  mention  particulars — a 
course  of  proceeding  which  would  invite  half  the  impostors 
in  England  to  present  themselves  in  the  character  of  the  true 
Walter  Wilding.  "  If  we  find  a  chance  of  tracing  the  lost 
man  we  will  take  it.     If  we  don't,  let  us  meet  for  another 


S2  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

consultation  on  the  first  anniversary  of  Wilding's  death."  So 
Bintrey  advised.  And  so,  with  the  most  earnest  desire  to 
fulfill  his  dead  friend's  wishes,  Vendale  was  fain  to  let  the 
matter  rest  for  the  present. 

Turning  from  his  interest  in  the  past  to  his  interest  in 
the  future,  Vendale  still  found  himself  confronting  a  doubt- 
ful prospect.  Months  on  months  had  passed  since  his  first 
visit  to  Soho  Square — and  through  all  that  time,  the  one 
language  in  which  he  told  Marguerite  that  he  loved  her  was 
the  language  of  the  eyes,  assisted,  at  convenient  opportuni- 
ties, by  the  language  of  the  hand. 

What  was  the  object  in  the  way  ?  The  one  immovable 
obstacle  which  had  been  in  his  way  from  the  first.  No  mat- 
ter how  fairly  the  opportunities  looked,  Vendale's  efforts  to 
speak  with  Marguerite  alone,  ended  invariably  in  one  and  the 
same  result.  Under  the  most  accidental  circumstances,  in 
the  most  innocent  manner  possible,  Obenreizer  was  always 
in  the  way. 

With  the  last  days  of  the  old  year  came  an  unexpected 
chance  of  spending  an  evening  with  Marguerite,  which  Ven- 
dale resolved  should  be  a  chance  of  speaking  privately  to 
her  as  well.  A  cordial  note  from  Obenreizer  invited  him, 
on  New  Year's  Day,  to  a  little  family  dinner  in  Soho  Square. 
"  We  shall  be  only  four,"  the  note  said.  "  We  shall  be  only 
two,"  Vendale  determined,  "  before  the  evening  is  out !  "  _ 

New  Year's  Day  among  the  English  is  associated  with 
the  giving  and  receiving  of  dinners,  and  with  nothing  more. 
New  Year's  Day  among  the  foreigners  is  the  grand  opportu- 
nity of  the  year  for  the  giving  and  receiving  of  presents.  It 
is  occasionally  possible  to  acclimatize  a  foreign  custom.  In 
this  instance  Vendale  felt  no  hesitation  about  making  the 
attempt.  His  one  difficulty  was  to  decide  what  his  New 
Year's  gift  to  Marguerite  should  be.  The  defensive  pride  of 
the  peasant's  daughter— morbidly  sensitive  to  the  inequality 
between  her  social  position  and  his — would  be  secretly 
roused  against  him  if  he  ventured  on  a  rich  offering.  A  gift, 
which  a  poor  man's  purse  might  purchase,  was  the  one  gift 
that  could  be  trusted  to  find  its  way  to  her  heart,  for  the 
giver's  sake.  Stoutly  resisting  temptation,  in  the  form  of 
diamonds  and  rubies,  Vendale  bought  a  brooch  of  the  fila- 
gree work  of  Genoa— the  simplest  and  most  unpretending 
ornament  that  he  could  find  in  the  jeweler's  shop. 

He  slipped  his  gift  into  Marguerite's  hand  as  she  held  it 
out  to  welcome  him  on  the  day  of  the  dinner. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE. 


53 


"  This  is  your  first>New  Year's  Day  in  England,"  he  said. 
"  Will  you  let  me  help  to  make  it  like  a  New  Year's  Day  at 
home  ?  " 

She  thanked  him,  a  little  constrainedly,  as  she  looked  at 
the  jeweler's  box,  uncertain  what  it  might  contain.  Opening 
the  box,  and  discovering  the  studiously  simple  form  under 
which  Vendale's  little  keepsake  offered  itself  to  her,  she 
penetrated  his  motive  on  the  spot.  Her  face  turned  on  him 
brightly,  with  a  look  which  said,  "  I  own  you  have  pleased 
and  flattered  me."  Never  had  she  been  so  charming,  in 
Vendale's  eyes,  as  she  was  at  that  moment.  Her  winter 
dress — a  petticoat  of  dark  silk  with  a  bodice  of  black  velvet 
rising  to  her  neck,  and  inclosing  it  softly  in  a  little  circle  of 
swansdown — heightened,  by  all  the  force  of  contrast,  the 
dazzling  fairness  of  her  hair  and  her  complexion.  It  was 
only  when  she  turned  aside  from  him  to  the  glass,  and  taking 
out  the  brooch  that  she  wore,  put  his  New  Year's  gift  in  its 
place,  that  Vendale's  attention  wandered  far  enough  away 
from  her  to  discover  the  presence  of  other  persons  in  the 
room.  He  now  became  conscious  that  the  hands  of  Oben- 
reizer  were  affectionately  in  possession  of  his  elbows.  He 
now  heard  the  voice  of  Obenreizer  thanking  him  for  his  at- 
tention to  Marguerite,  with  the  faintest  possible  ring  of 
mockery  in  its  tone.  ("  Such  a  simple  present,  dear  sir  ! 
and  showing  such  nice  tact  !  ")  He  now  discovered,  for  the 
first  time,  that  there  was  one  other  guest,  and  but  one,  be- 
side himself,  whom  Obenreizer  presented  as  a  compatriot 
and  friend.  The  friend's  face  was  moldy,  and  the  friend's 
figure  was  fat.  His  age  was  suggestive  of  the  autumnal  pe- 
riod of  human  life.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  he  devel- 
oped two  extraordinary  capacities.  One  was  a  capacity  for 
silence  ;  the  other  was  a  capacity  for  emptying  bottles. 

Madame  Dor  was  not  in  the  room.  Neither  was  there  any 
visible  place  reserved  for  her  when  they  sat  down  to  table. 
Obenreizer  explained  that  it  was  "The  good  Dor's  simple 
habit  to  dine  always  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  She  would 
make  her  excuses  later  in  the  evening."  Vendale  wondered 
whether  the  good  Dor  had,  on  this  occasion,  varied  her  do- 
mestic employment  from  cleaning  Obenreizer's  gloves  to 
cooking  Obenreizer's  dinner.  This  at  least  was  certain — 
the  dishes  served  were,  one  and  all,  as  achievements  in  cook- 
ery, high  above  the  reach  of  the  rude  elementary  art  of 
England.  The  dinner  was  unobtrusively  perfect.  As  for 
the  wine,  the  eyes  of  the  speechless  friend  rolled  over  it,  as 


54  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

in  solemn  ecstasy.  Sometimes  he  said  "  Good  !  "  when  a 
bottle  came  in  full  ;  and  sometimes  he  said  "Ah  !  "  when  a 
bottle  went  out  empty — and  there  his  contributions  to  the 
gayety  of  the  evening  ended. 

Silence  is  occasionally  infectious.  Oppressed  by  private 
anxieties  of  their  own,  Marguerite  and  Vendale  appeared  to 
feel  the  influence  of  the  speechless  friend.  The  whole  responsi- 
bility of  keeping  the  talk  going  rested  on  Obenreizer's  shoul- 
ders, and  manfully  did  Obenreizer  sustain  it.  He  opened 
his  heart  in  the  character  of  an  enlightened  foreigner,  and 
sang  the  praises  of  England.  When  other  topics  ran  dry, 
he  returned  to  this  inexhaustible  source,  and  always  set 
the  stream  running  again  as  copiously  as  ever.  Obenreizer 
would  have  given  an  arm,  an  eye,  or  a  leg,  to  have  been 
born  an  Englishman.  Out  of  England  there  was  no  such 
institution  as  a  home,  no  such  thing  as  a  fireside,  no  such 
object  as  a  beautiful  woman.  His  dear  Miss  Marguerite 
would  excuse  him,  if  he  accounted  for  her  attractions  on  the 
theory  that  English  blood  must  have  mixed  at  some  former 
time  with  their  obscure  and  unknown  ancestry.  Survey  this 
English  nation,  and  behold  a  tall,  clean,  plump,  and  solid 
people  !  Look  at  their  cities  !  What  magnificence  in  their 
public  buildings  !  What  admirable  order  and  prosperity  in 
their  streets  !  Admire  their  laws,  combining  the  eternal 
principle  of  justice  with  the  oth'er  eternal  principle  of  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence  ;  and  applying  the  product  to  all  civil  in- 
juries, from  an  injury  to  a  man's  honor,  to  an  injury  to  a  man's 
nose  !  You  have  ruined  my  daughter — pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence  !  You  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  blow  in  my  face 
— pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  !  Where  was  the  material  pros- 
perity of  such  a  country  as  that  to  stop  ?  Obenreizer,  project- 
ing himself  into  the  future,  failed  to  see  the  end  of  it.  Oben- 
reizer's enthusiasm  entreated  permission  to  exhale  itself,  En- 
glish fashion,  in  a  toast.  Here  is  our  modest  little  dinner  over, 
here  is  our  frugal  dessert  on  the  table,  and  here  is  the  admirer 
of  England  conforming  to  national  customs,  and  making  a 
speech  !  A  toast  to  your  white  cliffs  of  Albion,  Mr.  Ven- 
dale !  to  your  national  virtues,  your  charming  climate,  and 
your  fascinating  women  !  to  your  hearths,  to  your  homes,  to 
your  habeas  corpus,  and  to  all  your  other  institutions  !  In 
one  word — to  England  !     Heep-heep-heep  !  hooray  ! 

Obenreizer's  voice  had  barely  chanted  the  last  note  of  the 
English  cheer,  the  speechless  friend  had  barely  drained  the 
last  drop  out  of  his  glass,  when  the  festive  proceedings  were 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  55 

interrupted  by  a  modest  tap  at  the  door.  A  woman-servant 
came  in  and  approached  her  master  with  a  little  note  in  her 
hand.  Obenreizer  opened  the  note  with  a  frown,  and,  after 
reading  it  with  an  expression  of  genuine  annoyance,  passed 
it  on  to  his  compatriot  and  friend.  Vendale's  spirits  rose 
as  he  watched  these  proceedings.  Had  he  found  an  ally  in 
the  annoying  little  note  ?  Was  the  long-looked-for  chance 
actually  coming  at  last  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  help  for  it  !  "  said  Obenreizer, 
addressing  his  fellow-countryman.  "  I  am  afraid  we  must  go." 

The  speechles  friend  handed  back  the  letter,  shrugged  his 
heavy  shoulders,  and  poured  himself  out  a  last  glass  of  wine. 
His  fat  fingers  lingered  fondly  round  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 
They  pressed  it  with  a  little  amatory  squeeze  at  parting.  His 
globular  eyes  looked  dimly,  as  through  an  intervening  haze, 
at  Vendale  and  Marguerite.  His  heavy  articulation  labored, 
and  brought  forth  a  whole  sentence  at  a  birth.  "I  think," 
he  said,  "  I  should  have  liked  a  little  more  wine."  His 
breath  failed  him  after  that  effort  ;  he  gasped,  and  walked 
to  the  door. 

Obenreizer  addressed  himself  to  Vendale  with  an  appear- 
ance of  the  deepest  distress. 

"  I  am  so  shocked,  so  confused,  so  distressed,"  he  began. 
"  A  misfortune  has  happened  to  one  of  my  compatriots.  He 
is  alone,  he  is  ignorant  of  your  language — I  and  my  good 
friend  here  have  no  choice  but  to  go  and  help  him.  What 
can  I  say  in  my  excuse  ?  How  can  I  describe  my  affliction 
at  depriving  myself  in  this  way  of  the  honor  of  your  com- 
pany ?  " 

He  paused,  evidently  expecting  Vendale  to  take  up  his  hat 
and  retire.  Discerning  his  opportunity  at  last,  Vendale  de- 
termined to  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  met  Obenreizer 
dexterously,  with  Obenreizer's  own  weapons. 

"Pray  don't  distress  yourself,"  he  said;  "I'll  wait  here 
with  the  greatest  of  pleasure  till  you  come  back." 

Marguerite  blushed  deeply,  and  turned  away  to  her  em- 
broidery frame  in  a  corner  by  the  window.  The  film  showed 
itself  in  Obenreizer's  eyes,  and  the  smile  came  something 
sourly  to  Obenreizer's  lips.  To  have  told  Vendale  that  there 
was  no  reasonable  prospect  of  his  coming  back  in  good  time, 
would  have  been  to  risk  offending  a  man  whose  favorable 
opinion  was  of  solid  commercial  importance  to  him.  Accept- 
ing his  defeat  with  the  best  possible  grace,  he  declared  him- 
self to  be  equally  honored  and  delighted  by  Vendale's  pro- 


56  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

posal.  "  So  frank,  so  friendly,  so  English  !  "  He  bustled 
about,  apparently  looking  for  something  he  wanted,  disap. 
peared  for  a  moment  through  the  folding-doors  communica- 
ting with  the  next  room,  came  back  with  his  hat  and  coat, 
and  protesting  that  he  would  return  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  embraced  Vendale's  elbows,  and  vanished  from  the 
scene  in  company  with  the  speechless  friend. 

Vendale  turned  to  the  corner  by  the  window,  in  which 
Marguerite  had  placed  herself  with  her  work.  There,  as  if 
she  had  dropped  from  the  ceiling,  or  come  up  through  the 
floor — there,  in  the  old  attitude,  with  her  face  to  the  stove — 
sat  an  obstacle  that  had  not  been  foreseen,  in  the  person  of 
Madame  Dor  !  She  half  got  up,  half  looked  over  her  broad 
shoulder  at  Vendale,  and  plumped  down  again.  Was  she  at 
work  ?  Yes.  Cleaning  Obenreizer's  gloves,  as  before  ?  No  ; 
darning  Obenreizer's  stockings. 

The  case  was  now  desperate.  Two  serious  considerations 
presented  themselves  to  Vendale.  Was  it  possible  to  put 
Madame  Dor  into  the  stove  ?  The  stove  wouldn't  hold  her. 
Was  it  possible  to  treat  Madame  Dor,  not  as  a  living  woman, 
but  as  an  article  of  furniture  ?  Could  the  mind  be  brought 
to  contemplate  this  respectable  matron  purely  in  the  light 
of  a  chest  of  drawers,  with  a  black  gauze  head-dress  acci- 
dentally left  on  the  top  of  it  ?  Yes,  the  mind  could  be 
brought  to  do  that.  With  a  comparatively  trifling  effort, 
Vendale's  mind  did  it.  As  he  took  his  place  on  the  old- 
fashioned  window-seat,  close  by  Marguerite  and  her  embroid- 
ery, a  slight  movement  appeared  in  the  chest  of  drawers,  but 
no  remark  issued  from  it.  Let  it  be  remembered  that  solid 
furniture  is  not  easy  to  move,  and  that  it  has  this  advantage 
in  consequence — there  is  no  fear  of  upsetting  it. 

Unusually  silent  and  unusually  constrained,  with  the  bright 
color  fast  fading  from  her  face,  with  a  feverish  energy  possess- 
ing her  fingers — the  pretty  Marguerite  bent  over  her  embroid- 
ery, and  worked  as  if  her  life  depended  on  it.  Hardly  less  agi- 
tated himself,  Vendale  felt  the  importance  of  leading  her  very 
gently  to  the  avowal  which  he  was  eager  to  make — to  the  other 
sweeter  avowal  still,  which  he  was  longing  to  hear.  A  woman's 
love  is  never  to  be  taken  by  storm  ;  it  yields  insensibly  to  a 
system  of  gradual  approach.  It  ventures  by  the  roundabout 
way,  and  listens  to  the  low  voice.  Vendale  led  her  memory 
back  to  their  past  meetings  when  they  were  traveling  to- 
gether in  Switzerland.  They  revived  the  impressions,  they 
recalled  the  events,  of  the  happy  by-gone  time.     Little  by 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  57 

little  Marguerite's  constraint  vanished.  She  smiled,  she  was, 
interested,  she  looked  at  Vendale,  she  grew  idle  with  her 
needle,  she  made  false  stitches  in  her  work.  Their  voices 
sank  lower  and  lower  ;  their  faces  bent  nearer  and  nearer  to 
each  other  as  they  spoke.  And  Madame  Dor  ?  Madame 
Dor  behaved  like  an  angel.  She  never  looked  round  ;  she 
never  said  a  word  ;  she  went  on  with  Obenreizer's  stockings. 
Pulling  each  stocking  up  tight  over  her  left  arm,  and  hold- 
ing that  arm  aloft  from  time  to  time,  to  catch  the  light  on 
her  work,  there  were  moments — delicate  and  indescribable 
moments — when  Madame  Dor  appeared  to  be  sitting  upside 
down,  and  contemplating  one  of  her  own  respectable  legs 
elevated  in  the  air.  As  the  minutes  wore  on,  these  eleva- 
tions followed  each  other  at  longer  and  longer  intervals. 
Now  and  again,  the  black  gauze  head-dress  nodded,  dropped 
forward,  recovered  itself.  A  little  heap  of  stockings  slid 
softly  from  Madame  Dor's  lap,  and  remained  unnoticed 
on  the  floor.  A  prodigious  ball  of  worsted  followed  the 
stockings,  and  rolled  lazily  under  the  table.  The  black  gauze 
head-dress  nodded,  dropped  forward,  recovered  itself, 
nodded  again,  dropped  forward  again,  and  recovered  itself 
no  more.  A  composite  sound,  partly  as  of  the  purring  of 
an  immense  cat,  partly  as  of  the  planing  of  a  board,  arose 
over  the  hushed  voices  of  the  lovers  and  hummed  at  regular 
intervals  through  the  room.  Nature  and  Madame  Dor  had 
combined  together  in  Vendale's  interests.  The  best  of  wo- 
men was  asleep. 

Marguerite  rose  to  stop — not  the  snoring — let  us  say,  the 
audible  repose  of  Madame  Dor.  Vendale  laid  his  hand  on 
her  arm,  and  pressed  her  back  gently  into  her  chair. 

"  Don't  disturb  her,"  he  whispered.  "  I  have  been  wait- 
ing to  tell  you  a  secret.     Let  me  tell  it  now." 

Marguerite  resumed  her  seat.  She  tried  to  resume  her 
needle.  It  was  useless  ;  her  eyes  failed  her  ;  her  hand 
failed  her  ;  she  could  rind  nothing. 

"  We  have  been  talking,"  said  Vendale,  "  of  the  happy 
time  when  we  first  met,  and  first  traveled  together.  I  have 
a  confession  to  make.  I  have  been  concealing  something. 
When  we  spoke  of  my  first  visit  to  Switzerland,  I  told  you 
of  all  the  impressions  I  had  brought  back  with  me  from 
England — except  one.     Can  you  guess  what  that  one  is  ?  " 

Her  eyes  looked  steadfastly  at  the  embroidery,  and  her 
face  turned  a  little  way  from  him.  Signs  of  disturbance 
began  to  appear  in  her  neat  velvet  bodice,  round  the  region 


58  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

of  the  brooch.  She  made  no  reply.  Vendale  pressed  the 
question  without  mercy. 

"  Can  you  guess  what  the  one  Swiss  impression  is  which  I 
have  not  told  you  yet  ?" 

Her  face  turned  back  toward  him,  and  a  faint  smile  trem- 
bled on  her  lips. 

"An  impression  of  the  mountains,  perhaps  ? "  she  said 
slyly. 

"  No  ;  a  much  more  precious  impression  than  that." 

"Of  the  lakes?" 

"  No.  The  lakes  have  not  grown  dearer  and  dearer  in  re- 
membrance to  me  every  day.  The  lakes  are  not  associated 
with  my  happiness  in  the  present,  and  my  hopes  in  the  fu- 
ture. Marguerite  !  all  that  makes  life  worth  having  hangs, 
for  me,  on  a  word  from  your  lips.  Marguerite  !  I  love  you  !  " 

Her  head  drooped  as  he  took  her  hand.  He  drew  her  to 
him,  and  looked  at  her.  -^he  tears  escaped  from  her  down- 
cast eyes,  and  fell  slowly  over  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Vendale,"  she  said  sadly,  "  it  would  have  been 
kinder  to  have  kept  your  secret.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
distance  between  us  ?     It  can  never,  never  be  !  " 

"  There  can  be  but  one  distance  between  us,  Marguerite — 
a  distance  of  your  making.  My  love,  my  darling,  there  is 
no  higher  rank  in  goodness,  there  is  no  higher  rank  in 
beauty,  than  yours  !  Come  !  whisper  the  one  little  word 
which  tells  me  you  will  be  my  wife  !  " 

She  sighed  bitterly.  "  Think  of  your  family,"  she  mur- 
mured ;  "  and  think  of  mine  !  " 

Vendale  drew  her  a  little  nearer  to  him. 

"  If  you  dwell  on  such  an  obstacle  as  that,"  he  said,  "  I 
shall  think  but  one  thought — I  shall  think  I  have  offended 
you." 

She  started,  and  looked  up.  "Oh,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed  in- 
nocently. The  instant  the  words  passed  her  lips,  she  saw 
the  construction  that  might  be  placed  on  them.  Her  con- 
fession had  escaped  her  in  spite  of  herself.  A  lovely  flush 
of  color  overspread  her  face.  She  made  a  momentary  effort 
to  disengage  herself  from  her  lover's  embrace.  She  looked 
up  at  him  entreatingly.  She  tried  to  speak.  The  words 
died  on  her  lips  in  the  kiss  that  Vendale  pressed  on  them. 
"  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Vendale  !  "  she  said  faintly. 

"  Call  me  George." 

She  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom.  All  her  heart  went  out 
to  him  at  last.     "  George  !  "  she  whispered. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  59 

"  Say  you  love  me  !  " 

Her  arms  twined  themselves  gently  round  his  neck.  Her 
lips,  timidly  touching  his  cheek,  murmured  the  delicious 
words — "  I  love  you  !  " 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  followed,  the  sound  of  the 
opening  and  closing  of  the  house-door  came  clear  to  them 
through  the  wintry  stillness  of  the  street. 

Marguerite  started  to  her  feet. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  she    said.     "  He  has  come  back  ! " 

She  hurried  from  the  room,  and  touched  Madame  Dor's 
shoulder  in  passing.  Madame  Dor  woke  up  with  a  loud 
snort,  looked  first  over  one  shoulder  and  then  over  the 
other,  peered  down  into  her  lap,  and  discovered  neither 
stockings,  worsted,  nor  darning-needle  in  it.  At  the  same 
moment  footsteps  became  audible  ascending  the  stairs. 
K  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Madame  Dor,  addressing  herself  to  the 
stove,  and  trembling  violently.  Vendale  picked  up  the 
stockings  and  the  ball,  and  huddled  them  all  back  in  a  heap 
over  her  shoulder.  "  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Madame  Dor,  for 
the  second  time,  as  the  avalanche  of  worsted  poured  into 
her  capacious  lap. 

The  door  opened  and  Obenreizer  came  in.  His  first 
glance  round  the  room  showed  him  that  Marguerite  was 
absent. 

"  What  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  my  niece  is  away  ?  My  niece 
is  not  here  to  entertain  you  in  my  absence  ?  This  is  unpar- 
donable.    I  shall  bring  her  back  instantly." 

Vendale  stopped  him. 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  disturb  Miss  Obenreiz&r,"  he  said. 
"  You  have  returned,  I  see,  without  your  friend  ?  " 

"  My  friend  remains,  and  consoles  our  afflicted  compatriot. 
A  heart-rending  scene,  Mr.  Vendale  !  The  household  gods 
at  the  pawnbroker's — the  family  immersed  in  tears.  We  all 
embraced  in  silence.  My  admirable  friend  alone  possessed 
his  composure.  He  sent  out,  on  the  spot,  for  a  bottle  of 
wine." 

"  Can  I  say  a  word  to  you  in  private,  Mr.  Obenreizer  ? " 

"Assuredly."  He  turned  to  Madame  Dor.  "My  good 
creature,  you  are  sinking  for  want  of  repose.  Mr.  Vendale 
will  excuse  you." 

Madame  Dor  rose,  and  set  forth  sideways  on  her  journey 
from  the  stove  to  the  bed.  She  dropped  a  stocking.  Ven- 
dale picked  it  up  for  her,  and  opened  the  folding-doors. 
She   advanced  a  step,  and  dropped  three  more  stockings. 


6o  NO   THOROUGHFARE. 

Vendale,  stooping  to  recover  them  as  before,  Obenreizer 
interfered  with  profuse  apologies,  and  with'  a  warning 
look  at  Madame  Dor.  Madame  Dor  acknowledged  the  look 
"by  dropping  the  whole  of  the  stockings  in  a  heap,  and  then 
shuffling  away  panic-stricken  from  the  scene  of  disaster. 
Obenreizer  swept  up  the  complete  collection  fiercely  in  both 
hands.  "  Go  !  "  he  cried,  giving  his  prodigious  handful  a 
preparatory  swing  in  the  air.  Madame  Dor  said  "  Mon 
Dieu,"  and  vanished  into  the  next  room,  pursued  by  a  shower 
of  stockings. 

"  What  must  you  think,  Mr.  Vendale,"  said  Obenreizer, 
closing  the  door,  "  of  this  deplorable  intrusion  of  domestic 
details  ?  For  myself,  I  blush  at  it.  We  are  beginning  the 
New  Year  as  badly  as  possible  ;  every  thing  has  gone  wrong 
to-night.  Be  seated,  pray — and  say,  what  may  I  offer  you  ? 
Shall  we  pay  our  best  respects  to  another  of  your  noble  En- 
glish institutions  ?  It  is  my  study  to  be  what  you  call,  jolly. 
I  propose  a  grog." 

Vendale  declined  the  grog  with  all  needful  respect  for  that 
noble  institution. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  on  a  subject  in  which  I  am  deeply 
interested,"  he  said.  "You  must  have  observed,  Mr.  Oben- 
reizer, that  I  have,  from  the  first,  felt  no  ordinary  admiration 
for  your  charming  niece?" 

"  You  are  very  good.     In  my  niece's  name  I  thank  you." 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  noticed,  latterly,  that  my  admi- 
ration for  Miss  Obenreizer  has  grown  into  a  tender  and 
deeper  feeling — ?  " 

"  Shall  I  say  friendship,  Mr.  Vendale?  " 

"  Say  love — and  we  shall  be  nearer  to  the  truth." 

Obenreizer  started  out  of  his  chair.  The  faintly  discerni- 
ble beat,  which  was  his  nearest  approach  to  a  change  of  color, 
showed  itself  suddenly  in  his  cheeks. 

"  You  are  Miss  Obenreizer's  guardian,"  pursued  Vendale. 
"  I  ask  you  to  confer  upon  me  the  greatest  of  all  favors — I 
ask  you  to  give  me  her  hand  in  marriage." 

Obenreizer  dropped  back  into  his  chair.  "  Mr.  Vendale," 
he  said,  "you  petrify  me." 

"  I  will  wait,"  rejoined  Vendale,  "  until  you  have  recovered 
yourself." 

"  One  word  before  I  recover  myself.  You  have  said  noth- 
ing about  this  to  my  niece  ?  " 

I  liave  opened  my  whole  heart  to  y  mr  niece.  And  I  have 
reason  to  hope — " 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  61 

"  What !  "  interposed  Obenreizer.  "  You  have  made  a  pro- 
posal to  my  niece,  without  first  asking  for  my  authority  to  pay 
your  addresses  to  her  ?  "  He  struck  his  hand  on  the  table, 
and  lost  his  hold  over  himself  for  the  first  time  in  Vendale's 
experience  of  him.  "  Sir  !  "  he  exclaimed,  indignantly, 
"  what  sort  of  conduct  is  this  ?  As  a  man  of  honor,  speaking 
to  a  man  of  honor,  how  can  you  justify  it  ? " 

"  I  can  only  justify  it  as  one  of  our  English  institutions," 
said  Vendale  quietly.  "  You  admire  our  English  institu- 
tions. I  can't  honestly  tell  you,  Mr.  Obenreizer,  that  I  re- 
gret what  I  have  done.  I  can  only  assure  you  that  I  have 
not  acted  in  the  matter  with  any  intentional  disrespect 
toward  yourself.  This  said,  may  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  plainly 
what  objection  you  see  to  favoring  my  suit  ?  " 

"  I  see  this  immense  objection,"  answered  Obenreizer, 
"  that  my  niece  and  you  are  not  on  a  social  equality  together. 
My  niece  is  the  daughter  of  a  poor  peasant ;  and  you  are 
the  son  of  a  gentleman.  You  do  us  an  honor,"  he  added, 
lowering  himself  again  gradually  to  his  customary  polite 
level,  "  which  deserves,  and  has  our  most  grateful  acknowl- 
edgments. But  the  inequality  is  too  glaring  ;  the  sacrifice 
is  too  great.  You  English  are  a  proud  people,  Mr.  Vendale. 
I  have  observed  enough  of  this  country  to  see  that  such  a 
marriage  as  you  propose  would  be  a  scandal  here.  Not  a 
hand  would  be  held  out  to  your  peasant-wife  ;  and  all  your 
best  friends  would  desert  you." 

"One  moment,"  said  Vendale,  interposing  on  his  side. 
"  I  may  claim,  without  any  great  arrogance,  to  know  more 
of  my  country  people  in  general,  and  of  my  own  friends  in 
particular,  than  you  do.  In  the  estimation  of  every  body 
whose  opinion  is  worth  having,  my  wife  herself  would  be  the 
one  sufficient  justification  of  my  marriage.  If  I  did  not  feel 
certain — observe  I  say  certain — that  I  am  offering  her  a  po- 
sition which  she  can  accept  without  so  much  as  the  shadow 
of  a  humiliation — I  would  never  (cost  me  what  it  might) 
have  asked  her  to  be  my  wife.  Is  there  any  other  obstacle 
that  you  see  ?     Have  you  any  personal  objection  to  me  ?  " 

Obenreizer  spread  out  both  his  hands'  in  courteous  pro- 
test, "  Personal  objection  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Dear  sir,  the 
bare  question  is  painful  to  me." 

"  We  are  both  men  of  business,"  pursued  Vendale,  "  and 
you  naturally  expect  me  to  satisfy  you  that  I  have  the  means 
of  supporting  a  wife.  I  can  explain  my  pecuniary  position 
in  two  words.     I  inherit  from  my  parents  a  fortune  of  twenty 


62  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

thousand  pounds.  In  half  of  that  sum  I  have  only  a  life- 
interest,  to  which,  if  I  die,  leaving  a  widow,  my  widow  suc- 
ceeds. If  I  die,  leaving  children,  the  money  itself  is  divided 
among  them,  as  they  come  of  age.  The  other  half  of  my 
fortune  is  at  my  own  disposal,  and  is  invested  in  the  wine 
business.  I  see  my  way  to  greatly  improving  that  business. 
As  it  stands  at  present  I  can  not  state  my  return  from  my 
capital  embarked  at  more  than  twelve  hundred  a  year.  Add 
the  yearly  value  of  my  life-interest — and  the  total  reaches  a 
present  annual  income  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  I  have 
the  fairest  prospect  of  soon  making  it  more.  In  the  mean- 
time, do  you  object  to  me  on  pecuniary  grounds  ?  " 

Driven  back  to  his  last  entrenchment,  Obenreizer  rose, 
and  took  a  turn  backward  and  forward  in  the  room.  For 
the  moment,  he  was  plainly  at  a  loss  what  to  say  or  do 
next. 

"  Before  I  answer  that  last  question,"  he  said,  after  a  little 
close  consideration  with  himself,  "  I  beg  leave  to  revert 
for  a  moment  to  Miss  Marguerite.  You  said  something 
just  now  which  seemed  to  imply  that  she  returns  the  senti- 
ment with  which  you  are  pleased  to  regard  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  inestimable  happiness,"  said  Vendale,  "  of 
knowing  that  she  loves  me." 

Obenreizer  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  with  the  film  over 
his  eyes,  and  the  faintly  perceptible  beat  becoming  visible 
again  in  his  cheeks. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  with 
ceremonious  politeness,  "  I  should  like  to  have  the  opportu- 
nity of  speaking  to  my  niece."  With  those  words,  he  bowed, 
and  quitted  the  room. 

Left  by  himself,  Vendale's  thoughts  (as  a  necessary  result 
of  the  interview,  thus  far)  turned  instinctively  to  the  consid- 
eration of  Obenreizer's  motives.  He  had  put  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  the  courtship  ;  he  was  now  putting  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  the  marriage— a  marriage  offering  advantages 
which  even  his  ingenuity  could  not  dispute.  On  the  face  of 
it,  his  conduct  was  incomprehensible.  What  did  it  mean  ? 
Seeking,  under  the  surface,  for  the  answer  to  that  question 
— and  remembering  that  Obenreizer  was  a  man  of  about  his 
own  age  ;  also,  that  Marguerite  was,  strictly  speaking,  his 
half-niece  only — Vendale  asked  himself,  with  a  lover's  ready 
jealousv,  whether  he  had  a  rival  to  fear,  as  well  as  a  guard- 
ian to  conciliate.  The  thought  just  crossed  his  mind,  and 
no  more.     The  sense  of  Marguerite's  kiss  still  lingering  on 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  63 

his  cheek  reminded  him  gently  that  even  the  jealousy  of  a 
moment  was  now  a  treason  to  her. 

On  reflection  it  seemed  most  likely  that  a  personal  motive 
of  another  kind  might  suggest  the  true  explanation  of  Oben- 
reizer's  conduct.  Marguerite's  grace  and  beauty  were  pre- 
cious ornaments  in  that  little  household.  They  gave  it  a 
special  social  attraction  and  a  special  social  importance. 
They  armed  Obenreizer  with  a  certain  influence  in  reserve, 
which  he  could  always  depend  upon  to  make  his  house 
attractive,  and  which  he  might  always  bring  more  or  less  to 
bear  on  the  forwarding  of  his  own  private  ends.  Was  he  the 
sort  of  man  to  resign  such  advantages  as  were  here  implied, 
without  obtaining  the  fullest  possible  compensation  for  the 
loss  ?  A  connection  by  marriage  with  Vendale  offered  him 
solid  advantages,  beyond  all  doubt.  But  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  men  in  London  with  far  greater  power  and  far 
wider  influence  than  Vendale  possessed.  Was  it  possible 
that  this  man's  ambition  secretly  looked  higher  than  the 
highest  prospects  that  could  be  afforded  to  him  by  the 
alliance  now  proposed  for  his  niece  ?  As  the  question  passed 
through  Vendale's  mind,  the  man  himself  reappeared — to 
answer  it,  or  not  to  answer  it,  as  the  event  might  prove. 

A  marked  change  was  visible  in  Obenreizer  when  he  re- 
sumed his  place.  His  manner  was  less  assured,  and  there 
were  plain  traces  about  his  mouth  of  recent  agitation  which 
had  not  been  successfully  composed.  Had  he  said  some- 
thing, referring  either  to  Vendale  or  to  himself,  which  had 
raised  Marguerite's  spirit,  and  which  had  placed  him,  for 
the  first  time,  face  to  face  with  a  resolute  assertion  of  his 
niece's  will?  It  might  or  might  not  be.  This  only  was  cer- 
tain— he  looked  like  a  man  who  had  met  with  a  repulse. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  my  niece,"  he  began.  "  I  find,  Mr. 
Vendale,  that  even  your  influence  has  not  entirely  blinded 
her  to  the  social  objections  to  your  proposal." 

"  May  I  ask,"  returned  Vendale,  "  if  that  is  the  only  result 
of  your  interview  with  Miss  Obenreizer  ?  " 

A  momentary  flash  leaped  out  through  the  Obenreizer  film. 

"You  are  master  of  the  situation,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone 
of  sardonic  submission.  "  If  you  insist  on  my  admitting  it, 
I  do  admit  it  in  those  words.  My  niece's  will  and  mine 
used  to  be  one,  Mr.  Vendale.  You  have  come  between  us, 
and  her  will  is  now  yours.  In  my  country,  we  know  when 
we  are  beaten,  and  we  submit  with  our  best  grace.  I  submit, 
with  my  best  grace,  on  certain  conditions.     Let  us  revert  to 


64  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

the  statement  of  your  pecuniary  position.  I  have  an  objec- 
tion to  you,  my  dear  sir — a  most  amazing,  a  most  audacious 
objection,  from  a  man  in  my  position  to  a  man  in  yours." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You  have  honored  me  by  making  a  proposal  for  my 
niece's  hand.  For  the  present  (with  best  thanks  and  re- 
spects), I  beg  to  decline  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  are  not  rich  enough." 

The  objection,  as  the  speaker  had  foreseen,  took  Vendale 
completely  by  surprise.     For  the  moment  he  was  speechless. 

"  Your  income  is  fifteen  hundred  a  year,"  pursued  Oben- 
reizer.  "  In  my  miserable  country  I  should  fall  on  my  knees 
before  your  income,  and  say,  'What  a  princely  fortune  ! ' 
In  wealthy  England,  I  sit  as  I  am,  and  say,  'A  modest  inde- 
pendence, dear  sir,  nothing  more.  Enough,  perhaps,  for  a 
wife  in  your  own  rank  of  life,  who  has  no  social  prejudice  to 
conquer.  Not  more  than  half  enough  for  a  wife  who  is  a 
meanly-born  foreigner,  and  who  has  all  your  social  prej- 
udices against  her.'  Sir  !  if  my  niece  is  ever  to  marry  you, 
she  will  have  what  you  call  uphill  work  of  it  in  taking  her 
place  at  starting.  Yes,  yes  ;  this  is  not  your  view,  but  it 
remains,  immovably  remains,  my  view,  for  all  that.  For  my 
niece's  sake,  I  claim  that  this  uphill  work  shall  be  made  as 
smooth  as  possible.  Whatever  material  advantages  she  can 
have  to  help  her,  ought,  in  common  justice,  to  be  hers. 
Now,  tell  me,  Mr.  Vendale,  on  your  fifteen  hundred  a  year 
can  your  wife  have  a  house  in  a  fashionable  quarter,  a  foot- 
man to  open  her  door,  a  butler  to  wait  at  her  table,  and  a 
carriage  and  horses  to  drive  about  in  ?  I  see  the  answer  in 
your  face— your  face  says,  No.  Very  good.  Tell  me  one 
more  thing,  and  I  have  done.  Take  the  mass  of  your  edu- 
cated, accomplished,  and  lovely  country  women,  is  it,  or  is 
it  not,  the  fact  that  a  lady  who  has  a  house  in  a  fashionable 
quarter,  a  footman  to  open  her  door,  a  butler  to  wait  at  her 
table,  and  a  carriage  and  horses  to  drive  about  in,  is  a  lady 
who  has  gained  four  steps,  in  female  estimation,  at  starting  ? 
Yes?  or  No  ?  " 

"  Come  to  the  point,"  said  Vendale.  "  You  view  this 
question  as  a  question  of  terms.     What  are  your  terms  ? " 

"  The  lowest  terms,  clear  sir,  on  which  you  can  provide 
your  wife  with  those  four  steps  at  starting.  Double  your 
present  income — the  most  rigid  economy  can  not  do  it  in 
England  on  less.     You   said  just  now  that   you  expected 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  65 

greatly  to  increase  the  value  of  your  business.  To  work — 
and  increase  it  !  I  am  a  good  devil  after  all !  On  the  day 
when  you  satisfy  me  by  plain  proofs,  that  your  income  has 
risen  to  three  thousand  a  year,  ask  me  for  my  niece's  hand, 
and  it  is  yours." 

"  May  I  inquire  if  you  have  mentioned  this  arrangement 
to  Miss  Obenreizer  ? " 

"  Certainly.  She  has  a  last  little  morsel  of  regard  still  left 
for  me,  Mr.  Vendale,  which  is  not  yours  yet  ;  and  she  ac- 
cepts my  terms.  In  other  words,  she  submits  to  be  guided 
by  her  guardian's  regard  for  her  welfare,  and  by  her  guard- 
ian's superior  knowledge  of  the  world."  He  threw  himself 
back  in  his  chair,  in  firm  reliance  on  his  position,  and  in  full 
possession  of  excellent  temper. 

Any  open  assertion  of  his  own  interests,  in  the  situation  in 
which  Vendale  was  now  placed,  seemed  to  be  (for  the  pres- 
ent at  least)  hopeless.  He  found  himself  literally  left  with 
no  ground  to  stand  on.  Whether  Obenreizer's  objections 
were  the  genuine  product  of  Obenreizer's  own  view  of  the 
case,  or  whether  he  was  simply  delaying  the  marriage  in  the 
hope  of  ultimately  breaking  it  off  altogether— in  either  of 
these  events,  any  present  resistance  on  Vendale's  part 
would  be  equally  useless.  There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to 
yield,  making  the  best  terms  that  he  could  on  his  own 
side. 

"  I  protest  against  the  condition  you  impose  upon  me,"  he 
began. 

"  Naturally,"  said  Obenreizer;  "I  dare  say  I  should  pro- 
test, myself,  in  your  place." 

"Say,  however,"  pursued  Vendale,  "that  I  accept  your 
terms.  In  that  case,  I  must  be  permitted  to  make  two  stipu- 
lations on  my  part.  In  the  first  place,  I  shall  expect  to  be 
allowed  to  see  your  niece." 

"  Aha!  to  see  my  niece,  and  to  make  her  in  as  great  a  hurry 
to  be  married  as  you  are  yourself  ?  Suppose  I  say,  No  !  you 
would  see  her  perhaps  without  my  permission  ?  " 

"  Decidedly  !  " 

"  How  delightfully  frank  !  How  exquisitely  English  !  You 
shall  see  her,  Mr.  Vendale,  on  certain  days,  which  we  will 
appoint  together.     What  next  ?  " 

"  Your  objection  to  my  income,"  proceeded  Vendale,  "  has 
taken  me  completely  by  surprise.  Your  present  views  of  my 
qualifications  for  marriage  require  me  to  have  an  income  of 
three  thousand  a  year.     Can  I  be  certain,  in  the  future,  as 


66  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

your  experience  of  England  enlarges,  that  your  estimate  will 
rise  no  higher  ?  " 

"  In  plain  English,"  said  Obenreizer,  "  you  doubt  my 
word  ?  " 

"  Do  you  purpose  to  take  my  word  for  it  when  I  inform 
you  that  I  have  doubled  my  income  ? "  asked  Vendale.  ^  "  If 
my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  you  stipulated  a  minute 
since  for  plain  proofs  ?  " 

"  Well  played,  Mr.  Vendale  !  You  combine  the  foreign 
quickness  with  the  English  solidity.  Accept  my  best  con- 
gratulations.    Accept,  also,  my  written  guarantee." 

He  rose  ;  seated  himself  at  a  writing  desk  at  a  side-table, 
wrote  a  few  lines,  and  presented  them  to  Vendale  with  a  low 
bow.  The  engagement  was  perfectly  explicit,  and  was 
signed  and  dated  with  scrupulous  care. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  guarantee?" 

"  I  am  satisfied." 

"  Charmed  to  hear  it,  I  am  sure.  We  have  had  our  little 
skirmish — we  have  really  been  wonderfully  clever  on  both 
sides.  For  the  present  our  affairs  are  settled.  I  bear  no 
malice.  You  bear  no  malice.  Come,  Mr.  Vendale,  a  good 
English  shake  hands." 

Vendale  gave  his  hand,  a  little  bewildered  by  Obenreizer's 
sudden  transition  from  one  humor  to  another. 

"  When  may  I  expect  to  see  Miss  Obenreizer  again  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Honor  me  with  a  visit  to-morrow,"  said  Obenreizer, 
tl  and  we  will  settle  it  then.  Do  have  a  grog  before  you  go  ! 
No  ?  Well  !  well  !  we  will  reserve  the  grog  till  you  have 
your  three  thousand  a  year,  and  are  ready  to  be  married. 
Aha  !     When  will  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  made  an  estimate,  some  months  since,  of  the  capacities 
of  my  business,"  said  Vendale.  "  If  that  estimate  is  correct, 
I  shall  double  my  present  income — " 

"  And  be  married  !  "  added  Obenreizer. 

'•'  And  be  married,"  repeated  Vendale,  "  within  a  year  from 
this  time.     Good-night." 


VENDALE     MAKES    MISCHIEF. 

When  Vendale  entered  his  office,  the  next  morning, 
the  dull  commercial  routine  at  Cripple  Corner  met  him 
with  a  new  face.  Marguerite  had  an  interest  in  it  now  ! 
The   whole    machinery  which  Wilding's   death  had  set  in 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  67 

motion,  to  realize  the  value  of  the  business — the  balanc- 
ing of  ledgers,  the  estimating  of  debts,  the  taking  of  stock, 
and  the  rest  of  it — was  now  transformed  into  machinery 
which"  indicated  the  chances  for  and  against  a  speedy 
marriage.  After  looking  after  results,  as  presented  by  his 
accountant,  and  checking  additions  and  subtractions,  as 
rendered  by  the  clerks,  Vendale  turned  his  attention  to  the 
stock-taking  department  next,  and  sent  a  message  to  the 
cellars,  desiring  to  see  the  report. 

The  cellarman's  appearance,  the  moment  he  put  his  head 
in  at  the  door  of  his  master's  private  room,  suggested  that 
something  very  extraordinary  must  have  happened  that  morn- 
ing. There  was  an  approach  to  alacrity  in  Joey  Ladle's 
movements  !  There  was  something  which  actually  simulated 
cheerfulness  in  Joey  Ladle's  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Vendale.  "  Any  thing 
wrong  ?  " 

"  I  should  wish  to  mention  one  thing,"  answered  Joey. 
"  Young  Mr.  Vendale,  I  have  never  set  myself  up  for  a 
prophet." 

"  Who  ever  said  you  did  ?  " 

"  No  prophet,  as  far  as  I've  heard  tell  of  that  profession," 
proceeded  Joey,  "  ever  lived  principally  underground.  No 
prophet,  whatever  else  he  might  take  in  at  the  pores,  ever 
took  in  wine  from  morning  to  night,  for  a  number  of  years 
together.  When  I  said  to  young  Master  Wilding,  respecting 
his  changing  the  name  of  the  firm,  that  one  of  these  days  he 
might  find  he'd  changed  the  luck  of  the  firm — did  I  put  my- 
self forward  as  a  prophet  ?  No,  I  didn't.  Has  what  I  said 
to  him  come  true  ?  Yes,  it  has.  In  the  time  of  Pebbleson 
Nephew,  young  Mr.  Vendale,  no  such  thing  was  ever  known 
as  a  mistake  made  in  a  consignment  delivered  at  these  doors. 
There's  a  mistake  been  made  now.  Please  to  remark  that 
it  happened  before  Miss  Margaret  came  here.  For  which 
reason  it  don't  go  against  what  I've  said  respecting  Miss 
Margaret  singing  round  the  luck.  Read  that,  sir,"  con- 
cluded Joey,  pointing  attention  to  a  special  passage  in 
the  report,  with  a  forefinger  which  appeared  to  be  in  pro- 
cess of  taking  in  through  the  pores  nothing  more  remark- 
able than  dirt.  "It's  foreign  to  my  nature  to  crow  over 
the  house  I  serve,  but  I  feel  it  a  kind  of  a  solemn  duty  to  ask 
you  to  read  that." 

Vendale  read  as  follows  :  —  "  Note,  respecting  the  Swiss 
champagne.     An  irregularity  has  been    discovered    in  the 


68  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

last  consignment  received  from  the  firm  of  Defresnier  and 
Co."  Vendale  stopped,  and  referred  to  a  memorandum- 
book  by  his  side.  "  That  was  in  Mr.  Wilding's  time,"  he 
said.  "  The  vintage  was  a  particularly  good  one,  and  he 
took  the  whole  of  it.  The  Swiss  champagne  has  done 
very  well,  hasn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  it's  done  badly,"  answered  the  cellarman. 
"  It  may  have  got  sick  in  our  customers'  bins,  or  it  may  have 
bust  in  our  customers'  hands.  But  I  don't  say  it's  done 
badly  with  us." 

Vendale  resumed  the  reading  of  the  note  :  "  We  find  the 
number  of  the  cases  to  be  quite  correct  by  the  books.  But 
six  of  them,  which  present  a  slight  difference  from  the  rest 
in  the  brand,  have  been  opened,  and  have  been  found  to 
contain  a  red  wine  instead  of  champagne.  The  similarity 
in  the  brands,  we  suppose,  caused  a  mistake  to  be  made 
in  sending  the  consignment  from  Neuchatel.  The  error 
has  not  been  found  to  extend  beyond  six  cases." 

"  Is  that  all  !  "  exclaimed  Vendale,  tossing  the  note  away 
from  him. 

Joey  Ladle's  eyes  followed  the  flying  morsel  of  paper 
drearily. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  take  it  easy,  sir,"  he  said.  "  What- 
ever happens,  it  will  be  always  a  comfort  to  you  to  re- 
member that  you  took  it  easy  at  first.  Sometimes  one 
mistake  leads  to  another.  A  man  drops  a  bit  of  orange- 
peel  on  the  pavement  by  mistake,  and  another  man  treads 
on  it  by  mistake,  and  there's  a  job  at  the  hospital,  and  a 
party  crippled  for  life.  I'm  glad  you  take  it  easy,  sir.  In 
Pebbleson  Nephew's  time  we  shouldn't  have  taken  it  easy 
till  we  had  seen  the  end  of  it.  Without  desiring  to  crow 
over  the  house,  young  Mr.  Vendale,  I  wish  you  well 
through  it.  No  offense,  sir,"  said  the  cellarman,  opening 
the  door  to  go  out,  and  looking  in  again  ominously  be- 
fore he  shut  it.  "  I'm  muddled  and  molloncholy,  I  grant 
you.  But  I'm  an  old  servant  of  Pebbleson  Nephew,  and 
I  wish  you  well  through  them  six  cases  of  red  wine." 

Left  by  himself,  Vendale  laughed,  and  took  up  his  pen. 
"I  may  as  well  send  a  line  to  Defresnier  &  Company,"  he 
thought,  "before  I  forget  it."  He  wrote  at  once  in  these 
terms  : 

"  Dear  Sirs — We  are  taking  stock,  and  a  trifling  mistake 
has  been  discovered  in  the  last   consignment  of  champagne 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  69 

sent  by  your  house  to  ours.  Six  of  the  cases  contain  red 
wine — which  we  hereby  return  to  you.  The  matter  can  easily 
be  set  right  either  by  your  sending  us  six  cases  of  the  cham- 
pagne, if  they  can  be  produced,  or,  if  not,  by  your  crediting 
us  with  the  value  of  six  cases  on  the  amount  last  paid 
(five  hundred  pounds)  by  our  firm  to  yours.  Your  faithful 
servants,  Wilding  &  Co." 

This  letter  dispatched  to  the  post,  the  subject  dropped  at 
once  out  of  Vendale's  mind.  He  had  other  and  far  more 
interesting  matters  to  think  of.  Later  in  the  day  he  paid  the 
visit  to  Obenreizer  which  had  been  agreed  on  between  them. 
Certain  evenings  in  the  week  were  set  apart  which  he  was 
privileged  to  spend  with  Marguerite — always,  however,  in 
the  presence  of  a  third  person.  On  this  stipulation  Oben- 
reizer politely  but  positively  insisted.  The  one  concession 
he  made  was  to  give  Vendale  his  choice  of  whom  the  third 
person  should  be.  Confiding  in  past  experience,  his  choice 
fell  unhesitatingly  upon  the  excellent  woman  who  mended 
Obenreizer's  stockings.  On  hearing  of  the  responsibility 
intrusted  to  her,  Madame  Dor's  intellectual  nature  burst 
suddenly  into  a  new  stage  of  development.  She  waited  till 
Obenreizer's  eyes  were  off  her — and  then  she  looked  at  Ven- 
dale and  dimly  winked. 

The  time  passed — the  happy  evenings  with  Marguerite 
came  and  went.  It  was  the  tenth  morning  since  Vendale 
had  written  to  the  Swiss  firm,  when  the  answer  appeared 
on  his  desk,  with  the  other  letters  of  the  day  : 

"  Dear  Sirs — We  beg  to  offer  our  excuses  for  the  little 
mistake  which  has  happened.  At  the  same  time,  we  regret 
to  add  that  the  statement  of  our  error,  with  which  you  have 
favored  us,  has  led  to  a  very  unexpected  discovery.  The  af- 
fair is  a  most  serious  one  for  you  and  for  us.  The  particu- 
lars are  as  follows  : 

"  Having  no  more  champagne  of  the  vintage  last  sent  to 
you,  we  made  arrangements  to  credit  your  firm  with  the  value 
of  the  six  cases,  as  suggested  by  yourself.  On  taking  this 
step,  certain  forms  observed  in  our  mode  of  doing  business 
neces:itated  a  reference  to  our  banker's  book,  as  well  as  to 
our  ledger.  The  result  is  a  moral  certainty  that  no  such  re- 
mittance as  you  mention  can  have  reached  our  house,  and  a 
literal  certainty  that  no  such  remittance  has  been  paid  to  our 
account  at  the  bank. 


70  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  It  is  needless,  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  to  trouble 
you  with  details.  The  money  has  unquestionably  been 
stolen  in  the  course  of  its  transit  from  you  to  us.  Certain 
peculiarities  which  we  observe,  relating  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  fraud  has  been  perpetrated,  lead  us  to  conclude 
that  the  thief  may  have  calculated  on  being  able  to  pay  the 
missing  sum  to  our  bankers  before  an  inevitable  discovery 
followed  the  annual  striking  of  our  balance.  This  would  not 
have  happened,  in  the  usual  course,  for  another  three  months. 
During  that  period,  but  for  your  letter,  we  might  have  re- 
mained perfectly  unconscious  of  the  robbery  that  has  been 
committed. 

"  We  mention  this  last  circumstance,  as  it  may  help  to 
show  you  that  we  have  to  do,  in  this  case,  with  no  ordinary 
thief.  Thus  far  we  have  not  even  a  suspicion  of  who  that 
thief  is.  But  we  believe  you  will  assist  us  in  making  some 
advance  toward  discovery,  by  examining  the  receipt  (forged, 
of  course)  which  has  no  doubt  purported  to  come  to  you 
from  our  house.  Be  pleased  to  look  and  see  whether  it  is  a 
receipt  entirely  in  manuscript,  or  whether  it  is  a  numbered 
and  printed  form  which  merely  requires  the  filling  in  of 
the  account.  The  settlement  of  this  apparently  trivial 
question  is,  we  assure  you,  a  matter  of  vital  importance. 
Anxiously  awaiting  your  reply,  we  remain,  with  high  esteem 
and  consideration,  Defresnier  &  Cie." 

Vendale  had  the  letter  on  his  desk,  and  waited  a  moment 
to  steady  his  mind  under  the  shock  that  had  fallen  on  it. 
At  the  time  of  all  others  when  it  was  most  important  to  him 
to  increase  the  value  of  his  business,  that  business  was  threat- 
ened with  a  loss  of  five  hundred  pounds.  He  thought  of 
Marguerite,  as  he  took  the  key  from  his  pocket  and  opened 
the  iron  chamber  in  the  wall,  in  which  the  books  and  papers 
of  the  firm  were  kept. 

He  was  still  in  the  chamber,  searching  for  the  forged  re- 
ceipt, when  he  was  startled  by  a  voice  speaking  close  behind 
him. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,"  said  the  voice  ;  "  I  am  afraid  I 
disturbed  you." 

He  turned,  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Marguer- 
ite's guardian. 

"  I  have  called,"  pursued  Obenreizer,  "  to  know  if  lean 
be  of  any  use.  Business  of  my  own  takes  me  away  for 
some  days  to  Manchester  and  Liverpool.     Can  I  combine 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  7t 

any  business  of  yours  with  it  ?  I  am  entirely  at  your  dis- 
posal, in  the  character  of  commercial  traveler  for  the  firm 
of  Wilding  &  Co." 

"  Excuse  me  for  one  moment,"  said  Vendale  ;  "  I  will 
speak  to  you  directly."  He  turned  round  again  and  con- 
tinued his  search  among  the  papers.  "  You  come  at  a  time 
when  friendly  offers  are  more  than  usually  precious  to  me," 
he  resumed.  "  I  have  had  very  bad  news  this  morning  from 
Neuchatel." 

"  Bad  news  !  "  exclaimed  Obenreizer.  "  From  Defresnier 
and  Company  ?  " 

"  Yes.  A  remittance  we  sent  to  them  has  been  stolen.  I 
am  threatened  with  a  loss  of  five  hundred  pounds.  What's 
that  ? " 

Turning  sharply,  and  looking  into  the  room  for  the  sec- 
ond time,  Vendale  discovered  his  envelope  case  overthrown 
on  the  floor,  and  Obenreizer  on  his  knees  picking  up  the  con- 
tents. 

"  All  my  awkwardness  !  "  said  Obenreizer.  "  This  dread- 
ful news  of  yours  startled  me  ;  I  stepped  back — "  He  became 
too  deeply  interested  in  collecting  the  scattered  envelopes  to 
finish  the  sentence. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  Vendale.  "  The  clerk  will 
pick  the  things  up." 

"  This  dreadful  news  !  "  repeated  Obenreizer,  persisting 
in  collecting  the  envelopes.     "  This  dreadful  news  !  " 

"  If  you  will  read  the  letter,"  said  Vendale,  "  you  will 
find  I  have  exaggerated  nothing.  There  it  is,  open  on  my 
desk." 

He  resumed  his  search,  and  in  a  moment  more  discovered 
the  forged  receipt.  It  was  on  the  numbered  and  printed 
form,  described  by  the  Swiss  firm.  Vendale  made  a  mem- 
orandum of  the  number  and  the  date.  Having  replaced  the 
receipt  and  locked  up  the  iron  chamber,  he  had  leisure  to 
notice  Obenreizer,  reading  the  letter  in  the  recess  of  a  window 
at  the  far  end  of  the  rooim 

"  Come  to  the  fire,"  said  Vendale.  "  You  look  perished 
with  the  cold  out  there.     I  will   ring  for  some  more  coals." 

Obenreizer  rose,  and  came  slowly  back  to  the  desk. 
11  Marguerite  will  be  as  sorry  to  hear  of  this  as  I  am," 
he  said,  kindly.     "  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  the  hands  of  Defresnier  and  Company,"  answered 
Vendale.  "  In  my  total  ignorance  of  the  circumstances,  I 
can  only  do   what  they  commend.     The   receipt   which  I 


72  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

have  just  found,  turns  out  to  be  the  numbered  and  printed 
form.  They  seem  to  attach  some  special  importance  to  its 
discovery.  You  have  had  experience,  when  you  were  in  the 
Swiss  house,  of  their  way  of  doing  business.  Can  you  guess 
what  object  they  have  in  view  ?  " 

Obenreizer  offered  a  suggestion. 

"  Suppose  I  examine  the  receipt  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  "  asked  Vendale,  startled  by  the  change  in 
his  face,  which  now  showed  itself  plainly  for  the  first  time. 
"  Pray  go  to  the  fire.  You  seem  to  be  shivering — I  hope  you 
are  not  going  to  be  ill  ? " 

"  Not  I  !  "  said  Obenreizer.  "  Perhaps  I  have  caught 
cold.  Your  English  climate  might  have  spared  an  admirer 
of  your  English  institutions.     Let  me  look  at  the  receipt." 

Vendale  opened  the  iron  chamber.  Obenreizer  took  a 
chair  and  drew  it  close  to  the  fire.  He  held  both  hands 
over  the  flames.  "  Let  me  look  at  the  receipt,"  he  repeated, 
eagerly,  as  Vendale  reappeared  with  the  paper  in  his  hand. 
At  the  same  moment  a  porter  entered  the  room  with  a  fresh 
supply  cf  coals.  Vendale  told  him  to  make  a  good  fire. 
The  man  obeyed  the  order  with  a  disastrous  alacrity.  As 
he  stepped  forward  and  raised  the  scuttle,  his  foot  caught 
in  a  fold  of  the  rug,  and  he  discharged  his  entire  scuttle  of 
coals  into  the  grate.  The  result  was  an  instant  smothering 
of  the  flame,  and  the  production  of  a  stream  of  yellow 
smoke,  without  a  visible  morsel  of  fire  to  account  for  it. 

"  Imbecile  !  "  whispered  Obenreizer  to  himself,  with  a  look 
at  the  man  which  the  man  remembered  for  many  a  long  day 
afterward. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  clerks'  room  ? "  asked  Vendale. 
"  They  have  a  stove  there." 

"  No,  no.     No  matter." 

Vendale  handed  him  the  receipt.  Obenreizer's  interest 
in  examining  it  appeared  to  have  been  quenched  as  sud- 
denly and  as  effectually  as  the  fire  itself.  He  just  glanced 
over  the  document  and  said,  "  No  ;  I  don't  understand  it ! 
I  am  sorry  to  be  of  no  use." 

"  I  will  write  to  Neuchatel  by  to-night's  post,"  said  Ven- 
dale, putting  away  the  receipt  for  the  second  time.  "  We 
must  wait,  and  see  what  comes  of  it." 

"By  to-night's  post,"  repeated  Obenreizer.  ''Let  me 
see.  You  will  get  the  answer  in  eight  or  nine  days'  time. 
I  shall  be  back  before  that.  If  I  can  be  of  any  service,  as 
commercial  traveler,  perhaps  you  will  let  me  know  between 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  73 

this  and  then.  You  will  send  me  written  instructions  ?  My 
best  thanks.  I  shall  be  most  anxious  for  your  answer  from 
Neuchatel.  Who  knows  ?  It  may  be  a  mistake,  my  dear 
friend,  after  all.  Courage  !  courage  !  courage  !  "  He  had 
entered  the  room  with  no  appearance  of  being  pressed  for  time. 
He  now  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  took  his  leave  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  had  not  another  moment  to  lose. 

Left  by  himself,  Vendale  took  a  turn  thoughtfully  in  the 
room. 

His  previous  impression  of  Obenreizer  was  shaken  by 
what  he  had  heard  and  seen  at  the  interview  which  had 
just  taken  place.  He  was  disposed,  for  the  first  time,  to 
doubt  whether,  in  this  case,  he  had  not  been  a  little  hasty 
and  hard  in  his  judgment  on  another  man.  Obenreizer's 
surprise  and  regret,  on  hearing  the  news  from  Neuchatel, 
bore  the  plainest  marks  of  being  honestly  felt — not  politely 
assumed  for  the  occasion.  With  troubles  of  his  own  to 
encounter,  suffering,  to  all  appearance,  from  the  first  insi- 
dious attack  of  a  serious  illness,  he  had  looked  and 
spoken  like  a  man  who  really  deplored  the  disaster 
that  had  fallen  on  his  friend.  Hitherto  Vendale  had  tried 
vainly  to  alter  his  first  opinion  of  Marguerite's  guardian, 
for  Marguerite's  sake.  All  the  generous  instincts  in  his 
nature  now  combined  together  and  shook  the  evidence  which 
had  seemed  unanswerable  up  to  this  time.  "  Who  knows  ? " 
he  thought,  "  I  may  have  read  that  man's  face  wrongly,  after 
all." 

The  time  passed — the  happy  evenings  with  Marguerite 
came  and  went.  It  was  again  the  tenth  morning  since  Ven- 
dale had  written  to  the  Swiss  firm  ;  and  again  the  answer 
appeared  on  his  desk  with  the  other  letters  of  the  day  : 

"  Dear  Sir — My  senior  partner,  M.  Defresnier,  has  been 
called  away,  by  urgent  business,  to  Milan.  In  his  absence 
(and  with  his  full  concurrence  and  authority),  I  now  write 
to  you  again  on  the  subject  of  the  missing  five  hundred 
pounds. 

"  Your  discovery  that  the  forged  receipt  is  executed  upon 
one  of  our  numbered  and  printed  forms  has  caused  inex- 
pressible surprise  and  distress  to  my  partner  and  to  myself. 
At  the  time  when  your  remittance  was  stolen,  but  three  keys 
were  in  existence  opening  the  strong-box  in  which  our 
receipt-forms  are  invariably  kept.     My  partner  had  one  key  ; 


74  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

I  had  another.  The  third  was  in  the  possession  of  a  gen- 
tleman who,  at  that  period,  occupied  a  position  of  trust  in 
our  house.  We  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  suspecting 
one  of  ourselves  as  of  suspecting  this  person.  Suspicion  now 
points  at  him,  nevertheless.  I  can  not  prevail  on  myself  to 
inform  you  who  the  person  is,  so  long  as  there  is  the  shadow 
of  a  chance  that  he  may  come  innocently  out  of  the  inquiry 
which  must  now  be  instituted.  Forgive  my  silence  ;  the 
motive  of  it  is  good. 

"  The  form  our  investigation  must  now  take  is  simple 
enough.  The  handwriting  on  your  receipt  must  be  com- 
pared, by  competent  persons  whom  we  have  at  our  disposal, 
with  certain  specimens  of  handwriting  in  our  possession. 
I  can  not  send  you  the  specimens  for  business  reasons,  which, 
when  you  hear  them,  you  are  sure  to  approve.  I  must  beg 
you  to  send  me  the  receipt  to  Neuchatel — and,  in  making 
this  request,  I  must  accompany  it  by  a  word  of  necessary 
warning. 

"  If  the  person  at  whom  suspicion  now  points,  really 
proves  to  be  the  person  who  has  committed  this  forgery  and 
theft,  I  have  reason  to  fear  that  circumstances  may  have 
already  put  him  on  his  guard.  The  only  evidence  against 
him  is  the  evidence  in  your  hands,  and  he  will  move  heaven 
and  earth  to  obtain  and  destroy  it.  I  strongly  urge  you  not 
to  trust  the  receipt  to  the  post.  Send  it  to  me,  without  loss 
of  time,  by  a  private  hand,  and  choose  nobody  for  your 
messenger  but  a  person  long  established  in  your  own  employ- 
ment, accustomed  to  traveling,  capable  of  speaking  French  ; 
a  man  of  courage,  a  man  of  honesty,  and,  above  all  things, 
a  man  who  can  be  trusted  to  let  no  stranger  scrape  acquaint- 
ance with  him  on  the  route.  Tell  no  one — absolutely  no 
one — but  your  messenger  of  the  turn  this  matter  has  now 
taken.  The  safe  transit  of  the  receipt  may  depend  on  your 
interpreting  literally  the  advice  which  I  give  you  at  the  end 
of  this  letter. 

"  I  have  only  to  add  that  every  possible  saving  of  time  is 
now  of  the  last  importance.  More  than  one  of  our  receipt- 
forms  is  missing — and  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  new 
frauds  may  not  be  committed,  if  we  fail  to  lay  our  hands  on 
the  thief. 

"  Your  faithful  servant,  Rolland, 

"  (Signing  for  Defresnier  &  Cffi.)  " 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  75 

Who  was  the  suspected  man  ?  In  Vendale's  position,  it 
seemed  useless  to  inquire. 

Who  was  to  be  sent  to  Neuchatel  with  the  receipt  ?  Men 
of  courage  and  men  of  honesty  were  to  be  had  at  Cripple 
Corner  for  the  asking.  But  where  was  the  man  who  was 
accustomed  to  foreign  traveling,  who  could  speak  the 
French  language,  and  who  could  be  really  relied  on  to  let 
no  stranger  scrape  acquaintance  with  him  on  his  route  ? 
There  was  but  one  man  at  hand  who  combined  all  those 
requisites  in  his  own  person,  and  that  man  was  Vendale 
himself. 

It  was  a  sacrifice  to  leave  his  business  ;  it  was  a  greater 
sacrifice  to  leave  Marguerite.  But  a  matter  of  five  hundred 
pounds  was  involved  in  the  pending  inquiry  ;  and  a  literal 
interpretation  of  M.  Rolland's  advice  was  insisted  on  in 
terms  which  there  was  no  trifling  with.  The  more  Vendale 
thought  of  it,  the  more  plainly  the  necessity  faced  him,  and 
said,  "Go!" 

As  he  locked  up  the  letter  with  the  receipt,  the  association 
of  ideas  reminded  him  of  Obenreizer.  A  guess  at  the  iden- 
tity of  the  suspected  man  looked  more  possible  now.  Oben- 
reizer might  know. 

The  thought  had  barely  passed  through  his  mind,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Obenreizer  entered  the  room. 

"  They  told  me  at  Soho  Square  you  were  expected  back 
last  night,"  said  Vendale,  greeting  him.  "  Have  you  done 
well  in  the  country  ?     Are  you  better  ?" 

A  thousand  thanks.  Obenreizer  had  done  admirably  well, 
Obenreizer  was  infinitely  better.  And  now,  what  news  ? 
Any  letter  from  Neuchatel  ? 

"  A  very  strange  letter,"  answered  Vendale.  "  The  matter 
has  taken  a  new  turn,  and  the  letter  insists — without  except- 
ing any  body — on  my  keeping  our  next  proceedings  a  pro- 
found secret." 

"  Without  excepting  any  body  ?  "  repeated  Obenreizer.  As 
he  said  the  words,  he  walked  away  again,  thoughtfully,  to 
the  window  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  looked  out  for  a 
moment,  and  suddenly  came  back  to  Vendale.  "  Surely 
they  must  have  forgotten  ?  "  he  resumed,  "  or  they  would  not 
have  excepted  me  2  " 

"  It  is  Monsieur  Rolland  who  writes,"  said  Vendale. 
"  And,  as  you  say,  he  must  certainly  have  forgotten.  That 
view  of  the  matter  quite  escaped  me.  I  was  just  wishing  I 
had  you  to  consult,  when  you  came  into  the  room.     And 


7&  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

here  I  am  tied  by  a  formal  prohibition,  which  can  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  intended  to  include  you.  How  very  annoy- 
ing  ! " 

Obenreizer's  filmy  eyes  were  fixed  on  Vendale  atten- 
tively. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  more  than  annoying  !  "  he  said.  "  I  came 
this  morning  not  only  to  hear  the  news,  but  to  offer  myself 
as  messenger,  negotiator — what  you  will.  Would  you  believe 
it  ?  I  have  letters  which  oblige  me  to  go  to  Switzerland 
immediately.  Messages,  documents,  any  thing — I  could 
have  taken  all  to  Defresnier  and  Rolland  for  you." 

"  You  are  the  very  man  I  wanted,"  returned  Vendale. 
"  I  had  decided,  most  unwillingly,  on  going  to  Neuchatel 
myself,  not  five  minutes  since,  because  I  could  find  no  one 
here  capable  of  taking  my  place.  Let  me  look  at  the  letter 
again." 

He  opened  the  strong  room  to  get  at  the  letter.  Obenrei- 
zer,  after  first  glancing  round  him  to  make  sure  that  they 
were  alone,  followed  a  step  or  two  and  waited,  measuring 
Vendale  with  his  eye.  Vendale  was  the  tallest  man,  and 
unmistakably  the  strongest  man  also  of  the  two.  Obenreizer 
turned  away,  and  warmed  himself  at  the  fire. 

Meanwhile,  Vendale  read  the  last  paragraph  in  the  letter 
for  the  third  time.  There  was  the  plain  warning — there  was 
the  closing  sentence,  which  insisted  on  a  literal  interpretation 
of  it.  The  hand,  which  was  leading  Vendale  in  the  dark, 
led  him  on  that  condition  only.  A  large  sum  was  at  stake  : 
a  terrible  suspicion  remained  to  be  verified.  If  he  acted  on 
his  own  responsibility,  and  if  any  thing  happened  to  defeat 
the  object  in  view,  who  would  be  blamed  ?  As  a  man  of 
business,  Vendale  had  but  one  course  to  follow.  He  locked 
the  letter  up  again. 

"  It  is  most  annoying,"  he  said  to  Obenreizer — "  it  is  a 
piece  of  forgetfulness  on  Monsieur  Rolland's  part  which  puts 
me  to  serious  inconvenience,  and  places  me  in  an  absurdly 
false  position  toward  you.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  am  acting 
in  a  very  serious  matter,  and  acting  entirely  in  the  dark.  I 
have  no  choice  but  to  be  guided,  not  by  the  spirit,  but  by 
the  letter  of  my  instructions.  You  understand  me,  I  am 
sure  ?  You  know,  if  I  had  not  been  fettered  in  this  way, 
how  gladly  I  should  have  accepted  your  services  ?  " 

"  Say  no  more  !  "  returned  Obenreizer.  "  In  your  place 
I  should  have  done  the  same.  My  good  friend,  I  take  no 
offense.     I  thank  you  for  your  compliment.     We  shall  be 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  77 

traveling    companions,    at    any    rate,"    added    Obenreizer. 

"  You  go,  as  I  go,  at  once  ?  " 

"  At  once.     I  must  speak  to  Marguerite  first,  of  course  !  " 
"  Surely  !  surely  !     Speak  to  her  this  evening.    Come,  and 

pick  me  up  on  the  way  to  the  station.     We  go  together  by 

the  mail  train  to-night  ?  " 

It  was  later  than  Vendale  had  anticipated  when  he  drove 
up  to  the  house  in  Soho  Square.  Business  difficulties,  occa- 
sioned by  his  sudden  departure,  had  presented  themselves 
by  dozens.  A  cruelly  large  share  of  the  time  which  he  had 
hoped  to  devote  to  Marguerite  had  been  claimed  by  duties 
at  his  office  which  it  was  impossible  to  neglect. 

To  his  surprise  and  delight,  she  was  alone  in  the  draw- 
ing room  when  he  entered  it. 

"  We  have  only  a  few  minutes,  George,"  she  said.  "  But 
Madame  Dor  has  been  good  to  me — and  we  can  have  those 
few  minutes  alone."  She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck, 
and  whispered  eagerly,  "  Have  you  done  any  thing  to  offend 
Mr.  Obenreizer  ? " 

"  I  !  "  exclaimed  Vendale,  in  amazement. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  "  I  want  to  whisper  it.  You  know  the 
iittle  photograph  I  have  got  of  you.  This  afternoon  it  hap- 
pened to  be  oh  the  chimney-piece.  He  took  it  up  and 
looked  at  it — and  I  saw  his  face  in  the  glass.  I  know  you 
have  offended  him.  He  is  merciless  ;  he  is  revengeful  ;  he 
is  as  secret  as  the  grave.  Don't  go  with  him,  George — don't 
go  with  him  !  " 

"  My  own  love,"  returned  Vendale,  "  you  are  letting  your 
fancy  frighten  you  !  Obenreizer  and  I  were  never  better 
friends  than  we  are  at  this  moment." 

Before  a  word  could  be  saidt  ,he  sudden  movement  of  some 
ponderous  body  shook  the  floor  of  the  next  room.  The  shock 
was  followed  by  the  appearance  of  Madame  Dor.  "  Oben- 
reizer !  "  exclaimed  this  excellent  person  in  a  whisper,  and 
plumped  down  instantly  in  her  regular  place  by  the  stove. 

Obenreizer  came  in  with  a  courier's  bag  strapped  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  he  asked,  addressing  Vendale.  "  Can 
I  take  any  thing  for  you  ?  You  have  no  traveling-bag.  I 
have  got  one.  Here  is  the  compartment  for  papers,  open  at 
your  service." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Vendale.  "I  have  only  one  paper  of 
importance  with  me  ;  and  that  paper  I  am  bound  to  take 


78  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

charge  of  myself.  Here  it  is,"  he  added,  touching  the 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  "  and  here  it  must  remain  till  we 
get  to  Neuchatel." 

As  he  said  those  words,  Marguerite's  hand  caught  his,  and 
pressed  it  significantly.  She  was  looking  toward  Obenrei- 
zer.  Before  Vendale  could  look,  in  his  turn,  Obenreizer 
had  wheeled  round,  and  was  taking  leave  of  Madame  Dor. 

"  Adieu,  my  charming  niece  !  "  he  said,  turning  to  Mar- 
guerite next.  "  En  route,  my  frtend,  for  Neuchatel  ?  "  He 
tapped  Vendale  lightly  over  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat, 
and  led  the  way  to  the  door. 

Vendale's  last  look  was  for  Marguerite.  Marguerite's  last 
words  to  him  were,  "  Don't  go  !  " 


ACT  III. 

IN    THE   VALLEY. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  month  of  February  when 
Vendale  and  Obenreizer  set  forth  on  their  expedition.  The 
winter  being  a  hard  one,  the  time  was  bad  for  travelers.  So 
bad  was  it  that  these  two  travelers  coming  to  Strasburg, 
found  its  great  inns  almost  empty.  And  even  the  people 
they  did  encounter  in  that  city,  who  had  started  from  En- 
gland or  from  Paris  on  business  journeys  toward  the  interior 
of  Switzerland,  were  turning  back. 

Many  of  the  railroads  in  Switzerland  that  tourists  pass 
easily  now,  were  almost  or  quite  impracticable  then.  Some 
were  not  begun  ;  more  were  not  completed.  On  such  as 
were  open,  there  were  still  large  gaps  of  old  road  where 
communication  in  the  winter  season  was  often  stopped  ;  on 
others,  there  were  weak  points  where  the  new  work  was  not 
safe,  either  under  conditions  of  severe  frost,  or  of  rapid 
thaw.  The  running  of  trains  on  this  last  class  was  not  to  be 
counted  on  in  the  worst  time  of  the  year,  was  contingent 
upon  the  weather,  or  was  wholly  abandoned  through  the 
months  considered  the  most  dangerous. 

At  Strasburg  there  were  more  travelers'  stories  afloat,  re- 
specting the  difficulties  of  the  way  further  on,  than  there 
were  travelers  to  relate  them.  Many  of  these  tales  were  as 
wild  as  usual ;  but  the  more  modestly  marvelous  did  derive 
some  color  from  the  circumstance  that  people  were  indisputa- 
bly turning  back.     However,  as  the  road  to  Basle  was  open, 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  79 

Vendale's  resolution  to  push  on  was  in  nowise  disturbed. 
Obenreizer's  resolution  was  necessarily  Vendale_'s,  seeing 
that  he  stood  at  bay  thus  desperately  :  he  must  be  ruined, 
or  must  destroy  the  evidence  that  Vendale  carried  about 
him,  even  if  he  destroyed  Vendale  with  it. 

The  state  of  mind  of  each  of  these  two  fellow-travelers  to- 
ward the  other  was  this.  Obenreizer,  encircled  by  impend- 
ing ruin  through  Vendale's  quickness  of  action,  and  seeing 
the  circle  narrowed  every  hour  by  Vendale's  energy,  hated 
him  with  the  animosity  of  a  fierce,  cunning  lower  animal. 
He  had  always  had  instinctive  movements  in  his  breast 
against  him  ;  perhaps,  because  of  that  old  sore  of  gentleman 
and  peasant  ;  perhaps,  because  of  the  openness  of  his  na- 
ture ;  perhaps,  because  of  his  better  looks  ;  perhaps,  because 
of  his  success  with  Marguerite  ;  perhaps,  on  all  those 
grounds,  the  last  two  not  the  least.  And  now  he  saw  in 
him,  besides,  the  hunter  who  was  tracking  him  down.  Ven- 
dale, on  the  other  hand,  always  contending  generously  against 
his  first  vague  mistrust,  now  felt  bound  to  contend  against  it 
more  than  ever:  reminding  himself,  "He  is  Marguerite's 
guardian.  We  are  on  perfectly  friendly  terms  ;  he  is  my 
companion  of  his  own  proposal,  and  can  have  no  interested 
motive  in  sharing  this  undesirable  journey."  To  which 
pleas  in  behalf  of  Obenreizer,  chance  added  one  consider- 
ation more,  when  they  came  to  Basle  after  a  journey  of 
more  than  twice  the  average  duration. 

They  had  had  a  late  dinner,  and  were  alone  in  an  inn  room 
there,  overhanging  the  Rhine  :  at  that  place  rapid  and  deep, 
swollen  and  loud.  Vendale  lounged  upon  a  couch,  and  Oben- 
reizer walked  to  and  fro  ;  now,  stopping  at  the  window, 
looking  at  the  crooked  reflections  of  the  town  lights  in  the 
dark  water  (and  peradventure  thinking,  "If  I  could  fling 
him  into  it  !  "),  now,  resuming  his  walk  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Where  shall  I  rob  him,  if  I  can  ?  Wmere  shall  I  murder 
him,  if  I  must  ? "  So,  as  he  paced  the  room,  ran  the  river, 
ran  the  river,  ran  the  river. 

The  burden  seemed  to  him,  at  last,  to  be  growing  so  plain 
that  he  stopped,  thinking  it  as  well  to  suggest  another  bur- 
den to  his  companion. 

"The  Rhine  sounds  to-night,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "like 
the  old  waterfall  at  home.  That  waterfall  which  my  mother 
showed  to  travelers  (as  I  told  you  of  it  once).  The  sound  of  it 
changed  with  the  weather,  as  does  the  sound  of  all  falling 


So  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

waters  and  flowing  waters.  When  I  was  pupil  of  the  watch- 
maker, I  remembered  it  as  sometimes  saying  to  me  for  whole 
days,  '  Who  are  you,  my  little  wretch  ?  Who  are  you,  my  lit- 
tle wretch  ? '  I  remembered  it  as  saying,  other  times,  when 
its  sound  was  hollow,  and  a  storm  was  coming  up  the  pass  : 
1  Boom,  boom,  boom.  Beat  him,  beat  him,  beat  him.'  Like 
my  mother  enraged — if  she  was  my  mother." 

"  If  she  was  ?  "  said  Vendale,  gradually  changing  his  atti- 
tude to  a  sitting  one.     "  If  she  was  ?    Why  do  you  say  '  it  ? '  " 

"  What  do  I  know  ?"  replied  the  other  negligently,  throw- 
ing up  his  hands  and  letting  them  fall  as  they  would.  "  What 
would  you  have  ?  I  am  so  obscurely  born,  that  how  can  I 
say  ?  I  was  very  young,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  family  were 
men  and  women,  and  my  so-called  parents  were  old.  Any 
thing  is  possible  of  a  case  like  that." 

"  Did  you  ever  doubt — ? " 

"  I  told  you  once,  I  doubt  the  marriage  of  those  two," 
he  replied,  throwing  up  his  hands  again,  as  if  he  were  throw- 
ing the  unprofitable  subject  away.  "  But  here  I  am  in  crea- 
tion,    /come  of  no  fine  family.     What  does  it  matter  ?" 

"  At  least  you  are  Swiss,"  said  Vendale,  after  following 
him  with  his  eyes  to  and  fro. 

"  How  do  I  know  ? "  he  retorted  abruptly,  and  stopping 
to  look  back  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  say  to  you,  at  least  you 
are  English.     How  do  you  know  ? " 

"  By  what  I  have  been  told  from  infancy." 

"Ah!     I  know  of  myself  that  way." 

"  And,"  added  Vendale,  pursuing  the  thought  that  h& 
could  not  drive  back,  "  by  my  earliest  recollections." 

"  I  also.  I  know  of  myself  that  way — if  that  way  satis- 
fies." 

"  Does  it  not  satisfy  you  ?" 

"It  must.  There  is  nothing  like  'it  must '  in  this  little 
world.  It  must.  Two  short  words  those,  but  stronger  than 
long  proof  of  reasoning." 

"  You  and  poor  Wilding  were  born  in  the  same  year.  You 
were  nearly  of  an  age,"  said  Vendale,  again  thoughtfully 
looking  after  him  as  he  resumed  his  pacing  up  and  down. 

"Yes.     Very  nearly." 

Could  Obenreizer  be  the  missing  man  ?  In  the  unknown 
associations  of  things,  was  there  a  subtler  meaning  than  he 
himself  thought,  in  that  theory  so  often  on  his  lips  about 
the  smallness  of  the  world.  Had  the  Swiss  letter  present- 
ing him  followed  so  close  on  Mrs.  Goldstraw's  revelation 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  8t 

concerning  the  infant  who  had  been  taken  away  to  Switzer- 
land, because  he  was  that  infant  grown  a  man  ?  In  a  world 
where  so  many  depths  lie  unsounded,  it  might  be.  The 
chances,  or  the  laws — call  them  either — that  had  wrought 
out  the  revival  of  Vendale's  own  acquaintance  with  Oben- 
reizer,  and  had  ripened  it  into  intimacy,  and  had  brought 
the*in  here  together  this  present  winter  night,  were  hardly 
less  curious  ;  while  read  by  such  a  light,  they  were  seen  to 
cohere  toward  the  furtherance  of  a  continuous  and  an  intel- 
ligible purpose. 

Vendale's  awakened  thoughts  ran  high  while  his  eye  mus- 
ingly followed  Obenreizer  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  the 
river  ever  running  to  the  tune  :  "  Where  shall  I  rob  him,  if 
I  can  ?  Where  shall  I  murder  him,  if  I  must  ?  "  The  secret 
of  his  dead  friend  was  in  no  hazard  from  Vendale's  lips  ; 
but  just  as  his  friend  had  died  of  its  weight,  so  did  he  in  his 
lighter  succession  feel  the  burden  of  the  trust,  and  the  obli- 
gation to  follow  any  clew,  however  obscure.  He  rapidly 
asked  himself,  would  he  like  this  man  to  be  the  real  Wild- 
ing ?  No.  Argue  down  his  mistrust  as  he  might,  he  was 
unwilling  to  put  such  a  substitute  in  the  place  of  his  late 
guileless,  outspoken,  childlike  partner.  He  rapidly  asked 
himself,  would  he  like  this  man  to  be  rich  ?  No.  He  had 
more  power  than  enough  over  Marguerite  as  it  was,  and 
wealth  might  invest  him  with  more.  Would  he  like  this  man 
to  be  Marguerite's  guardian,  and  yet  proved  to  stand  in  no 
degree  of  relationship  toward  her,  however  disconnected  and 
distant  ?  No.  But  these  were  not  considerations  to  come 
between  him  and  fidelity  to  the  dead.  Let  him  see  to  it  that 
they  passed  him  with  no  other  notice  than  the  knowledge 
that  they  had  passed  him,  and  left  him  bent  on  the  discharge 
of  a  solemn  duty.  And  he  did  see  to  it,  so  soon  that  he 
followed  his  companion  with  ungrudging  eyes,  while  he  still 
paced  the  room  ;  that  companion  whom  he  supposed  to  be 
moodily  reflecting  on  his  own  birth,  and  not  on  another 
man's — least  of  all  what  man's — violent  death. 

The  road  in  advance  from  Basle  to  Neuchatel  was  better 
than  had  been  represented.  The  latest  weather  had  done  it 
good.  Drivers,  both  of  horses  and  mules,  had  come  in  that 
evening  after  dark,  and  had  reported  nothing  more  difficult 
to  be  overcome  than  trials  of  patience,  harness,  wheels,  axles 
and  whip-cord.  A  bargain  was  soon  struck  for  a  carriage 
and  horses  to  take  them  on,  in  the  morning,  and  to  start 
before  daylight. 


82  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  Do  you  lock  your  door  at  night  when  traveling  ? "  asked 
Obenreizer,  standing  warming  his  hands  by  the  wood-fire  in 
Vendale's  chamber,  before  going  to  his  own. 

"  Not  I.     I  sleep  too  soundly." 

"You  are  so  sound  a  sleeper?"  he  retorted,  with  an  ad- 
miring look.     "  What  a  blessing  I  " 

"  Any  thing  but  a  blessing  to  the  rest  of  the  house,"  re« 
joined  Vendale,  "  if  I  had  to  be  knocked  up  in  the  morning 
from  the  outside  of  my  bedroom  door." 

"I,  too,"  said  Obenreizer,  "leave  open  my  room.  But  let 
me  advise  you,  as  a  Swiss  who  knows  ;  always,  when  you 
travel  in  my  country,  put  your  papers — and,  of  course,  your 
money — under  your  pillow.     Always  the  same  place." 

"You  are  not  complimentary  to  your  countrymen," 
laughed  Vendale. 

"  My  countrymen,"  said  Obenreizer,  with  that  light  touch 
of  his  friend's  elbows  by  way  of  good-night  and  benediction, 
"  I  suppose  are  like  the  majority  of  men.  And  the  majority 
of  men  will  take  what  they  can  get.  Adieu  !  At  four  in  the 
morning." 

"Adieu  !     At  four!" 

Left  to  himself,  Vendale  raked  the  logs  together,  sprinkled 
over  them  the  white  wood-ashes  lying  on  the  hearth,  and  sat 
down  to  compose  his  thoughts.  But  they  still  ran  high  on 
their  latest  theme,  and  the  running  of  the  river  tended  to 
agitate  rather  than  to  quiet  them.  As  he  sat  thinking,  what 
little  disposition  he  had  had  to  sleep  departed.  He  felt  it 
hopeless  to  lie  down  yet,  and  sat  dressed  by  the  fire.  Mar- 
guerite, Wilding,  Obenreizer,  the  business  he  was  then  upon, 
and  a  thousand  hopes  and  doubts  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  occupied  his  mind  at  once.  Every  thing  seemed  to 
have  power  over  him  but  slumber.  The  departed  disposition 
to  sleep  kept  far  away. 

He  had  sat  for  a  long  time  thinking,  on  the  hearth,  when 
his  candle  burned  down  and  its  light  went  out.  It  was  of 
little  moment ;  there  was  light  enough  in  the  fire.  He 
changed  his  attitude,  and  leaning  his  arm  on  the  chair-back, 
and  his  chin  upon  that  hand,  sat  thinking  still. 

But  he  sat  between  the  fire  and  the  bed,  and  as  the  fire 
flickered  in  the  play  of  air  from  the  fast-flowing  river,  his  en- 
larged shadow  fluttered  on  the  white  wall  by  the  bedside. 
His  attitude  gave  it  an  air  half  of  mourning  and  half  of 
bending  over  the  bed  imploring.  His  eyes  were  obser- 
vant of   it,    when  he  became  troubled  by  the  disagreeable 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  83 

fancy   that   it  was    like    Wilding's    shadow,    and    not    his 
own. 

A  slight  change  of  place  would  cause  it  to  disappear.  He 
made  the  change,  and  the  apparition  of  his  disturbed  fancy 
vanished.  He  now  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  little  nook  beside 
the  fire,  and  the  door  of  the  room  was  before  him. 

It  had  a  long,  cumbrous  iron  latch.  He  saw  the  latch 
slowly  and  softly  rise.  The  door  opened  a  very  little,  and 
came  to  again,  as  though  only  the  air  had  moved  it.  But 
he  saw  that  the  latch  was  out  of  the  hasp. 

The  door  opened  again  very  slowly,  until  it  opened  wide 
enough  to  admit  some  one.  It  afterward  remained  still  for 
a  while,  as  though  cautiously  held  open  on  the  other  side. 
The  figure  of  a  man  then  entered,  with  its  face  turned  toward 
the  bed,  and  stood  quiet  just  within  the  door.  Until  it  said, 
in  a  low  half-whisper,  at  the  same  time  taking  one  step  for- 
ward :  "  Vendale  !  " 

"  What  now  ? "  he  answered,  springing  from  his  seat  ; 
"who  is  it  ?  " 

It  was  Obenreizer,  and  he  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  as 
Vendale  came  upon  him  from  that  unexpected  direction. 
"  Not  in  bed  ?  "  he  said,  catching  him  by  both  shoulders 
with  an  instinctive  tendency  to  a  struggle,  "  then  something 
is  wrong  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Vendale,  releasing  himself. 

"  First  tell  me  ;  you  are  not  ill  ?  " 

"111?     No." 

"  I  have  had  a  bad  dream  about  you.  How  is  it  that  I 
see  you  up  and  dressed  ? " 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  may  as  well  ask  you  how  it  is  that  I 
see  you  up  and  undressed  ? " 

"  I  have  told  you  why.  -  I  have  had  a  bad  dream  about 
you.  I  tried  to  rest  after  it,  but  it  was  impossible.  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  stay  where  I  was  without  knowing 
you  were  safe  ;  and  yet  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to 
come  in  here.  I  have  been  minutes  hesitating  at  the  door. 
It  is  so  easy  to  laugh  at  a  dream  you  have  not  dreamed. 
Where  is  your  candle  ?" 

"  Burned  out." 

"  I  have  a  whole  one  in  my  room.     Shall  I  fetch  it  ? " 

"Do  so." 

His  room  was  very  near,  and  he  was  absent  for  but  a  few 
seconds.  Coming  back  with  the  candle  in  his  hand,  he 
kneeled  down  on  the  hearth  and  lighted  it.  As  he  blew  with 


84  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

his  breath  a  charred  billet  into  flame  for  the  purpose,  Ven- 
dale,  looking  down  at  him,  saw  that  his  lips  were  white  and 
not  easy  of  control. 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Obenreizer,  setting  the  lighted  candle  on  the 
table,  "  it  was  a  bad  dream.     Only  look  at  me  !  " 

His  feet  were  bare  ;  his  red-flannel  shirt  was  thrown  back 
at  the  throat,  and  its  sleeves  were  rolled!  above  the  elbows  ; 
his  only  other  garment,  a  pair  of  under  pantaloons  or  drawers, 
reaching  to  the  ankles,  fitted  him  close  and  tight.  A  certain 
lithe  and  savage  appearance  was  on  his  figure,  and  his  eyes 
were  very  bright. 

"  If  there  had  been  a  wrestle  with  a  robber,  as  I  dreamed," 
said  Obenreizer,  "you  see,  I  was  stripped  for  it." 

"And  armed,  too,"   said   Vendale,  glancing  at  his  girdle. 

"A  traveler's  dagger,  that  I  always  carry  on  the  road," 
he  answered  carelessly,  half  drawing  it  from  its  sheath  with 
his  left  hand,  and  putting  it  back  again.  "  Do  you  carry  no 
such  thing  ? " 

11  Nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  No  pistols  ?  "  said  Obenreizer,  glancing  at  the  table,  and 
from  it  to  the  untouched  pillow. 

"  Nothing' of  the  sort." 

"  You  Englishmen  are  so  confident  !     You  wish  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  I  have  wished  to  sleep  this  long  time,  but  I  can't  do  it." 

"  I  neither,  after  the  bad  dream.  My  fire  has  -gone  the 
way  of  your  candle.  May  I  come  and  sit  by  yours  ?  Two 
o'clock  !  It  will  so  soon  be  four,  that  it  is  not  worth  the  trou- 
ble to  go  to  bed  again." 

"  I  shall  not  take  the  trouble  to  go  to  bed  at  all,  now," 
said  Vendale  ;  "  sit  here  and  keep  me  company,  and  wel- 
come." 

Going  back  to  his  room  to  arrange  his  dress,  Oben- 
reizer soon  returned  in  a  loose  cloak  and  slippers,  and  they 
sat  down  on  opposite  sides  of  the  hearth.  In  the  interval 
Vendale  had  replenished  the  fire  from  the  wood-basket  in 
his  room,  and  Obenreizer  had  put  upon  the  table  a  flask  and 
cup  from  his. 

"  Common  cabaret  brandy,  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  pouring 
out  ;  "  bought  upon  the'  road,  and  not  like  yours  from  Crip- 
ple Corner.  But  yours  is  exhausted  ;  so  much  the  worse. 
A  cold  night,  a  cold  time  of  night,  a  cold  country,  and  a  cold 
house.     This  may  be  better  than  nothing  ;  try  it." 

Vendale  took  the  cup  and  did  so. 

"  How  do  you  find  it  ?  " 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  85 

"  It  has  a  coarse  after-flavor,''  said  Vendale,  giving  back 
the  cup  with  a  slight  shudder,  "  and  I  don't  like  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Obenreizer,  tasting  and  smacking 
his  lips  ;  "  it  has  a  coarse  after-flavor,  and  /  don't  like  it. 
Booh  !  it  burns,  though  !  "  He  had  flung  what  remained  in 
the  cup  upon  the  fire. 

Each  of  them  leaned  an  elbow  on  the  table,  reclined  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  and  sat  looking  at  the  flaring  logs. 
Obenreizer  remained  watchful  and  still  ;  but  Vendale,  after 
certain  nervous  twitches  and  starts,  in  one  of  which  he  rose 
to  his  feet  and  looking  wildly  about  him,  fell  into  the 
strangest  confusion  of  dreams.  He  carried  his  papers  in  a 
leather  case  or  pocket-book,  in  an  inner  breast-pocket  of  his 
buttoned  traveling  coat  ;  and  whatever  he  dreamed  of,  in 
the  lethargy  that  got  possession  of  him,  something  import- 
ant in  these  papers  called  him  out  of  that  dream,  though  he 
could  not  wake  from  it.  He  was  belated  on  the  steppes  of 
Russia  (some  shadowy  person  gave  that  name  to  the  place) 
with  Marguerite  ;  and  yet  the  sensation  of  a  hand  at  his 
breast,  softly  feeling  the  outline  of  the  pocket-book  as  he  lay 
asleep  before  the  fire  was  present  to  him.  He  was  ship- 
wrecked in  an  open  boat  at  sea,  and  having  lost  his  clothes, 
had  no  other  covering  than  an  old  sail ;  and  yet  a  creeping 
hand,  tracing  outside  all  the  other  pockets  of  the  dress  he 
actually  wore,  for  papers,  and  finding  none  answered  his 
touch,  warned  him  to  arouse  himself.  He  was  in  the  an- 
cient vault  at  Cripple  Corner,  to  which  was  transferred 
the  very  bed  substantial  and  present  in  that  very  room  at 
Basle  ;  and  Wilding  (not  dead,  as  he  had  supposed,  and  yet 
he  did  not  wonder  much)  shook  him  and  whispered,  u  Look 
at  that  man  ?  Don't  you  see  he  has  risen,  and  is  turning 
the  pillow  ?  Why  should  he  turn  the  pillow,  if  not  to  seek 
those  papers  that  are  in  your  breast  ?  Awake  !  "  And  yet 
h'>  slept,  and  wandered  off  into  other  dreams. 

Watchful  and  still,  with  his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his 
head  upon  that  hand,  his  companion  at  length  said  :  "  Ven- 
dale !  We  are  called.  Past  four  !  "  Then  opening  his  eyes, 
he  saw,  turned  sideways  on  him,  the  filmy  face  of  Obenreizer. 

"  You  have  been  in  a  heavy  sleep,"  he  said.  "  The  fatigue 
of  constant  traveling  and  the  cold  !  " 

"I  am  broad  awake  now,"  cried  Vendale,  springing  up, 
but  with  an  unsteady  footing.  "  Haven't  you  slept  at 
all  ?" 

"  I  may  have  dozed,  but  I  seem  to  have  been  patiently 


86  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

looking  at  the  fire.  Whether  or  no,  we  must  wash,  and  break- 
fast, and  turn  out.     Past  four,  Vendale  ;  past  four  !  " 

It  was  said  in  a  tone  to  rouse  him,  for  already  he  was  half 
asleep  again.  In  his  preparation  for  the  day,  too,  and  at  his 
breakfast,  he  was  often  virtually  asleep  while  in  mechanical 
action.  It  was  not  until  the  cold,  dark  day  was  closing  in, 
that  he  had  any  distincter  impressions  of  the  ride  than  jing- 
ling bells,  bitter  weather,  slipping  horses,  frowning  hill-sides, 
bleak  woods,  and  a  stoppage  at  some  wayside  house  of  enter- 
tainment, where  they  had  passed  through  a  cowhouse  to 
reach  the  travelers'  room  above.  He  had  been  conscious  of 
little  more,  except  of  Obenreizer  sitting  thoughtful  at  his 
side  all  day,  and  eying  him  much. 

But  when  he  shook  off  his  stupor,  Obenreizer  was  not  at 
his  side.  The  carriage  was  stopping  to  bait  at  another  way- 
side house  ;  and  a  line  of  long  narrow  carts,  laden  with  casks 
of  wine,  and  drawn  by  horses  with  a  quantity  of  blue  collar 
and  head-gear,  were  baiting  too.  These  came  from  the  di- 
rection in  which  the  travelers  were  going,  and  Obenreizer 
(not  thoughtful  now,  but  cheerful  and  alert)  was  talking  with 
the  foremost  driver.  As  Vendale  stretched  his  limbs,  circu- 
lated his  blood,  and  cleared  off  the  lees  of  his  lethargy,  with 
a  sharp  run  to  and  fro  in  the  bracing  air,  the  line  of  cars 
moved  on,  the  drivers  all  saluting  Obenreizer  as  they  passed 
him. 

"  Who  are  those  ?  "  asked  Vendale. 

"  They  are  our  carriers — Defresnier  and  Company's,"  re- 
plied Obenreizer.  "  Those  are  our  casks  of  wine."  He  was 
singing  to  himself,  and  lighting  a  cigar. 

"  I  have  been  drearily  dull  company  to  day,"  said  Ven- 
dale.    "  I  don't  know  what  has  been  the  matter  with  me." 

"  You  had  no  sleep  last  night  ;  and  a  kind  of  brain-con- 
gestion frequently  comes,  at  first,  of  such  cold,"  said  Oben- 
reizer. "  I  have  seen  it  often.  After  all,  we  shall  have  our 
journey  for  nothing,  it  seems." 

"  How  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  The  house  is  at  Milan.  You  know,  we  are  a  wine-house 
at  Neuchatel,  and  a  silk  house  at  Milan  ?  Well,  silk  happen- 
ing to  press  of  a  sudden,  more  than  wine,  Defresnier  was 
summoned  to  Milan.  Rolland,  the  other  partner,  has  been 
taken  ill  since  his  departure,  and  the  doctors  will  allow  him 
to  see  no  one.  A  letter  awaits  you  at  Neuchatel  to  tell  you. 
I  have  it  from  our  chief  carrier  whom  you  saw  me  talking 
with.     He    was    surprised    to   see    me,    and  said   he  had 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  87 

that  word  for  you  if  he  met  you.  What  do  you  do  ?  Go 
back  ? " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Vendale. 

"  On  ?  " 

"  On.     Yes.     Across  the  Alps,  and  down  to  Milan." 

Obenreizer  stopped  in  his  smoking  to  look  at  Vendale,  and 
then  smoked  heavily,  looked  up  the  road,  looked  down  the 
road,  looked  down  at  the  stones  in  the  road  at  his  feet. 

"I  have  a  very  serious  matter  in  charge,"  said  Vendale  ; 
"  more  of  these  missing  forms  may  be  turned  to  as  bad  ac- 
count, or  worse  ;  I  am  urged  to  lose  no  time  in  helping  the 
house  to  take  the  thief  ;  and  nothing  shall  turn  me  back." 

"  No  ?  "  cried  Obenreizer,  taking  out  his  cigar  to  smile, 
and  giving  his  hand  to  his  fellow  traveler.  "  Then  nothing 
shall  turn  me  back.  Ho,  driver  !  Dispatch.  Quick  there  ! 
Let  us  push  on  ! 

They  traveled  through  the  night.  There  had  been  snow, 
and  there  was  a  partial  thaw,  and  they  mostly  traveled  at  a 
foot  pace,  and  always  with  many  stoppages  to  breathe  the 
splashed  and  floundering  horses.  After  an  hour's  broad  day- 
light they  drew  reins  at  the  inn-door  at  Neuchatel,  having 
been  some  eight-and-twenty  hours  in  conquering  some  eighty 
English  miles. 

When  they  had  hurriedly  refreshed  and  changed,  they 
went  together  to  the  house  of  business  of  Defresnier  & 
Company.  There  they  found  the  letter  which  the  wine-car- 
rier had  described,  inclosing  the  tests  and  comparisons  of 
handwriting  essential  to  the  discovery  of  the  forger.  Ven- 
dale's  determination  to  press  forward,  without  resting,  being 
already  taken,  the  only  question  to  delay  them  was  by  what 
pass  could  they  cross  the  Alps  ?  Respecting  the  state  of  the 
passes  of  the  St.  Gotthard  and  the  Simplon,  the  guides  and 
mule-drivers  differed  greatly  ;  and  both  passes  were  still  far 
enough  off,  to  prevent  the  travelers  from  having  the  benefit 
of  any  recent  experience  of  either.  Besides  which,  they  well 
knew  that  a  fall  of  snow  might  altogether  change  the  de- 
scribed conditions  in  a  single  hour,  even  if  they  were  correctly 
stated.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  Simplon  appearing  to  be  the 
more  hopeful  route,  Vendale  decided  to  take  it.  Obenreizer 
bore  little  or  no  part  in  the    discussion,  and  scarcely  spoke. 

To  Geneva,  to  Lausanne,  along  the  level  margin  of  the  lake 
to  Vevay,  so  into  the  winding  valley  between  the  spurs  of  the 
mountains,and  into  the  valley  of  the  Rhone.  The  sound  of  the 
carriage-wheels,  as  they  rattled  on,  through  the  day,  through 


88  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

the  night,  became  as  the  wheels  of  a  great  clock,  recording 
the  hours.  No  change  of  weather  varied  the  journey,  after  it 
had  hardened  into  a  sullen  frost.  In  a  somber  yellow  sky,  they 
saw  Alpine  ranges  ;  and  they  saw  enough  of  snow  on  nearer 
and  much  lower  hill-tops  and  hill-sides,  to  sully,  by  contrast, 
the  purity  of  lake,  torrent,  and  waterfall,  and  make  the  vil- 
lages look  discolored  and  dirty.  But  no  snow  fell,  nor  were 
there  any  snow-drifts  on  the  road.  The  stalking  along  the 
vailey  of  more  or  less  of  white  mist,  changing  on  their  hair 
an<=J  dress  into  icicles,  was  the  only  variety  between  them 
and  the  gloomy  sky.  And  still  by  day,  and  still  by  night, 
the  wheels.  And  still  they  rolled,  in  the  hearing  of  one 
of  them,  to  the  burden,  altered  from  the  burden  of  the 
Rhine  :  "  The  time  is  gone  for  robbing  him  alive,  and  I 
must  murder  him." 

They  came  at  length  to  the  poor  little  town  of  Brieg,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Simplon.  They  came  there  after  dark,  but 
yet  could  see  how  dwarfed  men's  works  and  men  became 
with  the  immense  mountains  towering  over  them.  Here 
they  must  lie  for  the  night  ;  and  here  was  warmth  of  fire, 
and  lamp,  and  dinner,  and  wine,  and  after-conference 
resounding,  with  guides  and  drivers.  No  human  creature 
had  come  across  the  pass  for  four  days.  The  snow  above 
the  snow-line  was  too  hard  for  wheeled  carriage,  and 
not  hard  enough  for  sledge.  There  was  snow  in  the  sky. 
There  had  been  snow  in  the  sky  for  days  past,  and  the 
marvel  was  that  it  had  not  fallen,  and  the  certainty  was 
that  it  must  fall.  No  vehicle  could  cross.  The  journey 
might  be  tried  on  mules,  or  it  might  be  tried  on  foot ;  but 
the  best  guides  must  be  paid  danger-price  in  either  case, 
and  that,  too,  whether  they  succeeded  in  taking  the  two 
travelers  across,  or  turned  for  safety  and  brought  them  back. 

In  this  discussion  Obenreizer  bore  no  part  whatever.  He 
sat  silently  smoking  by  the  fire  until  the  room  was  cleared 
and  Vendale  referred  to  him. 

"  Bah  !  I  am  weary  of  these  poor  devils  and  their  trade," 
he  said,  in  reply.  "  Always  the  same  story.  It  is  the  story 
of  their  trade  to-day,  as  it  was  the  story  of  their  trade  when 
I  was  a  ragged  boy.  What  do  you  and  I  want  ?  We  want  a 
knapsack  each,  and  a  mountain-staff  each.  We  want  no 
guide  ;  we  should  guide  him  ;  he  would  not  guide  us.  We 
leave  our  portmanteaus  here,  and  we  cross  together.  We 
have  been  on  the  mountains  together  before  now,  and  I  am 
mountain-born,  and  I  know  this  pass — pass  ! — rather    high 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  89 

road  !— by  heart.  We  will  leave  these  poor  devils,  in 
pity,  to  trade  with  others  ;  but  they  must  not  delay  us  to 
make  a  pretense  of  earning  money.  Which  is  all  they 
mean." 

Vendale,  glad  to  be  quit  of  the  dispute,  and  to  cut  the 
knot ;  active,  adventurous,  bent  on  getting  forward,  and 
therefore  very  susceptible  to  the  last  hint  :  readily  assented. 
Within  two  hours  they  had  purchased  what  they  wanted  for 
the  expedition,  had  packed  their  knapsacks,  and  lay  down  to 
sleep. 

At  break  of  day,  they  found  half  the  town  collected  in 
the  narrow  street  to  see  them  depart.  The  people  talked 
together  in  groups  ;  the  guides  and  drivers  whispered  apart, 
and  looked  up  at  the  sky  ;  no  one  wished  them  a  good  jour- 
ney. 

As  they  began  the  ascent,  a  gleam  of  sun  shone  from  the 
otherwise  unaltered  sky,  and  for  a  moment  turned  the  tin 
spires  of  the  town  to  silver. 

"  A  good  omen  !  "  said  Vendale  (though  it  died  out  while 
he  spoke).  "  Perhaps  our  example  will  open  the  pass  on 
this  side." 

"  No  ;  we  shall  not  be  followed,"  returned  Obenreizer, 
looking  up  at  the  sky  and  back  at  the  valley.  "  We  shall  be 
alone  up  yonder." 


ON    THE    MOUNTAIN. 

The  road  was  fair  enough  for  stout  walkers,  and  the  air 
grew  lighter  and  easier  to  breathe  as  the  two  ascended.  But 
the  settled  gloom  remained  as  it  had  remained  for  days 
back.  Nature  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  pause.  The  sense 
of  hearing,  noless  than  the  sense  of  sight,  was  troubled  by 
having  to  wait  so  long  for  the  change,  whatever  it  might  be, 
that  impended.  The  silence  was  as  palpable  and  heavy  as 
the  lowering  clouds — or  rather  cloud,  for  there  seemed  to 
be  but  one  in  all  the  sky,  and  that  one  covering  the  whole 
of  it. 

Although  the  light  was  thus  dismally  shrouded,  the  pros- 
pect was  not  obscured.  Down  in  the  valley  of  the  Rhone 
behind  them,  the  stream  could  be  traced  through  all  its 
many  windings,  oppressively  somber  and  solemn  in  its 
one  leaden  hue,  a  colorless  waste.  Far  and  high  above 
them,  glaciers  and  suspended  avalanches  overhung  the  spots 


9o  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

where  they  must  pass,  by  and  by  ;  deep  and  dark  below 
them  on  their  right,  were  awful  precipice  and  roaring  tor- 
rent ;  tremendous  mountains  arose  in  every  vista.  The  gi- 
gantic landscape,  uncheered  by  a  touch  of  changing  light  or 
a  solitary  ray  of  sun,  was  yet  terribly  distinct  in  its  ferocity. 
The  hearts  of  two  lonely  men  might  shrink  a  little,  if  they 
had  to  win  their  way  for  many  miles  and  hours  among  a  legion 
of  silence  and  motionless  men — more  men  like  themselves— 
all  looking  at  them  with  fixed  and  frowning  front.  But  how 
much  more,  when  the  legion  is  of  Nature's  mightiest  works, 
and  the  frown  may  turn  to  fury  in  an  instant  ! 

As  they  ascended,  the  road  became  gradually  more  rug- 
ged and  difficult.  But  the  spirits  of  Vendale  rose  as  they 
mounted  higher,  leaving  so  much  more  of  the  road  behind 
them  conquered.  Obenreizer  spoke  little,  and  held  on  with 
a  determined  purpose.  Both,  in  respect  of  agility  and 
endurance,  were  well  qualified  for  the  expedition.  What- 
ever the  born  mountaineer  read  in  the  weather-tokens 
that  was  illegible  to  the  other,  he  kept  to  himself. 

"  Shall  we  get  across  to-day  ?  "  asked  Vendale. 

"  No,"  replied  the  other.  "  You  see  how  much  deeper 
the  snow  lies  here  than  it  lay  half  a  league  lower.  The 
higher  we  mount,  the  deeper  the  snow  will  lie.  Walking  is 
half  wading  even  now.  And  the  days  are  so  short  !  If  we 
get  as  high  as  the  fifth  Refuge,  and  lie  to-night  at  the  Hos- 
pice, we  shall  do  well." 

"  Is  there  no  danger  of  the  weather  rising  in  the  night," 
asked  Vendale,  anxiously,  "  and  snowing  us  up  ?  " 

"  There  is  danger  enough  about  us,"  said  Obenreizer, 
with  a  cautious  glance  onward  and  upward,  "  to  render  si- 
lence our  best  policy.  You  have  heard  of  the  Bridge  of  the 
Ganther  ?" 

"  I  have  crossed  it  once." 

"  In  the  summer  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  the  traveling  season." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  is  another  thing  at  this  season  ; "  with  a 
sneer,  as  though  he  were  out  of  temper.  "  This  is  not  a 
time  of  year,  or  a  state  of  things,  on  an  Alpine  pass,  that 
you  gentlemen  holiday-travelers  know  much  about." 

"  You  are  my  guide,"  said  Vendale,  good-humoredly. 
"  I  trust  to  you." 

"  I  am  your  guide,"  said  Obenreizer,  "  and  I  will  guide 
you  to  your  journey's  end.     There  is  the  bridge  before  us." 

They  had  made  a  turn  into  a  desolate  and  dismal  ravine, 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  91 

where  the  snow  lay  deep  below  them,  deep  above  them, 
deep  on  every  side.  While  speaking,  Obenreizer  stood 
pointing  at  the  bridge,  observing  Vendale's  face,  with  a 
very  singular  expression  on  his  own. 

"  If  I,  as  guide,  had  sent  you  over  there,  in  advance,  and 
encouraged  you  to  give  a  shout  or  two,  you  might  have 
brought  down  upon  yourself  tons  and  tons  and  tons  of  snow, 
that  would  not  only  have  struck  you  dead,  but  buried  you 
deep,  at  a  blow." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Vendale. 

"  No  doubt.  But  that  is  not  what  I  have  to  do,  as  guide. 
So  pass  silently.  Or,  going  as  we  go,  our  indiscretion  might 
else  crush  and  bury  me.     Let  us  go  on  !  " 

There  was  a  great  accumulation  of  snow  on  the  bridge  ; 
and  such  enormous  accumulations  of  snow  overhung  them 
from  projecting  masses  of  rock,  that  they  might  have  been 
making  their  way  through  a  stormy  sky  of  white  clouds. 
Using  his  staff  skillfully,  sounding  as  he  went,  and  looking 
upward,  with  bent  shoulders,  as  it  were  to  resist  the  mere 
idea  of  a  fall  from  above,  Obenreizer  softly  led.  Vendale 
closely  followed.  They  were  yet  in  the  midst  of  their 
dangerous  way,  when  there  came  a  mighty  rush,  followed 
by  a  sound  as  of  thunder.  Obenreizer  clapped  his  hands 
on  Vendale's  mouth  and  pointed  to  the  track  behind  them. 
Its  aspect  had  been  wholly  changed  in  a  moment.  An 
avalanche  had  swept  over  it,  and  plunged  into  the  torrent 
at  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  below. 

Their  appearance  at  the  solitary  inn  not  far  beyond  this 
terrible  bridge,  elicited  many  expressions  of  astonishment 
from  the  people  shut  up  in  the  house.  "  We  stay  to  rest," 
said  Obenreizer,  shaking  the  snow  from  his  dress  at  the  fire. 
u  This  gentleman  has  very  pressing  occasion  to  get  across  ; 
tell  them,  Vendale." 

"  Assuredly,  I  have  very  pressing  occasion.     I  must  cross." 

"  You  hear,  all  of  you.  My  friend  has  very  pressing 
occasion  to  get  across,  and  we  want  no  advice  and  no  help. 
I  am  as  good  a  guide,  my  fellow-countrymen,  as  any  of  you. 
Now,  give  us  to  eat  and  drink." 

In  exactly  the  same  way,  and  in  nearly  the  same  words, 
when  it  was  coming  on  dark  and  they  had  struggled  through 
the  greatly  increased  difficulties  of  the  road,  and  had  at 
last  reached  their  destination  for  the  night,  Obenreizer  said 
to  the  astonished  people  of  the  Hospice,  gathering  about 
them  at  the  fire,  while  they  were  yet  in  the  act  of  getting 


92  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

their  wet  shoes  off,  and  shaking  the  snow  from  their 
clothes  : 

"  It  is  well  to  understand  one  another,  friends  all.  This 
gentleman — " 

" — Has,"  said  Vendale,  readily  taking  him  up  with  a  smile, 
"very  pressing  occasion  to  get  across.     Must  cross." 

"  You  hear  ? — has  very  pressing  occasion  to  get  across, 
must  cross.  We  want  no  advice  and  no  help.  I  am  mount- 
ain-born, and  act  as  guide.  Do  not  worry  us  by  talking 
about  it,  but  let  us  have  supper,  and  wine,  and  bed." 

All  through  the  intense  cold  of  the  night,  the  same  awful 
stillness.  Again  at  sunrise,  no  sunny  tinge  to  gild  or  redden 
the  snow.  The  same  interminable  waste  of  deathly  white  ; 
the  same  immovable  air ;  the  same  monotonous  gloom  in 
the  sky. 

"  Travelers !  "  a  friendly  voice  called  to  them  from  the 
door,  after  they  were  afoot,  knapsack  on  back  and  staff  in 
hand,  as  yesterday ;  "  recollect !  There  are  five  places  of 
shelter,  near  together,  on  the  dangerous  road  before  you  ; 
and  there  is  the  wooden  cross,  and  there  is  the  next  Hospice. 
Do  not  stray  from  the  track.  If  the  tourmente  comes  on, 
take  shelter  instantly  !  " 

"  The  trade  of  the  poor  devils  !  "  said  Obenreizer  to  his 
friend,  with  a  contemptuous  backward  wave  of  his  hand  to- 
ward the  voice.  "  How  they  stick  to  their  trade  !  You 
Englishmen  say  we  Swiss  are  mercenary.  Truly,  it  does 
look  like  it." 

They  had  divided  between  the  two  knapsacks  such  refresh- 
ments as  they  had  been  able  to  obtain  that  morning,  and  as 
they  deemed  it  prudent  to  take.  Obenreizer  carried  the 
wine  as  his  share  of  the  burden  ;  Vendale,  the  bread  and 
meat  and  cheese,  and  the  flask  of  brandy. 

They  had  for  some  time  labored  upward  and  onward 
through  the  snow — which  was  now  above  their  knees  in  the 
track,  and  of  unknown  depth  elsewhere — and  they  were  still 
laboring  upward  and  onward  through  the  most  frightful  part 
of  that  tremendous  desolation,  when  snow  began  to  fall.  At 
first,  but  a  few  flakes  descended  slowly  and  steadily.  After 
a  little  while  the  fall  grew  much  denser,  and  suddenly  it 
began  without  apparent  cause  to  whirl  itself  into  spiral 
shapes.  Instantly  ensuing  upon  this  last  change,  an  icy 
blast  came  roaring  at  them,  and  every  sound  and  force  im- 
prisoned until  now  was  let  loose. 

One  of  the  dismal  galleries  through  which  the  road  is 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  93 

carried  at  that  perilous  point,  a  cave  eked  out  by  arches  of 
great  strength,  was  near  at  hand.  They  struggled  into  it, 
and  the  storm  raged  wildly.  The  noise  of  the  wind,  the 
noise  of  the  water,  the  thundering  down  of  displaced  masses 
of  rock  and  snow,  the  awful  voices  with  which  not  only  that 
gorge  but  every  gorge  in  the  whole  monstrous  range  seemed 
to  be  suddenly  endowed,  the  darkness  as  of  night,  the  violent 
revolving  of  the  snow  which  beat  and  broke  it  into  spray 
and  blinded  them,  the  madness  of  every  thing  around  in- 
satiate for  destruction,  the  rapid  substitution  of  furious 
violence  for  unnatural  calm,  and  hosts  of  appalling  sounds 
for  silence  :  these  were  things,  on  the  edge  of  a  deep  abyss, 
to  chill  the  blood,  though  the  fierce  wind,  made  actually 
solid  by  ice  and  snow,  had  failed  to  chill  it. 

Obenreizer,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  gallery  without 
ceasing,  signed  to  Vendale  to  help  him  unbuckle  his  knap- 
sack. They  could  see  each  other,  but  could  not  have  heard 
each  other  speak.  Vendale  complying,  Obenreizer  pro- 
duced his  bottle  of  wine,  and  poured  some  out,  motioning 
Vendale  to  take  that  for  warmth's  sake,  and  not  brandy. 
Vendal  again  complying,  Obenreizer  seemed  to  drink  after 
him,  and  the  two  walked  backward  and  forward  side  by 
side  ;  both  well  knowing  that  to  rest  or  sleep  would  be  to 
die. 

The  snow  came  driving  heavily  into  the  gallery  by  the 
upper  end  at  which  they  would  pass  out  of  it,  if  they  ever 
passed  out  ;  for  greater  dangers  lay  on  the  road  behind 
them  than  before.  The  snow  soon  began  to  choke  the  arch. 
An  hour  more,  and  it  lay  so  high  as  to  block  out  half  the 
returning  daylight.  But  it  froze  hard  now,  as  it  fell,  and 
could  be  clambered  through  or  over.  The  violence  of  the 
mountain  storm  was  gradually  yielding  to  a  steady  snow- 
fall. The  wind  still  raged  at  intervals,  but  not  incessantly  ; 
and  when  it  paused,  the  snow  fell  in  heavy  flakes. 

They  might  have  been  two  hours  in  their  frightful  prison, 
when  Obenreizer,  now  crunching  into  the  mound,  now  creep- 
ing over  it  with  his  head  bowed  down  and  his  body  touch- 
ing the  top  of  the  arch,  made  his  way  out.  Vendale  followed 
close  upon  him,  but  followed  without  clear  motive  or  calcu- 
lation. For  the  lethargy  of  Basle  was  creeping  over  him 
again  and  mastering  his  senses. 

How  far  he  had  followed  out  of  the  gallery,  or  with  what 
obstacles  he  had  since  contended,  he  knew  not.  He  became 
roused  to  the  knowledge  that  Obenreizer  had  set  upon  him, 


94  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

and  that  they  were  struggling  desperately  in  the  snow.  He 
became  roused  to  the  remembrance  of  what  his  assailant 
carried  in  a  girdle.  He  felt  for  it,  drew  it,  struck  at  him, 
struggled  again,  struck  at  him  again,  cast  him  off,  and  stood 
face  to  face  with  him. 

"  I  promised  to  guide  you  to  your  journey's  end,"  said 
Obenreizer,  "  and  I  have  kept  my  promise.  The  journey  of 
your  life  ends  here.  Nothing  can  prolong  it.  You  are 
sleeping  as  you  stand." 

"  You  are  a  villain.     What  have  you  done  to  me  ? " 

"  You  are  a  fool.  I  have  drugged  you.  You  are  doubly 
a  fool,  for  I  drugged  you  once  before  upon  the  journey,  to  try 
you.  You  are  trebly  a  fool,  for  I  am  the  thief  and  forger,  and 
in  a  few  moments  I  shall  take  those  proofs  against  the  thief 
and  forger  from  your  insensible  body." 

The  entrapped  man  tried  to  throw  off  the  lethargy,  but 
its  fatal  hold  upon  him  was  so  sure  that,  even  while  he 
heard  those  words,  he  stupidly  wondered  which  of  them  had 
been  wounded,  and  whose  blood  it  was  that  he  saw  sprinkled 
on  the  snow. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  you,"  he  asked,  heavily  and  thickly, 
"that  you  should  be — so  base — a  murderer?" 

"  Done  to  me  ?  You  would  have  destroyed  me,  but  that 
you  have  come  to  your  journey's  end.  Your  cursed  activity 
interposed  between  me  and  the  time  I  had  counted  on  in 
which  I  might  have  replaced  the  money.  Done  to  me  ? 
You  have  come  in  my  way — not  once,  not  twice,  but  again 
and  again  and  again.  Did  I  try  to  shake  you  off  in  the  be- 
ginning, or  no  !     Therefore  you  die  here." 

Vendale  tried  to  think  coherently,  tried  to  speak  coher- 
ently, tried  to  pick  up  the  iron-shod  staff  he  had  let  fall  ; 
failing  to  touch  it,  tried  to  stagger  on  without  its  aid.  All 
in  vain,  all  in  vain  !  He  stumbled,  and  fell  heavily  forward 
on  the  brink  of  the  deep  chasm. 

Stupefied,  dozing,  unable  to  stand  upon  his  feet,  a  veil 
before  his  eyes,  his  sense  of  hearing  deadened,  he  made  such 
a  vigorous  rally  that,  supporting  himself  on  his  hands,  he  saw 
his  enemy  standing  calmly  over  him,  and  heard  him  speak. 

"You  call  me  murderer,"  said  Obenreizer,  with  a  grim 
laugh.  "The  name  matters  very  little.  But  at  least  I  have 
set  my  life  against  yours,  for  I  am  surrounded  by  dangers, 
and  may  never  make  my  way  out  of  this  place.  The  tour- 
mentc  is  rising  again.  The  snow  is  on  the  whirl,  I  must 
have  the  papers  now.     Every  moment  has  my  life  in  it." 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  95 

"  Stop  !  cried  Vendale,  in  a  terrible  voice,  staggering  up 
with  a  last  flash  of  fire  breaking  out  of  him  and  clutching 
the  thievish  hands  at  his  breast,  in  both  of  his.  "  Stop  ! 
Stand  away  from  me  !  God  bless  my  Marguerite  !  Hap- 
pily she  will  never  know  how  I  died.  Stand  off  from  me, 
and  let  me  look  at  your  murderous  face.  Let  it  remind  me 
— of  something — left  to  say." 

The  sight  of  him  fighting  so  hard  for  his  senses,  and 
the  doubt  whether  he  might  not  for  the  instant  be  possessed 
by  the  strength  of  a  dozen  men,  kept  his  opponent  still. 
Wildly  glaring  at  him,  Vendale  faltered  out  the  broken 
words  : 

"  It  shall  not  be — the  trust — of  the  dead — betrayed  by 
me — reputed  parents — misinherited  fortune — see  to  it !  " 

As  his  head  dropped  on  his  breast,  and  he  stumbled  on 
the  brink  of  the  chasm  as  before,  the  thievish  hands  once 
more,  quick  and  busy,  to  his  breast.  He  made  a  convulsive 
attempt  to  cry  "  No  !  "  desperately  rolled  himself  over  into 
the  gulf ;  and  sank  away  from  his  enemy's  touch,  like  a 
phantom  in  a  dreadful  dream. 

The  mountain  storm  raged  again,  and  passed  again.  The 
awful  mountain  voices  died  away,  the  moon  rose,  and  the  soft 
and  silent  snow  fell. 

Two  men  and  two  large  dogs  came  out  at  the  door  of  the 
Hospice.  The  men  looked  carefully  around  them,  and  up 
at  the  sky.  The  dogs  rolled  in  snow,  and  took  it  into  their 
mouths,  and  cast  it  up  with  their  paws. 

One  of  the  men  said  to  the  other  :  "  We  may  venture  now. 
We  may  find  them  in  one  of  the  five  Refuges."  Each 
fastened  on  his  back  a  basket ;  each  took  in  his  hand  a 
strong  spiked  pole  ;  each  girded  under  his  arms  a  looped  end 
of  a  stout  rope,  so  that  they  were  tied  together. 

Suddenly  the  dogs  desisted  from  their  gambols  in  the 
snow,  stood  looking  down  the  ascent,  put  their  noses  up,  put 
their  noses  down,  became  greatly  excited,  and  broke  into  a 
deep  loud  bay  together. 

The  two  men  looked  in  the  faces  of  the  two  dogs.  The 
two  dogs  looked,  with  at  least  equal  intelligence,  in  the  faces 
of  the  two  men. 

"  Au  secours,  then  !  Help  !  To  the  rescue  !  "  cried  the 
two  men.  The  two  dogs,  with  a  glad,  deep,  generous  bark, 
bounded  away. 

"  Two  more  mad  ones  !  "  said  the  men,  stricken  motion- 


96  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

less,  and  looking  away  in  the  moonlight.  "  Is  it  possible  in 
such  weather  !     And  one  of  them  a  woman  !  " 

Each  of  the  dogs  had  the  corner  of  the  woman's  dress  in 
its  mouth,  and  drew  her  along.  She  fondled  their  heads  as 
she  came  up,  and  she  came  up  through  the  snow  with  accus- 
tomed tread.  Not  so  the  large  man  with  her,  who  was  spent 
and  winded. 

"  Dear  guides,  dear  friends  of  travelers  !  I  am  of  your 
country.  We  seek  two  gentlemen  crossing  the  pass  who 
should  have  reached  the  Hospice  this  evening." 

"  They  have  reached  it,  ma'amselle." 

"  Thank  heaven  !     Oh,  thank  heaven  !  " 

"But,  unhappily,  they  have  gone  on  again.  We  are  set- 
ting forth  to  seek  them  even  now.  We  had  to  wait  until  the 
tourjnente  passed.     It  has  been  fearful  up  here." 

"  Dear  guides,  dear  friends  of  travelers  !  Let  me  go  with 
you.  Let  me  go  with  you  for  the  love  of  God  !  One  of 
those  gentlemen  is  to  be  my  husband.  I  love  him,  oh,  so 
dearly.  Oh,  so  dearly  !  You  see  I  am  not  faint,  you  see  I 
am  not  tired.  I  am  born  a  peasant  girl.  I  will  show  you 
that  I  know  well  how  to  fasten  myself  to  your  ropes.  I  will 
do  it  with  my  own  hands.  I  will  swear  to  be  brave  and 
good.  But  let  me  go  with  you,  let  me  go  with  you  !  If  any 
mischance  should  have  befallen  him,  my  love  would  find 
him,  when  nothing  else  could.  On  my  knees,  dear  friends 
of  travelers  !  By  the  love  your  dear  mothers  had  for  your 
fathers  !  " 

The  good  rough  fellows  were  moved.  "  After  all,"  they 
murmured  to  one  another,  "  she  speaks  but  the  truth.  She 
knows  the  ways  of  the  mountains.  See  how  marvelously 
she  has  come  here.  But  as  to  the  monsieur  there,  ma'am- 
selle ?  " 

"  Dear  Mr.  Joey,"  said  Marguerite,  addressing  him  in  his 
own  tongue,  "  you  will  remain  at  the  house,  and  wait  for 
me  ;  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  know'd  which  o'  you  two  recommended  it,"  growled 
Joey  Ladle,  eying  the  two  men  with  great  indignation,  "I'd 
fight  you  for  sixpence,  and  give  you  half-a-crown  toward 
your  expenses.  No,  miss.  I'll  stick  by  you  as  long  as 
there's  any  sticking  left  in  me,  and  I'll  die  for  you  whenT 
can't  do  better." 

The  state  of  the  moon  rendering  it  highly  important  that 
no  time  should  be  lost,  and  the  dogs  showing  signs  of  great 
uneasiness,  the  two  men  quickly  took  their  resolution.     The 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  97 

rope  that  yoked  them  together  was  exchanged  for  a  longer 
one  :  the  party  were  secured,  Marguerite  second,  and  the 
cellarman  last  ;  and  they  set  out  for  the  Refuges.  The  actual 
distance  of  those  places  was  nothing  ;  the  whole  five  and 
next  Hospice  to  boot,  being  within  two  miles  ;  but  the 
ghastly  way  was  whitened  out  and  sheeted  over. 

They  made  no  miss  in  reaching  the  gallery  where  the  two 
had  taken  shelter.  The  second  storm  of  wind  and  snow  had 
so  wildly  swept  over  it  since,  that  their  tracks  were  gone. 
But  the  dogs  went  to  and  fro  with  their  noses  down,  and 
were  confident.  The  party  stopping,  however,  at  the  further 
arch,  where  the  second  storm  had  been  especially  furious, 
and  where  the  drift  was  deep,  the  dogs  became  troubled,  and 
went  about,  in  quest  of  a  lost  purpose. 

The  great  abyss  being  known  to  lie  on  the  right,  they  wan- 
dered too  much  to  the  left,  and  had  to  regain  the  way  with 
infinite  labor  through  a  deep  field  of  snow.  The  leader  of 
the  line  had  stopped  it,  and  was  taking  note  of  the  land- 
marks, when  one  of  the  dogs  fell  to  tearing  up  the  snow  a 
little  before  them.  Advancing  and  stooping  to  look  at  it, 
thinking  that  some  one  might  be  overwhelmed  there,  they 
saw  that  it  was  stained,  and  that  the  stain  was  red. 

The  other  dog  was  now  seen  to  look  over  the  brink  of  the 
gulf  with  his  fore  legs  straightened  out,  lest  he  should  fall 
into  it,  and  to  tremble  in  every  limb.  Then  the  dog  who 
had  found  the  stained  snow  joined  him,  and  then  they  ran 
to  and  fro,  distressed  and  whining.  Finally,  they  both 
stopped  on  the  brink  together,  and  setting  up  their  heads, 
howled  dolefully. 

"  There  is  some  one  lying  below,"  said  Marguerite. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  the  foremost  man.  "  Stand  well  in- 
ward, the  two  last,  and  let  us  look  over." 

The  last  man  kindled  two  torches  from  his  basket,  and 
handed  them  forward.  The  leader  taking  one,  and  Mar- 
guerite the  other,  they  looked  down  ;  now  shading  the 
torches,  now  moving  them  to  the  right  or  left,  now  raising 
them,  now  depressing  them,  as  moonlight  far  below  con- 
tended with  black  shadows.  A  piercing  cry  from  Mar- 
guerite broke  a  long  silence — 

"My  God  !  On  a  projecting  point,  where  a  wall  of  ice 
stretches  forward  over  the  torrent,  I  see  a  human  form  !  " 

11  Where,  ma'amselle,  where,  where  ?  " 

"  See,  there  !     On  the  shelf  of  ice  below  the  dogs  !  " 

The  leader,  with  a  sickened  aspect,  drew  inward,  and  they 


98  NO    THOROUGHFARE. 

were  all  silent.  But  they  were  not  all  inactive.  Marguerite, 
with  swift  and  skillful  fingers,  had  detached  both  herself  and 
him  from  the  rope  in  a  few  seconds. 

"  Show  me  the  baskets.     These  two  are  the  only  ropes  ?  " 

"  The  only  ropes  here,  ma'amselle  ;  but  at  the  Hospice — " 
"  If  he  is  alive — I  know  it  is  my  lover — he  will  be  dead 
before  you  can  return.  Dear  guides  !  Blessed  friends  of 
travelers  !  Look  at  me.  Watch  my  hands.  If  they  falter 
or  go  wrong,  make  me  your  prisoner  by  force.  If  they  are 
steady  and  go  right,  help  me  to  save  him  !  " 

She  girded  herself  with  a  cord  under  the  breast  and  arms, 
she  formed  it  into  a  kind  of  jacket,  she  drew  it  into  knots, 
she  laid  its  end  side  by  side  with  the  end' of  the  other  cord, 
she  twisted  and  twined  the  two  together,  she  knotted  them 
together,  she  set  her  foot  upon  the  knots,  she  strained  them, 
she  held  them  for  the  two  men  to  strain  at. 

"  She  is  inspired,"  they  said  to  one  another. 

"  By  the  Almighty's  mercy  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  both 
know  that  I  am  by  far  the  lightest  here.  Give  me  the  brandy 
and  the  wine,  and  lower  me  down  to  him.  Then  go  for  assist- 
ance and  a  stronger  rope.  You  see  that  when  it  is  lowered 
to  me — look  at  this  about  me  now — I  can  make  it  fast  and 
safe  to  his  body.  Alive  or  dead,  I  will  bring  him  up,  or  die 
with  him.     I  love  him  passionately.     Can  I  saymore?  " 

They  turned  to  her  companion,  but  he  was  lying  senseless 
on  the  snow. 

"  Lower  me  down  to  him,"  she  said,  taking  two  little  kegs 
they  had  brought,  and  hanging  them  about  her,  "  or  I  will 
dash  myself  to  pieces  !  I  am  a  peasant,  and  I  know  no  gid- 
diness or  fear  ;  and  this  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  passionately 
love  him.     Lower  me  down  !  " 

"  Ma'amselle,  ma'amselle,  he  must  be  dying  or  dead." 

"  Dying  or  dead,  my  husband's  head  shall  lie  on  my 
breast,  or  I  will  dash  myself  to  pieces." 

They  yielded,  overborne.  With  such  precaution  as  their 
skill  and  the  circumstances  admitted,  they  let  her  slip  from 
the  summit,  guiding  herself  down  the  precipitous  icy  wall 
with  her  hand,  and  they  lowered  down,  and  lowered  down, 
and  lowered  down,  until  the  cry  came  up  :  "  Enough  !  " 

"  Is  it  really  he,  and  is  he  dead  ?  "  they  called  down, 
looking  over. 

The  cry  came  up  :  "  He  is  insensible  ;  but  his  heart  beats. 
I*  beats  against  mine." 

"  How  does  he  lie  ?  " 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  99 

The  cry  came  up  :  "  Upon  a  ledge  of  ice.  It  nas  thawed 
beneath  him,  and  it  will  thaw  beneath  me.  Hasten.  If  we 
die,  I  am  content." 

One  of  the  two  men  hurried  off  with  the  dogs  at  such  top- 
most speed  as  he  could  make  ;  the  other  set  up  the  lighted 
torches  in  the  snow,  and  applied  himself  to  recovering  the 
Englishman.  Much  snow-chafing  and  some  brandy  got  him 
on  his  legs,  but  delirious  and  quite  unconscious  where  he 
was. 

The  watch  remained  upon  the  brink,  and  his  cry  went 
down  continually  :  "  Courage  !  They  will  soon  be  here. 
How  goes  it  ?  "  And  the  cry  came  up  :  "  His  heart  still 
beats  against  mine.  I  warm  him  in  my  arms.  I  have  cast 
off  the  rope,  for  the  ice  melts  under  us,  and  the  rope  would 
separate  me  from  him  ;  but  I  am  not  afraid." 

The  moon  went  down  behind  the  mountain  tops,  and  all 
the  abyss  lay  in  darkness.  The  cry  went  down  :  "  How 
goes  it  ?  "  The  cry  came  up  :  "  We  are  sinking  lower,  but 
his  heart  still  beats  against  mine." 

At  length  the  eager  barking  of  the  dogs,  and  a  flare  of 
light  upon  the  snow,  proclaimed  that  help  was  coming  on. 
Twenty  or  thirty  men,  lamps,  torches,  litters,  ropes,  blankets, 
wood  to  kindle  a  great  fire,  restoratives  and  stimulants,  came 
in  fast.  The  dogs  ran  from  one  man  to  another,  and  from 
this  thing  to  that,  and  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  abyss,  dumbly 
entreating  speed,  speed,  speed  ! 

The  cry  went  down  :  "  Thanks  to  God,  all  is  ready. 
How  goes  it  ?  " 

The  cry  came  up  :  We  are  sinking  still,  and  we  are  deadly 
cold.  His  heart  no  longer  beats  against  mine.  Let  no  one 
come  down  to  add  to  our  weight.     Lower  the  rope  only." 

The  fire  was  kindled  high,  a  great  glare  of  torches  lighted 
the  sides  of  the  precipice,  lamps  were  lowered,  a  strong  rope 
was  lowered.  She  could  be  seen  passing  it  round  him,  and 
making  it  secure. 

The  cry  came  up  into  a  deathly  silence  :  "  Raise  !  Softly  !  " 
They  could  see  her  diminished  figure  shrink,  as  he  was 
swung  into  the  air. 

They  gave  no  shout  when  some  of  them  laid  him  on  a 
litter,  and  others  lowered  another  strong  rope.  The  cry 
again  cam  e  up  into  a  deathly  silence  :  "  Raise  !  Softly  !  " 
But  when  they  caught  her  at  the  brink,  then  they  shouted, 
then  they  wept,  then  they  gave  thanks  to  heaven,  then  they 
kissed  her  feet,  then  they  kissed  her  dress,  then  the  dogs 


ioo  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

caressed  her,  licked  her  icy  hands,  and   with  their  honest 
faces  warmed  her  frozen  bosom  ! 

She  broke  from  them  all,  and  sank  over  him  on  his  litter, 
with  both  her  loving  hands  upon  the  heart  that  stood  still. 


ACT  IV. 

THE    CLOCK-LOCK. 

The  pleasant  scene  was  Neuchatel  ;  the  pleasant  month 
was  April ;  the  pleasant  place  was  a  notary's  office  ;  the  pleas- 
ant person  in  it  was  the  notary  ;  a  rosy,  hearty,  handsome  old 
man,  chief  notary  of  Neuchatel,  known  far  and  wide  in  the  can- 
ton as  Maitre  Voigt.  Professionally  and  personally  the  notary 
was  a  popular  citizen.  His  innumerable  kindnesses  and  his 
innumerable  oddities  had  for  years  made  him  one  of  the  recog- 
nized public  characters  of  the  pleasant  Swiss  town.  His  long 
brown  frock-coat  and  his  black  skull-cap  were  among  the 
institutions  of  the  place  ;  and  he  carried  a  snuff-box  which, 
in  point  of  size,  was  popularly  believed  to  be  without  a  par- 
allel in  Europe. 

There  was  another  person  in  the  notary's  office,  not  so 
pleasant  as  the  notary.     This  was  Obenreizer. 

An  oddly  pastoral  kind  of  office  it  was,  and  one  that  would 
never  have*  answered  in  England.  It  stood  in  a  neat  back 
yard,  fenced  off  from  a  pretty  flower  garden.  Goats  browsed 
in  the  doorway,  and  a  cow  was  within  half-a-dozen  feet  of 
keeping  company  with  the  clerk.  Maitre  Voigt' s  room  was 
a  bright  and  varnished  little  room,  with  paneled  walls,  like 
a  toy  chamber.  According  to  the  season  of  the  year,  roses, 
sunflowers,  hollyhocks,  peeped  in  at  the  windows.  Maitre 
Voigt' s  bees  hummed  through  the  office  all  the  summer,  in 
at  this  window  and  out  at  that,  taking  it  frequently  in  their 
day's  work  as  if  honey  were  to  be  made  from  Maitre  Voigt's 
sweet  disposition.  A  large  musical  box  on  the  chimney- 
piece  often  trilled  away  at  the  Overture  to  Fra  Diayolo,  or  a 
selection  from  William  Tell,  with  a  chirruping  liveliness  that 
had  to  be  stopped  by  force  on  the  entrance  of  a  client,  and 
irrepressibly  broke  out  again  the  moment  his  back  was 
turned. 

"  Courage,  courage,  my  good  fellow  !  "  said  Maitre  Voigt, 
patting  Obenreizer  on  the  knee,  in  a  fatherly  and  comfort- 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  101 

ing  way.  "  You  will  begin  a  new  life  to-morrow  morning  in 
my  office  here." 

Obenreizer — dressed  in  mourning,  and  subdued  in  manner 
— lifted  his  hand,  with  a  white  handkerchief  in  it,  to  the  region 
of  his  heart.  "  The  gratitude  is  here,"  he  said.  "  But  the 
words  to  express  it  are  not  here." 

"  Ta-ta-ta  !  Don't  talk  to  me  about  gratitude  !  "  said 
Maitre  Voigt.  "  I  hate  to  see  a  man  oppressed.  I  see  you 
oppressed,  and  I  hold  out  my  hand  to  you  by  instinct. 
Besides,  I  am  not  too  old  yet,  to  remember  my  young  days. 
Your  father  sent  me  my  first  client.  (It  was  on  a  question 
of  half  an  acre  of  vineyard  that  seldom  bore  any  grapes.) 
Do  I  owe  nothing  to  your  father's  son  ?  I  owe  him  a  debt 
of  friendly  obligation,  and  I  pay  it  to  you.  That's  rather 
neatly  expressed,  I  think,"  added  Maitre  Voigt,  in  high  good- 
humor  with  himself.  "  Permit  me  to  reward  my  own  merit 
with  a  pinch  of  snuff !  " 

Obenreizer  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  as  though  he 
were  not  even  worthy  to  see  the  notary  take  snuff. 

"  Do  me  one  last  favor,  sir,"  he  said,  when  he  raised  his 
eyes.  "  Do  not  act  on  impulse.  Thus  far,  you  have  only  a 
general  knowledge  of  my  position.  Hear  the  case  for  and 
against  me,  in  its  details,  before  you  take  me  into  your  office. 
Let  my  claim  on  your  benevolence  be  recognized  by  your 
sound  reason  as  well  as  by  your  excellent  heart.  In  that  case, 
I  may  hold  up  my  head  against  the  bitterest  of  my  enemies, 
and  build  myself  a  new  reputation  on  the  ruins  of  the  char- 
acter I  have  lost." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  You  speak  well,  my 
son.     You  will  be  a  fine  lawyer  one  of  these  days." 

"  The  details  are  not  many,"  pursued  Obenreizer.  "  My 
troubles  begin  with  the  accidental  death  of  my  late  travel- 
ing companion,  my  lost  dear  friend,  Mr.  Vendale." 

"  Mr.  Vendale,"  repeated  the  notary.  "  Just  so.  I  have 
heard  and  read  of  the  name  several  times  within  these  two 
months.  The  name  of  the  unfortunate  English  gentleman 
who  was  killed  on  the  Simplon.  When  you  got  that  scar 
upon  your  cheek  and  neck." 

" — From  my  own  knife,"  said  Obenreizer,  touching  what 
must  have  been  an  ugly  gash  at  the  time  of  its  infliction. 

"  From  your  own  knife,"  assented  the  notary,  "  and  in  try- 
ing to  save  him.  Good,  good,  good.  That  was  very  good. 
Vendale.  Yes.  I  have  several  times,  lately,  thought  it  droll 
that  I  should  once  have  had  a  client  of  that  name." 


102  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  But  the  world,  sir,"  returned  Obenreizer,  "  is  so  small !  " 
Nevertheless  he  made  a  mental  note  that  the  notary  had 
once  had  a  client  of  that  name. 

"  As  I  was  saying,  sir,  the  death  of  that  dear  traveling 
comrade  begins  my  troubles.  What  follows  ?  I  save  my- 
self. I  go  down  to  Milan.  I  am  received  with  coldness  by 
Defresnier  and  Company.  Shortly  afterward,  I  am  dis- 
charged by  Defresnier  and  Company.  Why  ?  They  give 
me  no  reason  why.  I  ask,  do  they  assail  my  honor  ?  No 
answer.  I  ask,  what  is  the  imputation  against  me  ?  No 
answer.  I  ask,  where  are  their  proofs  against  me  ?  No 
answer.  I  ask,  what  am  I  to  think  ?  The  reply  is,  '  M. 
Obenreizer  is  free  to  think  what  he  will.  What  M.  Oben- 
reizer thinks,  is  of  no  importance  to  Defresnier  and  Com- 
pany.'    And  that  is  all." 

"  Perfectly.  That  is  all,"  assented  the  notary,  taking  a 
large  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  But  is  that  enough,  sir  ? " 

"  That  is  not  enough,"  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  The  house 
of  Defresnier  are  my  fellow-townsmen — much  respected, 
much  esteemed — but  the  house  of  Defresnier  must  not  silently 
destroy  a  man's  character.  You  can  rebut  assertion.  But 
how  can  you  rebut  silence  ?  " 

4'  Your  sense  of  justice,  my  dear  patron,"  answered  Oben- 
reizer, "  states  in  a  word  the  cruelty  of  the  case.  Does  it 
stop  there  ?     No.    "For  what  follows  upon  that  ?  " 

■'  True,  my  poor  boy,"  said  the  notary,  with  a  comforting 
nod  or  two  ;  "  your  ward  rebels  upon  that  ? " 

"  Rebels  is  too  soft  a  word,"  retorted  Obenreizer.  "  My 
ward  revolts  from  me  with  horror.  My  ward  defies  me.  My 
ward  withdraws  herself  from  my  authority,  and  takes  shelter 
(Madame  Dor  with  her)  in  the  house  of  that  English  lawyer, 
Mr.  Bintrey,  who  replies  to  your  summons  to  her  to  submit 
herself  to  my  authority,  that  she  will  not  do  so." 

" — And  who  afterward  writes,"  said  the  notary,  moving 
his  large  snuff-box  to  look  among  the  papers  under- 
neath it  for  the  letter,  "  that  he  is  coming  to  confer  with 
me." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  replied  Obenreizer,  rather  checked.  "  Well, 
sir.     Have  I  no  legal  rights  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  my  poor  boy,"  returned  the  notary.  "  All 
but  felons  have  their  legal  rights." 

"And  who  calls  me  felon  ?"  said  Obenreizer,  fiercely. 

"  No  one.     Be  calm  under  your  wrongs.     If  the  house  of 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  103 

Defresnief  would  call  you  felon,  indeed,  we  should  know  how 
to  deal  with  them." 

While  saying  these  words,  he  had  handed  Bintrey's  very 
short  letter  to  Obenreizer,  who  now  read  it  and  gave  it  back; 

"  In  saying,"  observed  Obenreizer,  with  recovered  com- 
posure, "  that  he  is  coming  to  confer  with  you,  this  English 
lawyer  means  that  he  is  coming  to  deny  my  authority  over 
my  ward." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  know  him.  He  is  obstinate  and  con- 
tentious. You  will  tell  me,  my  dear  sir,  whether  my  author- 
ity is  unassailable,  until  my  ward  is  of  age  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  unassailable." 

"  I  will  enforce  it.  I  will  make  her  submit  herself  to  it. 
For,"  said  Obenreizer,  changing  his  angry  tone  to  one  of 
grateful  submission,  "  I  owe  it  to  you,  sir ;  to  you,  who  have 
so  confidingly  taken  an  injured  man  under  your  protection, 
and  into  your  employment." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,"  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  No  more 
of  this  now,  and  no  thanks  !  Be  here  to-morrow  morning, 
before  the  other  clerk  comes — between  seven  and  eight. 
You  will  find  me  in  this  room  ;  and  I  will  myself  initiate  you 
in  your  work.  Go  away  !  go  away  !  I  have  letters  to  write. 
I  won't  hear  a  word  more." 

Dismissed  with  this  generous  abruptness,  and  satisfied 
with  the  favorable  impression  he  had  left  on  the  old  man's 
mind,  Obenreizer  was  at  leisure  to  revert  to  the  mental  note 
he  had  made  that  Maitre  Voigt  once  had  a  client  whose 
name  was  Vendale. 

"  I  ought  to  know  England  well  enough  by  this  time  ;  " 
so  his  meditations  ran,  as  he  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  yard  ; 
"  and  it  is  not  a  name  I  have  encountered  there,  except — " 
he  looked  involuntarily  over  his  shoulder — "  as  his  name. 
Is  the  world  so  small  that  I  can  not  get  away  from  him,  even 
now  when  he  is  dead  ?  He  confessed  at  the  last  that  he  had 
betrayed  the  trust  of  the  dead,  and  misinherited  a  fortune. 
And  I  was  to  see  to  it.  And  I  was  to  stand  off,  that  my  face 
might  not  remind  him  of  it.  Why  my  face,  unless  it  con- 
cerned me  ?  I  am  sure  of  his  words,  for  they  have  been  in 
my  ears  ever  since.  Can  there  be  any  thing  bearing  on 
them,  in  the  keeping  of  this  old  idiot  ?  Any  thing  to  repair 
my  fortunes,  and  blacken  his  memory  ?  He  dwelt  upon  my 
earliest  remembrances,  that  night  at  Basle.  Why,  unless  he 
had  a  purpose  in  it  ? " 


164  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

Maitre  Voigt's  two  largest  he-goats  were  butting  at  him  to 
butt  him  out  of  the  place,  as  if  for  that  disrespectful  men- 
tion of  their  master.  So  he  got  up  and  left  the  place.  But 
he  walked  alone  for  a  long  time  on  the  border  of  the  lake, 
with  his  head  drooped  in  deep  thought. 

Between  seven  and  eight  next  morning,  he  presented  him- 
self again  at  the  office.  He  found  the  notary  ready  for  him, 
at  work  on  some  papers  which  had  come  in  on  the  previous 
evening.  In  a  few  clear  words,  Maitre  Voigt  explained  the 
routine  of  the  office,  and  the  duties  Obenreizer  would  be 
expected  to  perform.  It  still  wanted  five  minutes  to  eight, 
when  the  preliminary  instructions  were  declared  to  be 
complete. 

"  I  will  show  you  over  the  house  and  the  offices,"  said 
Maitre  Voigt,  "  but  I  must  put  away  these  papers  first.  They 
come  from  the  municipal  authorities,  and  must  be  taken 
special  care  of." 

Obenreizer  saw  his  chance,  here,  of  finding  out  the  repos* 
itory  in  which  his  employer's  private  papers  were  kept. 

"  Can't  I  save  you  the  trouble,  sir  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Can't  I 
put  those  documents  away  under  your  directions  ? " 

Maitre  Voigt  laughed  softly  to  himself  ;  closed  the  port- 
folio in  which  the  papers  had  been  sent  to  him  ;  handed  it 
to  Obenreizer. 

"  Suppose  you  try,"  he  said.  "  All  my  papers  of  import- 
ance  are  kept  yonder." 

He  pointed  to  a  heavy  oaken  door,  thickly  studded  with 
nails,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room.  Approaching  the  door, 
with  the  portfolio,  Obenreizer  discovered,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, that  there  were  no  means  whatever  of  opening  it  from 
the  outside.  There  was  no  handle,  no  bolt,  no  key,  and 
(climax  of  passive  obstruction  !)  no  key-hole. 

"  There  is  a  second  door  to  this  room  ?  "  said  Obenreizer, 
appealing  to  the  notary. 

"  No,"  said  Maitre  Voigt.     "  Guess  again." 

"  There  is  a  window  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  The  window  has  been  bricked  up. 
The  only  way  in,  is  the  way  by  that  door.  Do  you  give  it 
up  ?  "  cried  Maitre  Voigt,  in  high  triumph.  "  Listen,  my 
good  fellow,  and  tell  me  if  you  hear  nothing  inside  ? " 

Obenreizer  listened  for  a  moment,  and  started  back  from 
the  door. 

"  I  know  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  heard  of  this  when  I  was 
apprenticed    here    at    the    watchmaker's.     Perrin    Brothers 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  105 

have  finished  their  famous  clock-lock  at  last — and  you  have 
got  it  ? " 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  The  clock-lock  it  is  ! 
There,  my  son  !  There  you  have  one  more  of  what  the  good 
people  of  this  town  call,  '  Daddy  Voigt's  follies.'  With  all 
my  heart  !  Let  those  laugh  who  win.  No  thief  can  steal 
my  keys.  No  burglar  can  pick  my  lock.  No  power  on  earth, 
short  of  a  battering-ram  or  a  barrel  of  gunpowder,  can  move 
that  door,  till  my  little  sentinel  inside — my  worthy  friend 
who  goes  '  Tick,  Tick,'  as  I  tell  him — says  '  Open  !  '  The 
big  door  obeys  the  little  tick,  tick,  and  the  little  tick,  tick, 
obeys  me.  That !  "  cried  Daddy  Voigt,  snapping  his  fingers, 
"  for  all  the  thieves  in  Christendom  !  " 

"  May  I  see  it  in  action  ?  "  asked  Obenreizer.  "  Pardon 
my  curiosity,  dear  sir  !  You  know  that  I  was  once  a  toler- 
able worker  in  the  clock  trade." 

"  Certainly  you  shall  see  it  in  action,"  said  Maitre  Voigt. 
"  What  is  the  time  now.  One  minute  to  eight.  Watch,  and 
in  one  minute  you  will  see  the  door  open  of  itself." 

In  one  minute,  smoothly  and  slowly  and  silently,  as  if 
invisible  hands  had  set  it  free,  the  heavy  door  opened  in- 
ward, and  disclosed  a  dark  chamber  beyond.  On  three  sides 
shelves  filled  the  walls,  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Arranged  on 
the  shelves  were  rows  upon  rows  of  boxes  made  in  the 
pretty  inlaid  wood-work  of  Switzerland,  and  bearing  inscribed 
on  their  fronts  (for  the  most  part  in  fanciful  colored  letters) 
the  names  of  the  notary's  clients. 

Maitre  Voigt  lighted  a  taper,  and  led  the  way  into  the 
room. 

"  You  shall  see  the  clock,"  he  said  proudly.  "  I  possess 
the  greatest  curiosity  in  Europe.  It  is  only  a  privileged  few 
whose  eyes  can  look  at  it.  I  give  the  privilege  to  your  good 
father's  son — you  shall  be  one  of  the  favored  few  who  can 
enter  the  room  with  me.  See  !  here  it  is,  on  the  right  hand 
wall  at  the  side  of  the  door." 

"  An  ordinary  clock,"  exclaimed  Obenreizer.  "  No,  not 
an  ordinary  clock.     It  has  only  one  hand." 

"  Aha  !  "  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  Not  an  ordinary  clock,  my 
friend.  No,  no.  That  one  hand  goes  round  the  dial.  As 
I  put  it,  so  it  regulates  the  hour  at  which  the  door  shall  open. 
See  !  The  hand  points  to  eight.  At  eight  the  door  opened, 
as  you  saw  for  yourself." 

"  Does  it  open  more  than  once  in  the  four- and- twenty 
hours  ?  "  asked  Obenreizer. 


I06  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"  More  than  once  ?  "  repeated  the  notary,  with  great  scorn. 
"  You  don't  know  my  good  friend  tick,  tick  !  He  will  open 
the  door  as  often  as  I  ask  him.  All  he  wants  is  his  directions, 
and  he  gets  them  here.  Look  below  the  dial.  Here  is  a 
half-circle  of  steel  let  into  the  wall,  and  here  is  a  hand 
(called  the  regulator)  that  travels  round  it,  just  as  my  hand 
chooses.  Notice,  if  you  please,  that  there  are  figures  to 
guide  me  on  the  half  circle  of  steel.  Figure  I.  means  :  Open 
once  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours.  Figure  II.  means  :  Open 
twice  ;  and  so  on  to  the  end.  I  set  the  regulator  every 
morning,  after  I  have  read  my  letters,  and  when  I  know 
what  my  day's  work  is  to  be.  Would  you  like  to  see  me  set 
it  now  ?  What  day  is  to-day  ?  Wednesday.  Good  !  This 
is  the  day  of  our  rifle  club  ;  there  is  little  business  to  do  ;  I 
grant  a  half-holiday.  No  work  here  to-day,  after  three 
o'clock.  Let  us  first  put  away  this  portfolio  of  municipal 
papers.  There  !  No  need  to  trouble  tick,  tick  to  open  the 
door  until  eight  to-morrow.  Good  !  I  leave  the  dial  hand 
at  eight ;  I  put  back  the  regulator  to  I.  ;  I  close  the  door  ; 
and  closed  the  door  remains,  past  all  opening  by  any  body, 
till  to-morrow  morning  at  eight." 

Obenreizer's  quickness  instantly  saw  the  means  by  which 
he  might  make  the  clock-lock  betray  its  master's  confidence, 
and  place  its  master's  papers  at  his  disposal. 

"  Stop,  sir  !  '  he  cried,  at  the  moment  when  the  notary 
was  closing  the  door.  "  Don't  I  see  something  moving 
among  the  boxes — on  the  floor  there  ?  " 

(Maitre  Voigt  turned  his  back  for  a  moment  to  look.  In 
that  moment,  Obenreizer's  ready  hand  put  the  regulator  on, 
from  the  figure  "  I."  to  the  figure  "  II."  Unless  the  notary 
looked  again  at  the  half-circle  of  steel,  the  door  would  open 
at  eight  that  evening,  as  well  as  at  eight  next  morning,  and 
nobody  but  Obenreizer  would  know  it.) 

"  There  is  nothing  !  "  said  Maitre  Voigt.  "  Your  troub- 
les have  shaken  your  nerves,  my  son.  Some  shadow  thrown 
by  my  taper  ;  or  some  poor  little  beetle,  who  lives  among 
the  old  lawyer's  secrets,  running  away  from  the  light.  Hark  ! 
I  hear  your  fellow-clerk  in  the  office.  To  work  !  to  work  ! 
and  build  to-day  the  first  step  that  leads  to  your  new  for- 
tunes !  " 

He  good-humoredly  pushed  Obenreizer  out  before  him  ; 
extinguished  the  taper,  with  a  last  fond  glance  at  his  clock 
which  passed  harmlessly  over  the  regulator  beneath  ;  and 
closed  the  oaken  door. 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  107 

At  three  the  office  was  shut  up.  The  notary  and  every- 
body in  the  notary's  employment,  with  one  exception,  went 
to  see  the  rifle  shooting.  Obenreizer  had  pleaded  that  he 
was  not  in  spirits  for  a  public  festival.  Nobody  knew  what 
had  become  of  him.  It  was  believed  that  he  had  slipped 
away  for  a  solitary  walk. 

The  house  and  offices  had  been  closed  but  a  few  minutes, 
when  the  doors  of  a  shining  wardrobe  in  the  notary's  shin- 
ing room  opened,  and  Obenreizer  stepped  out.  He  walked 
to  a  window,  unclosed  the  shutters,  satisfied  himself  that  he 
could  ^escape  unseen  by  way  of  the  garden,  turned  back  into 
the  room,  and  took  his  place  in  the  notary's  easy  chair. 
He  was  locked  up  in  the  house,  and  there  were  five  hours 
to  wait  before  eight  o'clock  came. 

He  wore  his  way  through  the  five  hours  ;  somtimes  read- 
ing the  books  and  newspapers  that  lay  on  the  table,  some- 
times thinking,  sometimes  walking  to  and  fro.  Sunset  came 
on.  He  closed  the  window-shutters  before  he  kindled  a 
light.  The  candle  lighted,  and  the  time  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer,  he  sat  watch  in  hand,  with  his  eyes  on  the  oaken 
door. 

At  eight,  smoothly  and  softly  and  silently  the  door  opened. 

One  after  another,  he  read  the  names  on  the  outer  rows  of 
boxes.  No  such  name  as  Vendale  !  He  removed  the  outer 
row,  and  looked  at  the  row  behind.  These  were  older  boxes 
and  shabbier  boxes.  The  four  first  that  he  examined,  were 
inscribed  with  French  and  German  names.  The  fifth  bore 
a  name  which  was  almost  illegible.  He  brought  it  out  into 
the  room,  and  examined  it  closely.  There,  covered  thickly 
with  time-stains  and  dust,  was  the  name  :    "  Vendale." 

The  key  hung  to  the  box  by  a  string.  He  unlocked  the 
box,  took  out  four  loose  papers  that  were  in  it,  spread  them 
upon  the  table,  and  began  to  read  them.  He  had  not  so 
occupied  a  minute,  when  his  face  fell  from  its  expression  of 
eagerness  and  avidity,  to  one  of  haggard  astonishment  and 
disappointment.  But,  after  a  little  consideration,  he  copied 
the  papefs.  He  then  replaced  the  papers,  replaced  the  box, 
closed  the  door,  extinguished  the  candle,  and  stole  away. 

As  his  murderous  and  thievish  footfall  passed  out  of  the 
garden,  the  steps  of  the  notary  and  some  one  accompanying 
him  stopped  at  the  front  door  of  the  house.  The  lamps 
were  lighted  in  the  little  street,  and  the  notary  had  his  door- 
key  in  his  hand. 

Pray  do  not  pass  my  house,  Mr.  Bintrey,"  he  said.  "  Do 


io8  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

me  the  honor  to  come  in.  It  is  one  of  our  own  town  half- 
holidays — our  Tir— but  my  people  will  be  back  directly.  It 
is  droll  that  you  should  ask  your  way  to  the  hotel  of  me. 
Let  us  eat  and  drink  before  you  go  there." 

''Thank  you;  not  to-night,"  said  Bintrey.  "Shall  I 
come  to  you  at  ten  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  enchanted,  sir,  to  take  so  early  an  opportunity 
of  redressing  the  wrongs  of  my  injured  client,"  returned  the 
good  notary. 

"  Yes,"  retorted  Bintrey  ;  "your  injured  client  is  all  very 
well — but — a  word  in  your  ear."  % 

He  whispered  to  the  notary  and  walked  off.  When  the 
notary's  housekeeper  came  home,  she  found  him  standing  at 
his  door  motionless,  with  the  key  still  in  his  hand,  and  the 
door  unopened. 

obenreizer's  victory. 

The  scene  shifts  again — to  the  foot  of  the  Simplon,  on  the 
Swiss  side. 

In  one  of  the  dreary  rooms  of  the  dreary  little  inn  at  Brieg, 
Mr.  Bintrey  and  Maitre  Voigt  sat  together  at  a  professional 
council  of  two.  Mr.  Bintrey  was  searching  in  his  dispatch- 
box.  Maitre  Voigt  was  looking  toward  a  closed  door, 
painted  brown  to  imitate  mahogany,  and  communicating 
with  an  inner  room. 

"  Isn't  it  time  he  was  here  ?  "  asked  the  notary,  shifting 
his  position,  and  glancing  at  a  second  door  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  painted  yellow  to  imitate  deal. 

"  He  is  here,"  answered  Bintrey,  after  listening  for  a 
moment. 

The  yellow  door  was  opened  by  a  waiter,  and  Obenreizer 
walked  in. 

After  greeting  Maitre  Voigt  with  a  cordiality  which  ap- 
peared to  cause  the  notary  no  little  embarrassment,  Oben- 
reizer bowed  with  grave  and  distant  politeness  to  Bintrey. 
"  For  what  reason  have  I  been  brought  from  Neuchatel  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  ? "  he  inquired,  taking  the  seat 
which  the  English  lawyer  had  indicated  to  him. 

"  You  shall  be  quite  satisfied  on  that  head  before  our  in- 
terview is  over,"  returned  Bintrey.  "  For  the  present,  per- 
mit me  to  suggest  proceeding  at  once  to  business.  There 
has  been  a  correspondence,  Mr.  Obenreizer,  between  you  and 
your  niece.     I  am  here  to  represent  your  niece," 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  109 

"  In  other  words,  you,  a  lawyer,  are  here  to  represent  an 
infraction  of  the  law." 

"  Admirably  put  !  "  said  Bintrey.  M  If  all  the  people  I 
have  to  deal  with  were  only  like  you,  what  an  easy  profession 
mine  would  be  !  I  am  here  to  represent  an  infraction  of  the 
law — that  is  your  point  of  view.  I  am  here  to  make  a  com- 
promise between  you  and  your  niece — that  is  my  point  of 
view." 

"  There  must  be  two  parties  to  a  compromise,"  rejoined 
Obenreizer.  "  I  decline,  in  this  case,  to  be  one  of  them. 
The  law  gives  me  authority  to  control  my  niece's  actions, 
until  she  comes  of  age.  She  is  not  yet  of  age  ;  and  I  claim 
my  authority." 

At  this  point  Maitre  Voigt  attempted  to  speak.  Bintrey 
silenced  him  with  a  compassionate  indulgence  of  tone  and 
manner,  as  if  he  was  silencing  a  favorite  child. 

"No,  my  worthy  friend,  not  a  word.  Don't  ex  ute  your- 
self unnecessarily  ;  leave  it  to  me."  He  turned,  and  ad- 
dressed himself  again  to  Obenreizer.  "I  can  think  of 
nothing  comparable  to  you,  Mr.  Obenreizer,  but  granite — 
and  even  that  wears  out  in  course  of  time.  In  the  interests 
of  peace  and  quietness — for  the  sake  of  your  own  dignity — 
relax  a  little.  If  you  will  only  delegate  your  authority  to 
another  person  whom  I  know  of,  that  person  may  be  trusted 
never  to  lose  sight  of  your  niece,  night  or  day  !  " 

"  You.  are  wasting  your  time  and  mine,"  returned  Oben- 
reizer. "  If  my  niece  is  not  rendered  up  to  my  authority 
within  one  week  from  this  day,  I  invoke  the  law.  If  you 
resist  the  law,  I  take  her  by  force." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  as  he  said  the  last  word.  Maitre  Voigt 
looked  round  again  toward  the  brown  door  which  led  into 
the  inner  room. 

"  Have  some  pity  on  the  poor  girl,"  pleaded  Bintrey. 
"  Remember  how  lately  she  lost  her  lover  by  a  dreadful 
death  !     Will  nothing  move  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing."  i 

Bintrey,  in  his  turn,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  looked  at  Maitre 
Voigt.  Maitre  Voigt's  hand,  resting  on  the  table,  beganto 
tremble.  Maitre  Voigt's  eyes  remained  fixed,  as  if  by  irre- 
sistible fascination,  on  the  brown  door.  Obenreizer,  sus- 
piciously observing  him,  looked  that  way  too. 

"  There  is  somebody  listening  in  there  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  sharp  backward  glance  at  Bintrey. 

w  There  are  two  people  listening,"  answered  Bintrey. 


no  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

"Who  are  they?" 

"You  shall  see." 

With  that  answer,  he  raised  his  voice  and  spoke  the  next 
words — the  two  common  words  which  are  on  every  body's 
lips,  at  every  hour  of  the  day  :  "  Come  in  !  " 

The  brown  door  opened.  Supported  on  Marguerite's  arm 
— his  sunburned  color  gone,  his  right  arm  bandaged  and 
slung  over  his  breast — Vendale  stood  before  the  murderer, 
a  man  risen  from  the  dead. 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  followed,  the  singing  of  a 
caged  bird  in  the  court-yard  outside  was  the  one  sound  stir- 
ring in  the  room.  Maitre  Voigt  touched  Bintrey,  and 
pointed  to  Obenreizer.  "  Look  at  him  !  "  said  the  notary  in 
a  whisper. 

The  shock  had  paralyzed  every  movement  in  the  villain's 
body,  but  the  movement  of  the  blood.  His  face  was  like 
the  face  of  a  corpse.  The  one  vestige  of  color  left  in  it  was 
a  livid  purple  streak  which  marked  the  course  of  the  seal 
where  his  victim  had  wounded  him  on  the  cheek  and  neck. 
Speechless,  breathless,  motionless  alike  in  the  eye  and  limb, 
it  seemed  as  if,  at  the  sight  of  Vendale,  the  death  to  which 
he  had  doomed  Vendale,  had  struck  him  where  he  stood. 

"  Somebody  ought  to  speak  to  him,"  said  Maitre  Voigt. 
"Shall  I?" 

Even  at  that  moment  Bintrey  persisted  in  silencing  the 
notary,  and  in  keeping  the  lead  in  the  proceedings  to  him- 
self. Checking  Maitre  Voigt  by  a  gesture,  he  dismissed 
Marguerite  and  Vendale  in  these  words  :  "The  object  of 
your  appearance  here  is  answered,"  he  said.  "  If  you  will 
withdraw  for  the  present,  it  may  help  Mr.  Obenreizer  to 
recover  himself." 

It  did  help  him.  As  the  two  passed  through  the  door  and 
closed  it  behind  them,  he  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  He 
looked  round  him  for  the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen,  and 
dropped  into  it. 

"  Give  him  time  !  "  pleaded  Maitre  Voigt. 

"  No,"  said  Bintrey.  "  I  don't  know  what  use  he  may 
make  of  it  if  I  do."  He  turned  once  more  to  Obenreizer, 
and  went  on.  "  I  owe  it  to  myself,"  he  said — "  I  don't  ad- 
mit, mind,  that  I  owe  it  to  you — to  account  for  my  appear- 
ance in  these  proceedings,  and  to  state  what  has  been  done 
under  my  advice,  and  on  my  sole  responsibility.  Can  you 
listen  to  me? " 

"  I  can  listen  to  you." 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  in 

4  Recall  the  time  when  you  started  for  Switzerland  with 
Mr.  Vendale,"  Bintrey  began.  "You  had  not  left  England 
four-and-twenty  hours  before  your  niece  committed  an  act 
of  imprudence  which  not  even  your  penetration  could  fore- 
see. She  followed  her  promised  husband  on  his  journey, 
without  asking  any  body's  advice  or  permission,  and  without 
any  better  companion  to  protect  her  than  a  cellarman  in  Mr. 
Vendale's  employment." 

"Why  did  she  follow  me  on  the  journey  ?  and  how  came 
the  cellarman  to  be  the  person  who  accompanied  her  ? " 

"  She  followed  you  on  the  journey,"  answered  Bintrey, 
"  because  she  suspected  there  had  been  some  serious  collision 
between  you  and  Mr.  Vendale,  which  had  been  kept  secret 
from  her  ;  and  because  she  rightly  believed  you  to  be  capa- 
ble of  serving  your  interests,  or  of  satisfying  your  enmity,  at 
the  price  of  a  crime.  As  for  the  cellarman,  he  was  one, 
Among  the  other  people  in  Mr.  Vendale's  establishment,  to 
whom  she  had  applied  (the  moment  your  back  was  turned) 
to  know  if  any  thing  had  happened  between  their  master  and 
you.  The  cellarman  alone  had  something  to  tell  her.  A 
senseless  superstition,  and  a  common  accident  which  had 
happened  to  his  master,  in  his  master's  cellar,  had  connected 
Mr.  Vendale  in  this  man's  mind  with  the  idea  of  danger  by 
murder.  Your  niece  surprised  him  into  a  confession,  which 
aggravated  tenfold  the  terrors  that  possessed  her.  Aroused 
to  a  sense  of  the  mischief  he  had  done,  the  man,  of  his  own 
accord,  made  the  one  atonement  in  his  power.  '  If  my  mas- 
ter is  in  danger,  miss,'  he  said,  'it's my  duty  to  follow  him, 
too  ;  and  it's  more  than  my  duty  to  take  care  oi you.'  The 
two  set  forth  together — and,  for  once,  a  superstition  has  had 
its  use.  It  decided  your  niece  on  taking  the  journey  ;  and 
it  led  the  way  to  saving  a  man's  life.  Do  you  understand  me, 
so  far  ?  " 

"  I  understand  you,  so  far." 

"  My  first  knowledge  of  the  crime  that  you  had  committed," 
pursued  Bintrey,  "  came  to  me  in  the  form  of  a  letter  from 
your  niece.  All  you  need  know  is  that  her  love  and  her 
courage  recovered  the  body  of  your  victim,  and  aided  the 
after-efforts  which  brought  him  back  to  life.  While  he  lay 
helpless  at  Brieg,  under  her  care,  she  wrote  to  me  to  come 
out  to  him.  Before  starting,  I  informed  Madame  Dor  that  I 
knew  Miss  Obenreizer  to  be  safe,  and  knew  where  she  was. 
Madame  Dor  informed  me,  in  return,  that  a  letter  had  come 
for  your  niece,  which  she  knew  to  be  in  your  handwriting. 


ii2  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

I  took  possession  of  it,  and  arranged  for  the  forwarding  of 
any  other  letters  which  might  follow.  Arrived  at  Brieg,  I 
found  Mr.  Vendale  out  of  danger,  and  at  once  devoted  my- 
self to  hastening  the  day  of  reckoning  with  you.  Defresnier 
and  Company  turned  you  off  on  suspicion  ;  acting  on  in- 
formation privately  supplied  by  me.  Having  stripped  you 
of  your  false  character,  the  next  thing  to  do  was  to  strip 
you  of  your  authority  over  your  niece.  To  reach  this 
end,  I  not  only  had  no  scruple  in  digging  the  pitfall 
under  your  feet  in  the  dark — I  felt  a  certain  professional 
pleasure  in  fighting  you  with  your  own  weapons.  By  my 
advice  the  trap  into  which  you  have  walked  was  set  for  you 
(you  know  why,  now,  as  well  as  I  do)  in  this  place.  There 
was  but  one  certain  way  of  shaking  the  devilish  self-control 
which  had  hitherto  made  you  a  formidable  man.  That  way 
has  been  tried,  and  (look  at  me  as  you  may)  that  way  has 
succeeded.  The  last  thing  that  remains  to  be  done,"  con- 
cluded Bintrey,  producing  two  little  slips  of  manuscript  from 
his  dispatch  box,  "  is  to  set  your  niece  free.  You  have  at- 
tempted murder,  and  you  have  committed  forgery  and  theft. 
We  have  the  evidence  ready  against  you  in  both  cases.  If 
you  are  convicted  as  a  felon,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  what 
becomes  of  your  authority  over  your  niece.  Personally,  I 
should  have  preferred  taking  that  way  out  of  it.  But  con- 
siderations are  pressed  on  me  which  I  am  not  able  to  resist, 
and  this  interview  must  end,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  in  a 
compromise.  Sign  those  lines,  resigning  all  authority  over 
Miss  Obenreizer,  and  pledging  yourself  never  to  be  seen  in 
England  or  in  Switzerland  again  ;  and  I  will  sign  an  indem- 
nity which  secures  you  against  further  proceedings  on  our 
part." 

Obenreizer  took  the  pen,  in  silence,  and  signed  the  niece's 
release.  On  receiving  the  indemnity  in  return,  he  rose,  but 
made  no  movement  to  leave  the  room.  He  stood  looking  at 
Maitre  Voigt  with  a  strange  smile  gathering  at  his  lips,  and 
a  strange  light  flashing  in  his  filmy  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  asked  Bintrey. 

Obenreizer  pointed  to  the  brown  door.  "  Call  them  back," 
he  answered.  "  I  have  something  to  say  in  their  presence 
before  I  go." 

"  Say  it  in  my  presence,"  retorted  Bintrey.  "  I  decline 
to  call  them  back." 

Obenreizer  turned  to  Maitre  Voigt.  "  Do  you  remember 
telling  me  that  you  once  had  an  English  client  named  Ven- 
dale ? "  he  aske^ 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  113 

:*  Well,"  answered  the  notary.     "  And  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  Maitre  Voigt,  your  clock-lock  has  betrayed  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  the  letters  and  certificates  in  your  client's 
box,  I  have  taken  copies  of  them.  I  have  got  copies  here. 
Is  there,  or  is  there  not,  a  reason  for  calling  them  back  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  notary  looked  to  and  fro,  between 
Obenreizer  and  Bintrey,  in  helpless  astonishment.  Recover- 
ing himself,  he  drew  his  brother-lawyer  aside,  and  hurriedly 
spoke  a  few  words  close  at  his  ear.  The  face  of  Bintrey — 
after  first  faithfully  reflecting  the  astonishment  on  the  face 
of  Maitre  Voigt — suddenly  altered  its  expression.  He 
sprang,  with  the  activity  of  a  young  man,  to  the  door  of  the 
inner  room,  entered  it,  remained  inside  for  a  minute,  and 
returned,  followed  by  Marguerite  and  Vendale.  "  Now,  Mr. 
Obenreizer,"  said  Bintrey,  "  the  last  move  in  the  game  is 
yours.     Play  it." 

"Before  I  resign  my  position  as  that  young  lady's 
guardian,"  said  Obenreizer,  "  I  have  a  secret  to  reveal  in 
which  she  is  interested.  In  making  my  disclosure,  I  am 
not  claiming  her  attention  for  a  narrative  which  she,  or  any 
other  person  present,  is  expected  to  take  on  trust.  I  am 
possessed  of  written  proofs,  copies  of  originals,  the  authen- 
ticity of  which  Maitre  Voigt  himself  can  attest.  Bear  that 
in  mind,  and  permit  me  to  refer  you,  at  starting,  to  a  date 
long  past — the  month  of  February,  in  the  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  thirty-six." 

"  Mark  the  date,  Mr.  Vendale,"  said  Bintrey. 

"  My  first  proof,"  said  Obenreizer,  taking  a  paper  from 
his  pocket-book.  "  Copy  of  a  letter*  written  by  an  English 
lady  (married)  to  her  sister,  a  widow.  The  name  of  the 
person  writing  the  letter  I  shall  keep  suppressed  until  I  have 
done.  The  name  of  the  person  to  whom  the  letter  is  writ- 
ten I  am  willing  to  reveal.  It  is  addressed  to  ■  Mrs.  Jane 
Anne  Miller,  of  Groombridge  Wells,  England.'  " 

Vendale  started  and  opened  his  lips  to  speak.  Bintrey 
instantly  stopped  him,  as  he  had  stopped  Maitre  Voigt. 

"  No,"  said  the  pertinacious  lawyer.     "  Leave  it  to   me." 

Obenreizer  went  on  : 

"  It  is  needless  to  trouble  you  with  the  first  half  of  the 
letter,"  he  said.  "I  can  give  the  substance  of  it  in  two 
words.  The  position  at  the  time  is  this.  She  has  been  long 
living  in  Switzerland  with  her  husband — obliged  to  live 
there  for  the  sake  of  her  husband's  health.     They  are  about 


lt4  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

to  move  to  a  new  residence  on  the  Lake  of  Neuchatel  in  a 
week,  and  they  will  be  ready  to  receive  Mrs.  Miller  as  a  vis- 
itor in  a  fortnight  from  that  time.  This  said,  the  writer 
next  enters  into  an  important  domestic  detail.  She  has 
been  childless  for  years — she  and  her  husband  have  no  hope 
of  children  ;  they  are  lonely  ;  they  want  an  interest  in  life  ; 
they  have  decided  on  adopting  a  child.  Here  the  important 
part  of  the  letter  begins  ;  and  here,  therefore,  I  read  it  to 
you  word  for  word." 

He  folded  back  the  first  page  of  the  letter  and  read  as 
follows  : 

«  *  *  *  Will  you  help  us,  my  dear  sister,  to  realize  our 
new  project  ?  As  English  people,  we  wish  to  adopt  an 
English  child.  This  may  be  done,  I  believe,  at  the  Found- 
ling :  my  husband's  lawyers  in  London  will  tell  you  how. 
I  leave  the  choice  to  you,  with  only  these  conditions  attached 
to  it — that  the  child  is  to  be  an  infant  under  a  year  old,  and 
is  to  be  a  boy.  Will  you  pardon  the  trouble  I  am  giving 
you,  for  my  sake  ;  and  will  you  bring  our  adopted  child  to 
us,  with  your  own  children,  when  you  come  to  Neuchatel  ? 

"  I  must  add  a  word  as  to  my  husband's  wishes  in  this 
matter.  He  is  resolved  to  spare  the  child  whom  we  make 
our  own  any  future  mortification  and  loss  of  self-respect 
which  might  be  caused  by  a  discovery  of  his  true  origin. 
He  will  bear  my  husband's  name,  and  he  will  be  brought  up 
in  the  belief  that  he  is  really  our  son.  His  inheritance  of 
what  we  have  to  leave  will  be  secure  to  him — not  only 
according  to  the  laws  of  England  in  such  cases,  but  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  Switzerland  also  ;  for  we  have  lived  so 
long  in  this  country,  that  there  is  a  doubt  whether  we  may 
not  be  considered  as  '  domiciled  '  in  Switzerland.  The  one 
precaution  left  to  take  is  to  prevent  any  after-discovery  at 
the  Foundling.  Now,  our  name  is  a  very  uncommon  one  ; 
and  if  we  appear  on  the  register  of  the  institution  as  the 
person  adopting  the  child,  there  is  just  a  chance  that  some- 
thing might  result  from  it.  Your  name,  my  dear,  is  the  name 
of  thousands  of  other  people  ;  and  if  you  will  consent  to  ap- 
pear on  the  register,  there  need  be  no  fear  of  any  discoveries 
in  that  quarter.  We  are  moving,  by  the  doctor's  orders,  to 
a  part  of  Switzerland  in  which  our  circumstances  are  quite 
unknown  ;  and  you,  as  I  understand,  are  about  to  engage  a 
new  nurse  for  the  journey  when  you  come  to  see  us.  Under 
these  circumstances  the   child   may   appear  as  my  child, 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  115  • 

brought  back  to  me  under  my  sister's  care.  The  only  serv- 
ant we  take  with  us  from  our  old  home  is  my  own  maid,  who 
can  be  safely  trusted.  As  for  the  lawyers  in  England  and  in 
Switzerland,  it  is  their  profession  to  keep  secrets — and  we 
may  feel  quite  easy  in  that  direction.  So  there  you  have 
our  harmless  little  conspiracy  !  Write  by  return  of  post,  my 
love,  and  tell  me  you  will  join  it."     *     *     * 

"  Do  you  still  conceal  the  name  of  the  writer  of  that 
letter  ?  "  asked  Vendale. 

"  I  keep  the  name  of  the  writer  till  the  last,"  answered 
Obenreizer,  "  and  I  proceed  to  my  second  proof — a  mere 
slip  of  paper,  this  time,  as  you  see.  Memorandum  given  to 
the  Swiss  lawyer,  who  drew  the  documents  referred  to  in 
the  letter  I  have  just  read,  expressed  as  follows  : — '  Adopted 
from  the  Foundling  Hospital  of  England,  3d  March,  1836, 
a  male  infant,  called  in  the  institution  Walter  Wilding. 
Person  appearing  on  the  register,  as  adopting  the  child, 
Mrs.  Jane  Anne  Miller,  widow,  acting  in  this  matter  for 
her  married  sister,  domiciled  in  Switzerland.'  Patience  !  " 
resumed  Obenreizer,  as  Vendale,  breaking  loose  from  Bin- 
trey,  started  to  his  feet.  "  I  shall  not  keep  the  name  con. 
cealed  much  longer.  Two  more  little  slips  of  paper,  and  I 
have  done.  Third  proof  !  Certificate  of  Doctor  Ganz, 
still  living  in  practice  at  Neuchatel,  dated  July,  1838. 
The  doctor  certified  (you  shall  read  it  for  yourselves  di- 
rectly), first,  that  he  attended  the  adopted  child  in  its  infant 
maladies  ;  second,  that,  three  months  before  the  date  ot 
the  certificate,  the  gentleman  adopting  the  child  as  his  son 
died  ;  third,  that  on  the  date  of  the  certificate,  his  widow 
and  her  maid,  taking  the  adopted  child  with  them,  left 
Neuchatel  on  their  return  to  England.  One  more  link  now 
added  to  this,  and  my  chain  of  evidence  is  complete.  The 
maid  remained  with  her  mistress  till  her  mistress's  death, 
only  a  few  years  since.  The  maid  can  swear  to  the  identity 
of  the  adopted  infant,  from  his  childhood  to  his  youth — from 
his  youth  to  his  manhood,  as  he  is  now.  There  is  her  ad- 
dress in  England — and  there,  Mr.  Vendale,  is  the  fourth  and 
final  proof !  " 

"  Why  do  you  address  yourself  to  me  ?  "  said  Vendale,  as 
Obenreizer  threw  the  written  address  on  the  table. 

Obenreizer  turned  on  him,  in  a  sudden  frenzy  of  triumph. 

"Because you  are  the  man!  If  my  niece  marries  you,  she 
marries  a  bastard,  brought  up  by  public  charity.     If  my 


n6  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

niece  marries  you,  she  marries  an  impostor,  without  name  or 
lineage,  disguised  in  the  character  of  a  gentleman  of  rank 
and  family  !  " 

"  Bravo  ! "  cried  Bintrey.  "  Admirably  put,  Mr.  Oben- 
reizer  !  It  only  wants  one  word  more  to  complete  it.  She 
marries — thanks  entirely  to  your  exertions — a  man  who  in- 
herits a  handsome  fortune,  and  a  man  whose  origin  will 
make  him  prouder  than  ever  of  his  peasant  wife.  George 
Vendale,  as  brother-executors,  let  us  congratulate  each 
other  !  Our  dear  dead  friend's  last  wish  on  earth  is  accom- 
plished. We  have  found  the  lost  Walter  Wilding.  As  Mr. 
Obenreizer  said  just  now — you  are  the  man  !  " 

The  word  passed  by  Vendale  unheeded.  For  the  moment 
he  was  conscious  of  but  one  sensation  ;  he  heard  but  one 
voice.  Marguerite's  hand  was  clasping  his.  Marguerite's 
voice  was  whispering  to  him  :  "  I  never  loved  you,  George, 
as  I  love  you  now  !  " 

The  Curtain  Falls. 

May-day.  There  is  merry-making  in  Cripple  Corner,  the 
chimneys  smoke,  the  patriarchal  dining-hall  is  hung  with 
garlands,  and  Mrs.  Goldstraw,  the  respected  housekeeper,  is 
very  busy.  For  on  this  bright  morning  the  young  master  of 
Cripple  Corner  is  married  to  its  young  mistress,  far  away  : 
to  wit,  in  the  little  town  of  Brieg,  in  Switzerland,  lying  at 
the  foot  of  the  Simplon  Pass,  where  she  saved  his  life. 

The  bells  ring  gayly  in  the  little  town  of  Brieg,  and  flags 
are  stretched  across  the  street,  and  rifle  shots  are  heard,  and 
sounding  music  from  brass  instruments.  Streamer-decorated 
casks  of  wine  have  been  rolled  out  under  a  gay  awning  in 
the  public  way  before  the  inn,  and  there  will  be  free  feasting 
and  revelry.  What  with  bells  and  banners,  draperies  hanging 
from  windows,  explosion  of  gunpowder,  and  reverberations 
of  brass  music,  the  little  town  of  Brieg  is  all  in  a  flutter, 
like  the  hearts  of  its  simple  people. 

It  was  a  stormy  night  last  night,  and  the  mountains  are 
covered  with  snow.  But  the  sun  is  brighter  to-day,  the  sweet 
air  is  fresh,  the  tin  spires  of  the  town  of  Brieg  are  burnished 
silver,  and  the  Alps  are  ranges  of  far-off  white  cloud  in  a 
deep  blue  sky. 

The  primitive  people  of  the  little  town  of  Brieg  have  built  a 
greenwood  arch  across  the  street,  under  which  the  newly  mar- 
ried pair  shall  pass  in  triumph  from  the  church.     It  is  in- 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  it; 

scribed,  on  that  side,  "  Honor  and  Love  to  Marguerite 
Vendale  !  "  for  the  people  are  proud  of  her  to  enthusiasm. 
This  greeting  of  the  bride  under  her  new  name  is  affection- 
ately meant  as  a  surprise,  and  therefore  the  arrangement  has 
been  made  that  she,  unconscious  why,  shall  be  taken  to  the 
church  by  a  tortuous  back  way.  A  scheme  not  difficult  to 
carry  into  execution  in  the  crooked  little  town  of  Brieg. 

So  all  things  are  in  readiness,  and  they  are  to  go  and 
come  on  foot.  Assembled  in  the  inn's  best  chamber,  festively 
adorned,  are  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  the  Neuchatel  no- 
tary, and  London  lawyer,  Madame  Dor,  and  a  certain  large 
mysterious  Englishman,  popularly  known  as  Monsieur  Zhoe- 
Ladelle.  And  behold  Madame  Dor,  arrayed  in  a  spotless 
pair  of  gloves  of  her  own,  with  no  hand  in  the  air,  but  both 
hands  clasped  round  the  neck  of  the  bride  ;  to  embrace 
whom  Madame  Dor  has  turned  her  broad  back  on  the  com- 
pany, consistent  to  the  last. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  beautiful,"  pleads  Madame  Dor,  "  for 
that  I  ever  was  his  she-cat  ! " 

"  She-cat,  Madame  Dor  ? " 

u  Engaged  to  sit  watching  my  so  charming  mouse,"  are 
the  explanatory  words  of  Madame  Dor,  delivered  with  a 
penitential  sob. 

"  Why,  you  were  our  best  friend  !  George,  dearest,  tell 
Madame  Dor.     Was  she  not  our  best  friend  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  darling.  What  should  we  have  done  with- 
out her  ?  " 

"  You  are  both  so  generous,"  cried  Madame  Dor,  accept- 
ing consolation,  and  immediately  relapsing.  "  But  I  com- 
menced as  a  she-cat." 

"  Ah  !  But  like  the  cat  in  the  fairy  story,  good  Madame 
Dor,"  says  Vendale,  saluting  her  cheek,  "you  were  a  true 
woman.  And,  being  a  true  woman,  the  sympathy  of  your 
heart  was  with  true  love." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  deprive  Madame  Dor  of  her  share  in  the 
embraces  that  are  going  on,"  Mr.  Bintrey  puts  in,  watch  in 
hand,  "  and  I  don't  presume  to  offer  any  objection  to  your 
having  got  yourselves  mixed  together,  in  the  corner  there, 
like  the  Three  Graces.  I  merely  remark  that  I  think  it's  time 
we  were  moving.  What  are  your  sentiments  on  that  subject, 
Mr.  Ladle  ? " 

"  Clear,  sir,"  replies  Joey,  with  a  gracious  grin.  "  I'm 
clearer  altogether,  sir,  for  having  lived  so  many  weeks  upon 
the  surface.    I  never  was  half  so  long  upon  the  surface  afore, 


n8  NO  THOROUGHFARE. 

and  it's  done  me  a  power  of  good.  At  Cripple  Corner  I  was 
too  much  below  it.  Atop  of  the  Simpleton,  I  was  a  deal  too 
high  above  it.  I've  found  the  medium  here,  sir.  And  if 
ever  I  take  it  in  convivial,  in  all  the  rest  of  my  days,  I  mean 
to  do  it  this  day,  to  the  toast  of  '  Bless  'em  both.' " 

"  I  too  !  "  says  Bintrey.     "  And  now,  Monsieur  Voigt,  let 
you  and  me  be  two  men  of  Marseilles,  and  allons,  marchons, 


arm-in-arm 


They  go  down  to  the  door,  where  others  are  waiting  for 
them,  and  they  go  quietly  to  the  church,  and  the  happy 
marriage  takes  place.  While  the  ceremony  is  yet  in  prog- 
ress, the  notary  is  called  out.  When  it  is  finished,  he  has 
returned,  is  standing  behind  Vendale,  and  touches  him  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Go  to  the  side  door  one  moment,  Monsieur  Vendale. 
Alone.     Leave  madame  to  me." 

At  the  side  door  of  the  church  are  the  same  two  men  from 
the  Hospice.  They  are  snow-stained  and  travel-worn.  They 
wish  him  joy,  and  then  each  lays  his  broad  hand  upon  Ven- 
dale's  breast,  and  one  says  in  a  low  voice,  while  the  other 
steadfastly  regards  him  : 

"  Is  it  here,  monsieur.     Your  litter.     The  very  same." 

"  My  litter  is  here  ?     Why?" 

"  Hush  !  For  the  sake  of  madame.  Your  companion  of 
that  day — " 

"  What  of  him  ?  " 

The  man  looks  at  his  comrade,  and  his  comrade  takes  him 
up.    Each  keeps  his  hand  laid  earnestly  on  Vendale's  breast. 

"  He  had  been  living  at  the  first  Refuge,  monsieur,  for 
some  days.     The  weather  was  now  good,  now  bad." 

"Yes?" 

"  He  arrived  at  our  Hospice  the  day  before  yesterday,  and, 
having  refreshed  himself  with  sleep  on  the  floor  before  the 
fire,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  was  resolute  to  go  on,  before  dark, 
to  the  next  Hospice.  He  had  a  great  fear  of  that  part  of  the 
way,  and  thought  it  would  be  worse  to-morrow." 

"Yes?" 

"  He  went  on  alone.  He  had  passed  the  gallery  when  an 
avalanche— like  that  which  fell  behind  you  near  the  Bridge 
of  the  Ganther — " 

"Killed  him?" 

"  We  dug  him  out,  suffocated,  and  broken  all  to  pieces  ! 
But,  monsieur,  as  to  madame.  We  have  brought  him  here  on 
the  litter,  to  be  buried.     We  must  ascend  the  street  outside, 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  119 

madame'must  not  see.  It  would  be  an  accursed  thing  to  bring 
the  litter  through  the  arch  across  the  street,  until  madam e 
has  passed  through.  As  you  descend,  we  who  accompany 
the  litter  will  set  it  down  on  the  stones  of  the  street  the  sec- 
ond to  the  right  and  will  stand  before  it.  But  do  not  let 
madame  turn  her  head  toward  the  street  the  second  to  the 
right.  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  Madame  will  be  alarmed 
by  your  absence.     Adieu  !  " 

Vendale  returns  to  his  bride  and  draws  her  hand  through 
his  unmanned  arm.  A  pretty  procession  awaits  them  at  the 
main  door  of  the  church.  They  take  their  station  in  it,  and 
descend  the  streets  amidst  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  and 
firing  of  the  guns,  the  waving  of  the  flags,  the  playing  of 
the  music,  the  shouts,  the  smiles,  and  tears,  of  the  excited 
town.  Heads  are  uncovered  as  she  passes,  hands  are  kissed 
to  her,  all  the  people  bless  her.  "  Heaven's  benediction  on 
the  dear  girl  !  See  where  she  goes  in  her  youth  and  beauty  ; 
she  who  so  nobly  saved  his  life  !  " 

Near  the  corner  of  the  street  the  second  to  the  right,  he 
speaks  to  her,  and  calls  her  attention  to  the  windows  on  the 
opposite  side.  The  corner  well  passed,  he  says  :  "  Do  not 
look  round,  my  darling,  for  a  reason  that  I  have,"  and  turns 
his  head.  Then,  looking  back  along  the  street,  he  sees  the 
litter  and  its  bearers  passing  up  along  under  the  arch,  as  he 
and  she  and  their  marriage  train  go  down  toward  the  shin- 
mg  valley. 


PREFACE   TO    MASTER   HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK. 


When  the  author  commenced  this  work,  he  proposed  to 
himself  three-objects. 

First.  To  establish  a  periodical,  which  should  enable  him 
to  present,  under  one  general  head,  and  not  as  separate  and 
distinct  publications,  certain  fictions  which  he  had  it  in 
contemplation  to  write. 

Secondly.  To  produce  these  tales  in  weekly  numbers  ; 
hoping  that  to  shorten  the  intervals  of  communication  be- 
tween himself  and  his  readers,  would  be  to  knit  more  closely 
the  pleasant  relations  they  had  held  for  forty  months. 

Thirdly.  In  the  execution  of  this  weekly  task,  to  have  as 
much  regard  as  its  exigencies  would  permit,  to  each  story  as 
a  whole,  and  to  the  possibility  of  its  publication  at  some 
distant  day,  apart  from  the  machinery  in  which  it  had  its 
origin. 

The  characters  of  Master  Humphrey  and  his  three  friends, 
and  the  little  fancy  of  the  clock,  were  the  result  of  these 
considerations.  When  he  sought  to  interest  his  readers 
in  those  who  talked,  and  read,  and  listened,  he  revived 
Mr.  Pickwick  and  his  humble  friends,  not  with  any  inten- 
tion of  re-opening  an  exhausted  and  abandoned  mine,  but 
to  connect  them,  in  the  thoughts  of  those  whose  favorites 
they  had  been,  with  the  tranquil  enjoyments  of  Master 
Humphrey. 

It  was  never  the  author's  intention  to  make  the  members 
of  Master  Humphrey's  Clock  active  agents  in  the  stories 
they  are  supposed  to  relate.  Having  brought  himself,  in  the 
commencement  of  his  undertaking,  to  feel  an  interest  in 
these  quiet  creatures,  and  to  imagine  them  in  their  old 
chamber  of  meeting,  eager  listeners  to  all  he  had  to  tell,  the 
author  hoped — as  authors  will — to  succeed  in  awakening 
some  of  his  own  emotions  in  the  bosoms  of  his  readers. 
Imagining  Master  Humphrey  in  his  chimney-corner,  resum- 
ing night  after  night  the  narrative — say,  the  Old  Curiosity 


PREFACE.  121 

Shop — picturing  to  himself  the  various  sensations  of  his  hear- 
ers— thinking  how  Jack  Redburn  might  incline  to  poor  Kit, 
and  perhaps  lean  too  favorably  even  toward  the  lighter 
vices  of  Mr.  Richard  Swiveller — how  the  deaf  gentleman 
would  have  his  favorite,  and  Mr.  Miles  his — and  how  all 
these  gentle  spirits  would  trace  some  faint  reflection  of  their 
past  lives  in  the  varying  current  of  the  tale — he  has  insensibly 
fallen  into  the  belief  that  they  are  present  to  his  readers  as 
they  are  to  him,  and  has  forgotten  that,  like  one  whose 
vision  is  disordered,  he  may  be  conjuring  up  bright  figures 
where  there  is  nothing  but  empty  space. 

The  short  papers  which  are  to  be  found  at  the  beginning 
of  this  volume  v/ere  indispensable  to  the  form  of  publica- 
tion and  the  limited  extent  of  each  number,  as  no  story  of 
lengthened  interest  could  be  begun  until  "  The  Clock  "  was 
wound  up  and  fairly  going. 

The  author  would  fain  hope  that  there  are  not  many  who 
would  disturb  Master  Humphrey  and  his  friends  in  their 
seclusion  ;  who  would  have  them  forego  their  present  en- 
joyments to  exchange  those  confidences  with  each  other,  the 
absence  of  which  is  the  foundation  of  their  mutual  trust. 
For  when  their  occupation  is  gone,  when  their  tales  are 
ended,  and  but  their  personal  histories  remain,  the  chimney- 
corner  will  be  growing  cold,  and  the  clock  will  be  about  to 
stop  forever. 

One  other  word  in  his  own  person,  and  he  returns  to  the 
more  grateful  task  of  speaking  for  those  imaginary  people 
whose  little  world  lies  within  these  pages. 

It  may  be  some  consolation  to  the  well-disposed  ladies  or 
gentlemen  who,  in  the  interval  between  the  conclusion  of  his 
last  work  and  the  commencement  of  this,  originated  a  report 
that  he  had  gone  raving  mad,  to  know  that  it  spread  as 
rapidly  as  could  be  desired,  and  was  made  the  subject  of 
considerable  dispute  ;  not  as  regarded  the  fact,  for  that  was 
as  thoroughly  established  as  the  duel  between  Sir  Peter 
Teazle  and  Charles  Surface  in  the  "  School  for  Scandal  ;  " 
but  with  reference  to  the  unfortunate  lunatic's  place  of  con- 
finement— one  party  insisting  positively  on  Bedlam,  another 
inclining  favorably  toward  St.  Luke's,  and  a  third  swearing 
strongly  by  the  asylum  at  Hanwell ;  while  each  backed  its 
case  by  circumstantial  evidence  of  the  same  excellent  nature 
as  that  brought  to  bear  by  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  on  the 
pistol-shot  which  struck  against  the  little  bronze  bust  of 
Shakespeare  over  the  fireplace,  grazed  out  of  the  window 


122  PREFACE. 

at  a  right  angle,  and  wounded  the  postman,  who  was  corn- 
ing to  the  door  with  a  double  letter  from  Northamptonshire. 
It  will  be  a  great  affliction  to  these  ladies  and  gentlemen 
to  learn — and  he  is  so  unwilling  to  give  pain,  that  he  would 
not  whisper  the  circumstance  on  any  account,  did  he  not 
feel  in  a  manner  bound  to  do  so,  in  gratitude  to  those 
among  his  friends  who  were  at  the  trouble  of  being  angry 
with  the  absurdity — that  their  invention  made  the  author's 
home  unusually  merry,  and  gave  rise  to  an  extraordinary 
number  of  jests,  of  which  he  will  only  add,  in  the  words 
of  the  good  Vicar  of.  Wakefield,  "  I  can  not  say  whether  we 
had  more  wit  among  us  than  usual  ;  but  I  am  sure  we  had 
more  laughing  " 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK 

i. 


MASTER    HUMPHREY,    FROM    HIS    CLOCK-SIDE 
IN  THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER.  ' 

The  reader  must  not  expect  to  know  where  I  live.  At 
present,  it  is  true,  my  abode  may  be  a  question  of  little  or 
no  import  to  any  body,  but  if  I  should  carry  my  readers 
with  me,  as  I  hope  to  do,  and  there  should  spring  up,  be- 
tween them  and  me,  feelings  of  homely  affection  and  regard 
attaching  something  of  interest  to  matters  ever  so  slightly 
connected  with  my  fortunes  or  my  speculations,  even  my 
place  of  residence  might  one  day  have  a  kind  of  charm  for 
them.  Bearing  this  possible  contingency  in  mind,  I  wish 
them  to  understand  in  the  outset,  that  they  must  never  ex- 
pect to  know  it. 

I  am  not  a  churlish  old  man.  Friendless  I  can  never  be, 
for  all  mankind  are  my  kindred,  and  I  am  on  ill  terms  with 
no  one  member  of  my  great  family.  But  for  many  years  I 
have  led  a  lonely,  solitary  life  ; — what  wound  I  sought  to 
heal,  what  sorrow  to  forget,  originally,  matters  not  now  ;  it 
is  sufficient  that  retirement  has  become  a  habit  with  me, 
and  that  I  am  unwilling  to  break  the  spell  which  for  so  long 
a  time  has  shed  its  quiet  influence  upon  my  home  and  heart. 

I  live  in  a  venerable  suburb  of  London,  in  an  old  house, 
which  in  by-gone  days  was  a  famous  resort  for  merry  roys- 
terers  and  peerless  ladies,  long  since  departed.  It  is  a 
silent,  shady  place,  with  a  paved  court-yard  so  full  of  echoes 
that  sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  believe  that  faint  responses 
to  the  noises  of  old  times  linger  there  yet,  and  that  these 
ghosts  of  sound  haunt  my  footsteps  as  I  pace  it  up  and 
down.  I  am  the  more  confirmed  in  this  belief,  because,  of 
late  years,  the  echoes  that  attend  my  walks  have  been  less 
loud  and  marked  than  they  were  wont  to  be  ;  and  it  is 


i24  MASTER'S  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

pleasanter  to  imagine  in  them  the  rustling  of  silk  brocade, 
and  the  light  step  of  some  lovely  girl,  than  to  recognize  in 
their  altered  note  the  failing  tread  of  an  old  man. 

Those  who  like  to  read  of  brilliant  rooms  and  gorgeous 
furniture  would  derive  but  little  pleasure  from  a  minute  de- 
scription of  my  simple  dwelling.  It  is  dear  to  me  for  the 
same  reason  that  they  would  hold  it  in  slight  regard.  Its 
worm-eaten  doors,  and  low  ceilings  crossed  by  clumsy 
beams  ;  its  walls  of  wainscot,  dark  stairs,  and  gaping  closets  ; 
its  small  chambers,  communicating  with  each  other  by  wind- 
ing passages  or  narrow  steps  ;  its  many  nooks,  scarce  larger 
than  its  corner-cupboards  ;  its  very  dust  and  dullness,  all 
are  dear  to  me.  The  moth  and  spider  are  my  constant 
tenants,  for  in  my  house  the  one  basks  in  his  long  sleep,  and 
the  other  plies  his  busy  loom,  secure  and  undisturbed.  I 
have  a  pleasure  in  thinking  on  a  summer's  day,  how  many 
butterflies  have  sprung  for  the  first  time  into  light  and  sun- 
shine from  some  dark  corner  of  these  old  walls. 

When  I  first  came  to  live  here,  which  was  many  years  ago, 
the  neighbors  were  curious  to  know  who  I  was,  and  whence 
I  came,  and  why  I  lived  so  much  alone.  As  time  went  on, 
and  they  still  remained  unsatisfied  on  these  points,  I  became 
the  center  of  a  popular  ferment,  extending  for  half  a  mile 
round,  and  in  one  direction  for  a  full  mile.  Various  rumors 
were  circulated  to  my  prejudice.  I  was  a  spy,  an  infidel,  a 
conjurer,  a  kidnapper  of  children,  a  refugee,  a  priest,  a 
monster.  Mothers  caught  up  their  infants  and  ran  into  their 
houses  as  I  passed  ;  men  eyed  me  spitefully,  and  muttered 
threats  and  curses.  I  was  the  object  of  suspicion  and  dis- 
trust ;  ay,  of  downright  hatred,  too. 

But  when  in  course  of  time  they  found  I  did  no  harm, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  inclined  toward  them  despite  their  un- 
just usage,  they  began  to  relent.  I  found  my  footsteps  no 
longer  dogged,  as  they  had  often  been  before,  and  observed 
that  the  women  and  children  no  longer  retreated,  but  would 
stand  and  gaze  at  me  as  I  passed  their  doors.  I  took  this 
for  a  good  omen,  and  waited  patiently  for  better  times. 
By  degrees  I  began  to  make  friends  among  these  humble 
folks,  and  though  they  were  yet  shy  of  speaking,  would 
give  them  "good-day,"  and  so  pass  on.  In  a  little  time, 
those  whom  I  had  thus  accosted,  would  make  a  point 
of  coming  to  their  doors  and  windows  at  the  usual  hour, 
and  nod  or  courtesy  to  me  ;  children,  too,  came  timidly 
within    my    reach,    and    ran    away    quite    scared    when    I 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  125 

patted  their  heads  and  bade  them  be  good  at  school.  These 
little  people  soon  grew  more  familiar.  From  exchanging 
mere  words  of  course  with  my  older  neighbors,  I  gradually 
became  their  friend  and  adviser,  the  depositary  of  their  cares 
and  sorrows,  and  sometimes,  it  may  be,  the  reliever,  in  my 
small  way,  of  their  distresses.  And  now  I  never  walk  abroad, 
but  pleasant  recognitions  and  smiling  faces  wait  on  Master 
Humphrey. 

It  was  a  whim  of  mine,  perhaps  as  a  whet  to  the  curiosity 
of  my  neighbors,  and  a  kind  of  retaliation  upon  them  for 
their  suspicions — it  was,  I  say,  a  whim  of  mine,  when  I  first 
took  up  my  abode  in  this  place,  to  acknowledge  no  other 
name  than  Humphrey.  With  my  detractors  I  was  Ugly 
Humphrey.  When  I  began  to  convert  them  into  friends,  I  was 
Mr.  Humphrey,  and  Old  Mr.  Humphrey.  At  length  I  settled 
down  into  plain  Master  Humphrey,  which  was  understood 
to  be  the  title  most  pleasant  to  the  ear  ;  and  so  completely 
a  matter  of  course  has  it  become,  that  sometimes  when  I  am 
taking  my  morning  walk  in  my  little  court-yard,  I  overhear  my 
barber — who  has  a  profound  respect  for  me,  and  would  not, 
I  am  sure,  abridge  my  honors  for  the  world — holding  forth 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  touching  the  state  of  "  Master 
Humphrey's  "  health,  and  communicating  to  some  friend 
the  substance  of  the  conversation  that  he  and  Master 
Humphrey  have  had  together  in  the  course  of  the  shaving 
which  he  has  just  concluded. 

That  I  may  not  make  acquaintance  with  my  readers  un- 
der false  pretenses,  or  give  them  cause  to  complain  hereafter, 
that  I  have  withheld  any  matter  which  it  was  essential  for 
them  to  have  learned  at  first,  I  wish  them  to  know — and  I 
smile  sorrowfully  to  think  that  the  time  has  been  when  the 
confession  would  have  given  me  pain — that  I  am  a  mis- 
shapen, deformed  old  man. 

I  have  never  been  made  a  misanthrope  by  this  cause.  I 
have  never  been  stung  by  an  insult,  nor  wounded  by  any  jest 
upon  my  crooked  figure.  As  a  child  I  was  melancholy  and 
timid,  but  that  was  because  the  gentle  consideration  paid  to 
my  misfortune  sunk  deep  into  my  spirit  and  made  me  sad, 
even  in  those  early  days.  I  was  but  a  very  young  creature 
when  my  poor  mother  died,  and  yet  I  remember  that  often 
when  I  hung  around  her  neck,  and  oftener  still  when  I 
played  about  the  room  before  her,  she  would  catch  me  to 
her  bosom,  and  bursting  into  tears,  would  soothe  me  with 
every  term  of  fondness  and  affection.     God  knows  I  was  a 


t26  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  C/LOCK. 

happy  child  at  those  times— happy  to  nestle  in   her  breast- 
happy  to  weep  when  she  did — happy  in  not  knowing  why. 

These  occasions  are  so  strongly  impressed  upon  my  mem- 
ory, that  they  seem  to  have  occupied  whole  years.  I  had 
numbered  very,  very  few  when  they  ceased  forever,  but  be- 
fore then  their  meaning  had  been  revealed  to  me. 

I  do  not  know  whether  all  children  are  imbued  with  a 
quick  perception  of  childish  grace  and  beauty,  and  a  strong 
love  for  it,  but  I  was.  I  had  no  thought  that  I  remember, 
either  that  I  possessed  it  myself  or  that  I  lacked  it,  but  I 
admired  it  with  an  intensity  that  I  can  not  describe.  A  lit- 
tle knot  of  playmates — they  must  have  been  beautiful,  for  I 
see  them  now — wrere  clustered  one  day  round  my  mother's 
knee  in  eager  admiration  of  some  picture  representing  a 
group  of  infant  angels,  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  Whose 
the  picture  was,  whether  it  was  familiar  to  me  or  otherwise. 
or  how  all  the  children  came  to  be  there,  I  forget  ;  I  have 
some  dim  thought  it  was  my  birthday,  but  the  beginning  of 
my  recollection  is  that  we  were  all  together  in  a  garden,  and 
it  was  summer  weather, — I  am  sure  of  that,  for  one  of  the: 
little  girls  had  roses  in  her  sash.  There  were  many  lovely 
angels  in  this  picture,  and  I  remember  the  fancy  coming 
upon  me  to  point  out  which  of  them  represented  each  child 
there,  and  that  when  I  had  gone  through  my  companions,  I 
stopped  and  hesitated,  wondering  which  was  most  like  me. 
I  remember  the  children  looking  at  each  other,  and  my 
turning  red  and  hot,  and  their  crowding  round  to  kiss  me, 
saying  that  they  loved  me  all  the  same  ;  and  then,  and 
when  the  old  sorrow  came  into  my  dear  mother's  mild  and 
tender  look,  the  truth  broke  upon  me  for  the  first  time,  and 
I  knew,  while  watching  my  awkward  and  ungainly  sports, 
how  keenly  she  had  felt  for  her  poor  crippled  boy. 

I  used  frequently  to  dream  of  it  afterward,  and  now  my 
heart  aches  for  that  child  as  if  I  had  never  been  he,  when  I 
think  how  often  he  awoke  from  some  fairy  change  to  his 
own  old  form,  and  sobbed  himself  to  sleep  again. 

Well,  well — all  these  sorrows  are  past.  My  glancing  at 
them  may  not  be  without  its  use,  for  it  may  help  in  some 
measure  to  explain  why  I  have  all  my  life  been  attached  to 
the  inanimate  objects  that  people  my  chamber,  and  how  I 
have  come  to  look  upon  them  rather  in  the  light  of  old  and 
constant  friends,  than  as  mere  chairs  and  tables  which  a 
little  money  could  replace  at  will. 

Chief  and  first   among  all  these   is   my   clock — my  old, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK..  127 

Cheerful,  companionable  clock.  How  can  I  ever  convey  tG 
others  an  idea  of  the  comfort  and  consolation  that  this  old 
clock  has  been  for  years  to  me  ! 

It  is  associated  with  my  earliest  recollections.  It  stood 
Upon  the  staircase  at  home  (I  call  it  home  still  mechani- 
cally), nigh  sixty  years  ago.  I  like  it  for  that,  but  it  is  not 
on  that  account,  nor  because  it  is  a  quaint  old  thing  in  a 
huge  oaken  case  curiously  and  richly  carved,  that  I  prize  it 
as  I  do.  I  incline  to  it  as  if  it  were  alive,  and  could  under- 
stand and  give  me  back  the  love  I  bear  it. 

And  what  other  thing  that  has  not  life  could  cheer  me  as 
it  does  ;  what  other  thing  that  has  not  life  (I  will  not  say 
how  few  things  that  have)  could  have  proved  the  same 
patient,  true,  untiring  friend  !  How  often  have  I  sat  in  the 
long  winter  evenings  feeling  such  society  in  its  cricket- voice, 
that  raising  my  eyes  from  my  book  and  looking  gratefully 
toward  it,  the  face  reddened  by  the  glow  of  the  shining  fire 
has  seemed  to  relax  from  its  staid  expression  and  to  regard 
me  kindly  ;  how  often  in  the  summer  twilight,  when  my 
thoughts  have  wandered  back  to  a  melancholy  past,  have  its 
regular  whisperings  recalled  them  to  the  calm  and  peaceful 
present  ;  how  often  in  the  dead  tranquillity  of  night  has  its 
bell  broken  the  oppressive  silence,  and  seemed  to  give  me 
assurance  that  the  old  clock  was  still  a  faithful  watcher  at 
my  chamber  door  !  My  easy-chair,  my  desk,  my  ancient 
furniture,  my  very  books,  I  can  scarcely  bring  myself  to  love 
even  these  last,  like  my  old  clock  ! 

It  stands  in  a  snug  corner,  midway  between  the  fireside 
and  a  low  arched  door  leading  to  my  bedroom.  Its  fame  is 
diffused  so  extensively  throughout  the  neighborhood,  that  I 
have  often  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  the  publican,  or  the 
baker,  and  sometimes  even  the  parish-clerk,  petitioning  my 
housekeeper  (of  whom  I  shall  have  much  to  say  by  and  by) 
to  inform  him  the  exact  time  by  Master  Humphrey's  Clock. 
My  barber,  to  whom  I  have  referred,  would  sooner  believe 
it  than  the  sun.  Nor  are  these  its  only  distinctions.  It  has 
acquired,  I  am  happy  to  say,  another,  inseparably  connect- 
ing it  not  only  with  my  enjoyments  and  reflections,  but  with 
those  of  other  men  ;  as  I  shall  now  relate. 

I  lived  alone  here  for  a  long  time  without  any  friend  or 
acquaintance.  In  the  course  of  my  wanderings  by  night 
and  day,  at  all  hours  and  seasons,  in  city  streets  and  quiet 
country  parts,  I  came  to  be  familiar  with  certain  faces,  and 
to  take  it  to  heart  as  quite  a  heavy  disappointment   if  they 


r*3  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

failed  to  present  themselves  each  at  its  accustomed  spot. 
But  these  were  the  only  friends  I  knew,  and  beyond  them 
I  had  none. 

It  happened,  however,  when  I  had  gone  on  thus  for  a  long 
time,  that  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a  deaf  gentleman, 
which  ripened  into  intimacy  and  close  companionship.  To 
this  hour,  I  am  ignorant  of  his  name.  It  is  his  humor  to 
conceal  it,  or  he  has  a  reason  and  purpose  for  so  doing.  In 
either  case  I  feel  that  he  has  a  right  to  require  a  return  of 
the  trust  he  has  reposed,  and  as  he  has  never  sought  to  dis- 
cover my  secret,  I  have  never  sought  to  penetrate  his. 
There  may  have  been  something  in  this  tacit  confidence  in 
each  other,  flattering  and  pleasant  to  us  both,  and  it  may 
have  imparted  in  the  beginning  an  additional  zest,  per- 
haps, to  our  friendship.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we  have  grown 
to  be  like  brothers,  and  still  I  only  know  him  as  the  deaf 
gentleman. 

I  have  said  that  retirement  has  become  a  habit  with  me. 
When  I  add  that  the  deaf  gentleman  and  I  have  two  friends, 
I  communicate  nothing  which  is  inconsistent  with  that 
declaration.  I  spend  many  hours  of  every  day  in  solitude 
and  study,  have  no  friends  or  change  of  friends,  but  these, 
only  see  them  at  stated  periods,  and  am  supposed  to  be  of 
a  retired  spirit  by  the  very  nature  and  object  of  our  asso- 
ciation. 

We  are  men  of  secluded  habits,  with  something  of  a  cloud 
upon  our  early  fortunes,  whose  enthusiasm,  nevertheless,  has 
not  cooled  with  age,  whose  spirit  of  romance  is  not  yet 
quenched,  who  are  content  to  ramble  through  the  world  in 
a  pleasant  dream,  rather  than  ever  waken  again  to  its  harsh 
realities.  We  are  alchemists  who  would  extract  the  essence 
of  perpetual  youth  from  dust  and  ashes,  tempt  coy  truth  in 
many  light  and  airy  forms  from  the  bottom  of  her  well,  and 
discover  one  crumb  of  comfort  or  one  grain  of  good  in  the 
commonest  and  least  regarded  matter  that  passes  through 
our  crucible.  Spirits  of  past  times,  creatures  of  imagination, 
and  people  of  to-day,  are  alike  the  objects  of  our  seeking, 
and,  unlike  the  objects  of  search  with  most  philosophers,  we 
can  insure  their  coming  at  our  command. 

The  dear  gentleman  and  I  first  began  to  beguile  our  days 
with  these  fancies,  and  our  nights  in  communicating  them 
to  each  other.  We  are  now  four.  But  in  my  room  there 
are  six  old  chairs,  and  we  have  decided  that  the  two  empty 
seats  shall  always  be  placed  at  our  table  when  we  meet,  to 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  129 

remind  us  that  we  may  yet  increase  our  company  by  that 
number,  if  we  should  find  two  men  to  our  mind.  When  one 
among  us  dies,  his  chair  will  always  be  set  in  its  usual  place, 
but  never  occupied  again  ;  and  I  have  caused  my  will  to  be 
so  drawn  out,  that  when  we  are  all  dead  the  house  shall  be 
shut  up,  and  the  vacant  chairs  still  left  in  their  accustomed 
places.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  even  then  our  shades 
may,  perhaps,  assemble  together  as  of  yore  we  did,  and  join 
in  ghostly  converse. 

One  night  in  every  week,  as  the  clock  strikes  ten,  we  meet. 
At  the  second  stroke  of  two,  I  am  alone. 

And  now  shall  I  tell  how  that  my  old  servant,  besides 
giving  us  note  of  time,  and  ticking  cheerful  encouragement 
of  our  proceedings,  lends  its  name  to  our  society,  which  for 
its  punctuality  and  my  love,  is  christened  "  Master  Hum- 
phrey's Clock  ? "  Now  shall  I  tell,  how  that  in  the  bottom 
of  the  old  dark  closet,  where  the  steady  pendulum  throbs 
and  beats  with  healthy  action,  though  the  pulse  of  him  who 
made  it  stood  still  long  ago,  and  never  moved  again,  there 
are  piles  of  dusty  papers  constantly  placed  there  by  our 
hands,  that  we  may  link  our  enjoyments  with  my  old  friend, 
and  draw  means  to  beguile  time  from  the  heart  of  time  itself  } 
Shall  I,  or  can  I,  tell  with  what  a  secret  pride  I  open  this 
repository  when  we  meet  at  night,  and  still  find  new  store  of 
pleasure  in  my  dear  old  clock  ? 

Friend  and  companion  of  my  solitude  !  mine  is  not  a  self- 
ish love  ;  I  would  not  keep  your  merits  to  myself,  but  dis- 
perse something  of  pleasant  association  with  your  image 
through  the  whole  wide  world  ;  I  would  have  men  couple 
with  your  name  cheerful  and  healthy  thoughts  ;  I  would 
have  them  believe  that  you  keep  true  and  honest  time  ; 
and  how  it  would  gladden  me  to  know  that  they  recog- 
nized some  hearty  English  wortk  in  Master  Humphrey's 
Clock  ! 

THE  CLOCK-CASE. 

It  is  my  intention  constantly  to  address  my  readers  from 
the  chimney-corner,  and  I  would  fain  hope  that  such 
accounts  as  I  shall  give  them  of  our  histories  and  proceed- 
ings, our  quiet  speculations  or  more  busy  adventures,  will 
never  be  unwelcome.  Lest,  however,  I  should  grow  prolix 
in  the  outset  by  lingering  too  long  upon  our  little  associa- 
tions, confounding  the  enthusiasm  with  which  I  regard  this 


i3o  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

chief  happiness  of  my  life  with  that  minor  degree  of  inter- 
est which  those  to  whom  I  address  myself  may  be  supposed 
to  feel  for  it,  I  have  deemed  it  expedient  to  break  off  as  they 
have  seen. 

But,  still  clinging  to  my  old  friend,  and  naturally  desir- 
ous that  all  its  merits  should  be  known,  I  am  tempted  to 
open  (somewhat  irregularly  and  against  our  laws,  I  must 
admit)  the  clock-case.  The  first  roll  of  paper  on  which  I 
lay  my  hand  is  in  the  writing  of  the  deaf  gentleman.  I  shall 
have  to  speak  of  him  in  my  next  paper,  and  how  can  I  better 
approach  that  welcome  task  than  by  prefacing  it  with  a  pro- 
duction of  his  own  pen,  consigned  to  the  safe  keeping  of  my 
honest  clock  by  his  own  hands  ? 

The  manuscript  runs  thus  : — 

INTRODUCTION    TO    THE   GIANT   CHRONICLES. 

Once  upon  a  time,  that  is  to  say,  in  this  our  time — the 
exact  year,  month,  and  day  are  of  no  matter — there  dwelt 
in  the  city  of  London  a  substantial  citizen,  who  united  in 
his  single  person  the  dignities  of  wholesale  fruiterer,  alder- 
man, common-councilman,  and  member  of  the  worshipful 
company  of  patten-makers  ;  who  had  superadded  to  these 
extraordinary  distinctions  the  important  post  and  title  of 
sheriff,  and  who  at  length,  and  to  crown  all,  stood  next  in 
rotation  for  the  high  and  honorable  office  of  lord  mayor. 

He  was  a  very  substantial  citizen  indeed.  His  face  was 
like  the  full  moon  in  a  fog,  wTith  two  little  holes  punched  out 
for  his  eyes,  a  very  ripe  pear  stuck  on  for  his  nose,  and  a 
wide  gash  to  serve  for  a  mouth.  The  girth  of  his  waistcoat 
was  hung  up  and  lettered  in  his  tailor's  shop  as  an  extraordi- 
nary curiosity.  He  breathed  like  a  heavy  snorer,  and  his 
voice  in  speaking  came  thickly  forth,  as  if  it  were  oppressed 
and  stifled  by  feather-beds.  He  trod  the  ground  like  an 
elephant,  and  eat  and  drank  like  —like  nothing  but  an  alder- 
man, as  he  was. 

This  worthy  citizen  had  risen  to  his  great  eminence  from 
small  beginnings.  He  had  once  been  a  very  lean,  weazen 
little  boy,  never  dreaming  of  carrying  such  a  weight  of  flesh 
upon  his  bones  or  of  money  in  his  pockets,  and  glad  enough 
to  take  his  dinner  at  a  baker's  door,  and  his  tea  at  a  pump. 
But  he  had  long  ago  forgotten  all  this,  as  it  was  proper  that 
a  wholesale  fruiterer,  alderman,  common-councilman,  mem- 
ber of  the  worshipful  company  of  patten-makers,  past  sheriff, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  131 

qnd  above  all,  a  lord  mayor  that  was  to  be,  should  ;  and  he 
never  forgot  it  more  completely  in  all  his  life  than  on  the 
•eighth  of  November  in  the  year  of  his  election  to  the  great 
^golden  civic  chair,  which  was  the  day  before  his  grand  din- 
ner at  Guildhall. 

It  happened  as  he  sat  that  evening  all  alone  in  his  counting- 
house,  looking  over  the  bill  of  fare  for  next  day,  and  checking 
off  the  fat  capons  in  fifties  and  the  turtle-soup  by  the  hundred 
quarts  for  his  private  amusement — it  happened  that  as  he  sat 
alone  occupied  in  these  pleasant  calculations,  a  strange  man 
came  in  and  asked  him  how  he  did,  adding,  "  If  I  am  half 
as  much  changed  as  you,  sir,  you  have  no  recollection  of  me, 
I  am  sure." 

The  strange  man  was  not  over  and  above  well  dressed,  and 
was  very  far  from  being  fat  or  rich-looking  in  any  sense  of 
the  word,  yet  he  spoke  with  a  kind  of  modest  confidence, 
and  assumed  an  easy,  gentlemanly  sort  of  an  air,  to  which 
nobody  but  a  rich  man  can  lawfully  presume.  Besides  this, 
he  interrupted  the  good  citizen  just  as  he  had  reckoned 
three  hundred  and  seventy-two  fat  capons  and  was  carrying 
them  over  to  the  next  column,  and  as  if  that  were  not  aggra- 
vation enough,  the  learned  recorder  for  the  city  of  London 
had  only  ten  minutes  previously  gone  out  at  that  very  same 
door,  and  had  turned  round  and  said,  "  Good-night,  my  lord." 
Yes,  he  had  said,  "my  lord," — he,  a  man  of  birth  and  edu- 
cation, of  the  Honorable  Society  of  the  Middle  Temple, 
Barrister  at  Law — he  who  had  an  uncle  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  an  aunt  almost  but  not  quite  in  the  House 
of  Lords  (for  she  had  married  a  feeble  peer,  and  made  him 
vote  as  she  liked) — he,  this  man,  this  learned  recorder,  had 
said,  "my  lord."  "I'll  not  wait  till  to-morrow  to  give 
you  your  title,  my  lord  mayor,"  says  he,  with  a  bow  and  a 
smile  ;  "  you  are  lord  mayor  de  facto,  if  not  de  jure.  Good- 
night, my  lord  !  " 

The  lord  mayor  elect  thought  of  this,  and  turning  to  the 
stranger,  and  sternly  bidding  him  "go  out  of  his  private 
counting-house,"  brought  forward  the  three  hundred  and 
seventy-two  fat  capons,  and  went  on  with  his  account. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  the  other,  stepping  forward — 
"  do  you  remember  little  Joe  Toddyhigh  ?  " 

The  port-wine  fled  for  a  moment  from  the  fruiterer's  nose 
as  he  muttered,  "  Joe  Toddyhigh  !  What  about  Joe  Toddy- 
high ?  " 

"  /  am  Joe  Toddyhigh,"  cried  the  visitor.     "  Look  at  me 


i32  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

look  hard  at  me — harder,  harder.  You  know  me  now  ? 
you  know  little  Joe  again  ?  What  a  happiness  to  us  both, 
to  meet  the  very  night  before  your  grandeur  !  Oh  !  give 
me  your  hand,  Jack — both  hands — both,  for  the  sake  of 
old  times." 

"  You  pinch  me,  sir.  You're  a-hurting  of  me,"  said  the 
lord  mayor  elect  pettishly.  "  Don't — suppose  any  body 
should  come — Mr.  Toddyhigh,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Toddyhigh  !  "  repeated  the  other  ruefully. 

"  Oh  !  don't  bother,"  said  the  lord  mayor  elect,  scratching 
his  head.  "  Dear  me  !  Why,  I  thought  you  was  dead. 
What  a  fellow  you  are  !  " 

Indeed,  it  was  a  pretty  state  of  things,  and  worthy  the 
tone  of  vexation  and  disappointment  in  which  the  lord 
mayor  spoke.  Joe  Toddyhigh  had  been  a  poor  boy  with 
him  at  Hull,  and  had  oftentimes  divided  his  last  penny  and 
parted  his  last  crust  to  relieve  his  wants  ;  for  though  Joe 
was  a  destitute  child  in  those  times,  he  was  as  faithful  and 
affectionate  in  his  friendship  as  ever  man  of  might  could  be. 
They  parted  one  day  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  different  di- 
rections. Joe  went  to  sea,  and  the  now  wealthy  citizen 
begged  his  way  to  London.  They  separated  with  many 
tears,  like  foolish  fellows  as  they  were,  and  agreed  to 
remain  fast  friends,  and,  if  they  lived,  soon  to  communicate 
again. 

When  he  was  an  errand-boy  and  even  in  the  early  days  of 
his  apprenticeship,  the  citizen  had  many  a  time  trudged  to 
the  post-office  to  ask  if  there  were  any  letters  from  poor 
little  Joe,  and  had  gone  home  again  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
when  he  found  no  news  of  his  only  friend.  The  world  is  a 
wide  place,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  letter  came  ; 
when  it  did,  the  writer  was  forgotten.  It  turned  from  white 
to  yellow  from  lying  in  the  post-office  with  nobody  to  claim 
it,  and  in  course  of  time  was  torn  up  with  five  hundred 
others,  and  sold  for  waste-paper.  And  now  at  last,  and  when 
it  might  least  have  been  expected,  here  was  this  Joe  Toddy- 
high turning  up  and  claiming  acquaintance  with  a  great  pub- 
lic character,  who  on  the  morrow  would  be  cracking  jokes 
with  the  prime  minister  of  England,  and  who  had  only,  at 
any  time  during  the  next  twelve  months,  to  say  the  word, 
and  he  could  shut  up  Temple  Bar,  and  make  it  no  thorough- 
fare for  the  king  himself  ! 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Mr.  Toddyhigh," 
said  the  lord  mayor  elect  ;  "  I  really  don't.       It's  very   in- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  133 

convenient.  I'd  sooner  have  given  twenty  pound — it's  very 
inconvenient,  really." 

A  thought  had  come  into  his  mind  that  perhaps  his  old 
friend  might  say  something  passionate  which  would  give  him 
an  excuse  for  being  angry  himself.  No  such  thing.  Joe 
looked  at  him  steadily,  but  very  mildly,  and  did  not  open 
his  lips. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  pay  you  what  I  owe  you,"  said  the  lord 
mayor  elect,  fidgeting  in  his  chair.  "  You  lent  me — I  think  it 
was  a  shilling  or  some  small  coin — when  we  parted  company, 
and  that  of  course  I  shall  pay,  with  good  interest.  I  can  pay 
my  way  with  any  man,  and  always  have  done.  If  you  look 
into  the  Mansion  House  the  day  after  to-morrow — sometime 
after  dusk — and  ask  for  my  private  clerk,  you'll  find  he  has  a 
draft  for  you.  I  haven't  got  time  to  say  any  thing  more  just 
now,  unless  " — he  hesitated,  for,  coupled  with  a  strong  de- 
sire to  glitter  for  once  in  all  his  glory  in  the  eyes  of  his 
former  companion,  was  a  distrust  of  his  appearance,  which 
might  be  more  shabby  than  he  could  tell  by  that  feeble  light 
— "  unless  you'd  like  to  come  to  the  dinner  to-morrow.  I 
don't  mind  your  having  this  ticket,  if  you  like  to  take  it.  A 
great  many  people  would  give  their  ears  for  it,  I  can  tell 
you." 

His  old  friend  took  the  card  without  speaking  a  word,  and 
instantly  departed.  His  sunburned  face  and  gray  hair  were 
present  to  the  citizen's  mind  for  a  moment  ;  but  by  the  time 
he  reached  three  hundred  and  eighty-one  fat  capons,  he  had 
quite  forgotten  him. 

Joe  Toddyhigh  had  never  been  in  the  capital  of  Europe 
before,  and  he  wandered  up  and  down  the  streets  that  night 
amazed  at  the  number  of  churches  and  other  public  build- 
ings, the  splendor  of  the  shops,  the  riches  that  were  heaped 
up  on  every  side,  the  glare  of  light  in  which  they  were  dis- 
played, and  the  concourse  of  people  who  hurried  to  and  fro, 
indifferent,  apparently,  to  all  the  wonders  that  surrounded 
them.  But  in  all  the  long  streets  and  broad  squares,  there 
were  none  but  strangers  ;  it  was  quite  a  relief  to  turn  down 
a  by-way  and  hear  his  own  footsteps  on  the  pavement.  He 
went  home  to  his  inn  ;  thought  that  London  was  a  dreary 
desolate  place,  and  felt  disposed  to  doubt  the  existence  of 
one  true-hearted  man  in  the  whole  worshipful  company  of 
patten-makers.  Finally,  he  went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  that 
he  and  the  lord-mayor  elect  were  boys  again. 

He  went  next  day  to  the  dinner,  and  when,  in  a  burst  of 


i34  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK* 

light  and  music,  and  in  the  midst  of  splendid  decorations 
and  surrounded  by  brilliant  company,  his  former  friend  ap- 
peared at  the  head  of  the  hall,  and  was  hailed  with  shouts 
and  cheering,  he  cheered  and  shouted  with  the  best,  and  for 
the  moment  could  have  cried.  The  next  moment  he  cursed 
his  weakness  in  behalf  of  a  man  so  changed  and  selfish,  and 
quite  hated  a  jolly-looking  old  gentleman  opposite,  for  de- 
claring himself  in  the  pride  of  his  heart  a  patten-maker. 

As  the  banquet  proceeded,  he  took  more  and  more  to 
heart  the  rich  citizen's  unkindness  ;  and  that,  not  from  any 
envy,  but  because  he  felt  that  a  man  of  his  state  and  fortune 
could  all  the  better  afford  to  recognize  an  old  friend,  even 
if  he  were  poor  and  obscure.  The^more  he  thought  of  this, 
the  more  lonely  and  sad  he  felt.  When  the  company  dis- 
persed and  adjourned  to  the  ball-room,  he  paced  the  hall 
and  passages  alone,  ruminating  in  a  very  melancholy  condi- 
tion upon  the  disappointment  he  had  experienced. 

It  chanced,  while  he  was  lounging  about  in  this  moody 
state,  that  he  stumbled  upon  a  flight  of  stairs,  dark,  steep, 
and  narrow,  which  he  ascended  without  any  thought  about 
the  matter,  and  so  came  into  a  little  music  gallery,  empty 
and  deserted.  From  this  elevated  post,  which  commanded 
the  whole  hall,  he  amused  himself  with  looking  down  upon 
the  attendants  who  were  clearing  away  the  fragments  of  the 
feast  very  lazily,  and  drinking  out  of  all  the  bottles  and 
glasses  with  most  commendable  perseverance. 

His  attention  gradually  relaxed,  and  he  fell  fast  asleep. 

When  he  awoke,  he  thought  there  must  be  something  the 
matter  with  his  eyes  ;  but,  rubbing  them  a  little,  he  soon 
found  that  the  moonlight  was  really  streaming  through  the 
east  window,  that  the  lamps  were  all  extinguished,  and  that 
he  was  alone.  He  listened,  but  no  distant  murmur  in  the 
distant  passages,  not  even  the  shutting  of  a  door,  broke  the 
deep  silence  ;  he  groped  his  way  down  the  stairs,  and  found 
that  the  door  at  the  bottom  was  locked  on  the  other  side. 
He  began  now  to  comprehend  that  he  m:;st  have  slept  a  long 
time,  chat  he  had  been  overlooked,  and  was  shut  up  there 
for  the  night. 

His  first  sensation,  perhaps,  was  not  altogether  a  comfort- 
able one,  for  it  was  a  dark,  chilly,  earthy-smelling  place,  and 
something  too  large,  for  a  man  so  situated,  to  feel  at  home 
in.  However,  when  the  momentary  consternation  of  his  sur- 
prise was  over,  he  made  light  of  the  accident,  and  resolved 
to  feel  his  way  up  the  stairs  again,  and  make  himself  as  com- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  135 

fortable  as  he   could  in  the  gallery  until   morning.     As  he 
turned  to  execute  this  purpose,  the  clocks  struck  three. 

Any  such  invasion  of  a  dead  stillness  as  the  striking  of 
distant  clocks,  causes  it  to  appear  the  more  intense  and  in- 
supportable when  the  sound  has  ceased.  He  listened  with 
strained  attention  in  the  hope  that  some  clock,  lagging  be- 
hind its  fellows,  had  yet  to  strike — looking  all  the  time  into 
the  profound  darkness  before  him  until  it  seemed  to  weave 
itself  into  a  black  tissue,  patterned  with  a  hundred  reflec- 
tions of  his  own  eyes.  But  the  bells  had  all  pealed  out  their 
warning  for  that  once,  and  the  gust  of  wind  that  moaned 
through  the  place  seemed  cold  and  heavy  with  their  iron 
breath. 

The  time  and  circumstances  were  favorable  to  reflection. 
He  tried  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  the  current,  unpleasant  though 
it  was,  in  which  they  had  moved  all  day,  and  to  think  with  what 
a  romantic  feeling  he  had  looked  forward  to  shaking  his  old 
friend  by  the  hand  before  he  died,  and  what  a  wide  and  cruel 
difference  there  was  between  the  meeting  they  had  had,  and 
that  which  he  had  often  and  so  long  anticipated.  Still,  he 
was  disordered  by  waking  to  such  sudden  loneliness,and  could 
not  prevent  his  mind  from  running  upon  odd  tales  of  people 
of  undoubted  courage,  who,  being  shut  up  by  night  in  vaults 
or  churches,  or  other  dismal  places,  had  scaled  great  heights 
to  get  out,  and  fled  from  silence  as  they  had  never  done 
from  danger.  This  brought  to  his  mind  the  moonlight 
through  the  window,  and  bethinking  himself  of  it,  he 
groped  his  way  back  up  the  crooked  stairs — but  very 
stealthily,  as  though  he  were  fearful  of  being  overheard. 

He  was  very  much  astonished  when  he  approached  the 
gallery  again,  to  see  a  light  in  the  building  :  still  more  so, 
on  advancing  hastily  and  looking  round,  to  observe  no  visi- 
ble source  from  which  it  could  proceed.  But  how  much 
greater  yet  was  his  astonishment  at  the  spectacle  which  this 
light  revealed. 

The  statutes  of  two  giants,  Gog  and  Magog,  each  above 
fourteen  feet  in  height,  those  which  succeeded  to  still  older 
and  more  barbarous  figures  after  the  great  fire  of  London, 
and  which  stand  in  the  Guildhall  to  this  day,  were  endowed 
with  life  and  motion.  These  guardian  genii  of  the  city  had 
quitted  their  pedestals,  and  reclined  in  easy  attitudes  in  the 
great  stained-glass  window.  Between  them  was  an  ancient 
cask,  which  seemed  to  be  full  of  wine  ;  for  the  younger 
giant,  clapping  his  huge  hand  upon  it,  and  throwing  up  his 


136  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

mighty  leg,  burst  into  an  exulting  laugh,  which  reverberated 
through  the  hall  like  thunder. 

Joe  Toddyhigh  instinctively  stooped  down,  and,  more 
dead  than  alive,  felt  his  hair  stand  on  end,  his  knees  knock 
together,  and  a  cold  damp  break  out  upon  his  forehead. 
But  even  at  that  minute  curiosity  prevailed  over  every  other 
feeling,  and  somewhat  reassured  by  the  good-humor  of  the 
giants  and  their  apparent  unconsciousness  of  his  presence, 
he  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  gallery  in  as  small  a  space 
as  he  could,  and,  peeping  between  the  rails,  observed  them 
closely. 

It  was  then  that  the  elder  giant,  who  had  a  flowing  gray 
beard,  raised  his  thoughtful  eyes  to  his  companion's  face, 
and  in  a  grave  and  solemn  voice  addressed  him  thus  : — 


FIRST    NIGHT    OF    THE    GIANT    CHRONICLES. 

Turning  toward  his  companion,  the  elder  giant  uttered 
these  words  in  a  grave  majestic  tone  : — 

"  Magog,  does  boisterous  mirth  beseem  the  giant  warder 
of  this  ancient  city  ?  Is  this  becoming  demeanor  for  a 
watchful  spirit  over  whose  bodiless  head  so  many  years  have 
rolled,  so  many  changes  swept  like  empty  air — in  whose 
impalpable  nostrils  the  scent  of  blood  and  crime,  pestilence, 
cruelty  and  horror,  has  been  familiar  as  breath  to  mortals, 
■ — in  whose  sight  time  has  gathered  in  the  harvest  of  cen- 
turies, and  garnered  so  many  crops  of  human  pride,  affec- 
tions, hopes,  and  sorrows  ?  Bethink  you  of  your  compact. 
The  night  wanes  ;  feasting,  revelry,  and  music  have  en- 
croached upon  our  usual  hours  of  solitude,  and  morning  will 
be  here  apace.  Ere  we  are  stricken  mute  again,  bethink  you 
of  our  compact." 

Pronouncing  these  latter  words  with  more  of  impatience 
than  quite  accorded  with  his  apparent  age  and  gravity,  the 
giant  raised  a  long  pole  (which  he  still  bears  in  his  hand) 
and  tapped  his  brother  giant  rather  smartly  on  the  head  ; 
indeed,  the  blow  was  so  smartly  administered,  that  the  lat- 
ter quickly  withdrew  his  lips  from  the  cask  to  which  they 
had  been  applied,  and  catching  up  his  shield  and  halberd 
assumed  an  attitude  of  defense.  His  irritation  was  but  mo- 
mentary, for  he  laid  these  weapons  aside  as  hastily  as  he 
had  assumed  them,  and  said  as  he  did  so  : — 

"  You  know,  Gog,  old  friend,  that  when  we  animate  these 
shapes  which  the  Londoners  of  old  assigned  (and  not  unwor- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  137 

thily)  to  the  guardian  genii  of  their  city,  we  are  susceptible 
of  some  of  the  sensations  which  belong  to  human  kind. 
Thus  when  I  taste  wine,  I  feel  blows  ;  when  I  relish  the  one, 
I  disrelish  the  other.  Therefore,  Gog,  the  more  especially 
as  your  arm  is  none  of  the  lightest,  keep  your  good  staff  by 
your  side,  else  we  my  chance  to  differ.  Peace  be  between 
us." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  the  other,  leaning  his  staff  in  the  window- 
corner.     "  Why  did  you  laugh  just  now  ? " 

"  To  think,"  replied  the  giant  Magog,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  cask,  "  of  him  who  owned  this  wine,  and  kept  it  in 
a  cellar  hoarded  from  the  light  of  day,  for  thirty  years—'  till 
it  should  be  fit  to  drink,'  quoth  he.  He  was  two  score  and 
ten  years  old  when  he  buried  it  beneath  his  house,  and  yet 
never  thought  that  he  might  scarcely  be  '  fit  to  drink  '  when 
the  wine  became  so.  I  wonder  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
make  himself  unfit  to  be  eaten.  There  is  very  little  of  him 
left  by  this  time." 

"  The  night  is  waning,"  said  Gog  mournfully. 

M  I  know  it,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and  I  see  you  are 
impatient.  But  look.  Through  the  eastern  window — placed 
opposite  to  us,  that  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  sun  may 
every  morning  gild  our  giant  faces — the  moon-rays  fall  upon 
the  pavement  In  a  stream  of  light  that  to  my  fancy  sinks 
through  the  cold  stone  and  gushes  into  the  cold  crypt  below. 
The  night  is  scarcely  past  its  noon,  and  our  great  charge  is 
sleeping  heavily." 

They  ceased  to  speak  and  looked  upward  at  the  moon. 
The  sight  of  their  large,  black,  rolling  eyes  filled  Joe  Toddy- 
high  with  such  horror  that  he  could  scarcely  draw  his 
breath.  Still  they  took  no  note  of  him,  and  appeared  to 
believe  themselves  quite  alone. 

"  Our  compact,"  said  Magog,  after  a  pause,  "is,  if  I  under- 
stand it,  that,  instead  of  watching  here  in  silence  through 
the  dreary  nights,  we  entertain  each  other  with  stories  of 
our  past  experience  ;  with  tales  of  the  past,  the  present,  and 
the  future  ;  with  legends  of  London  and  her  sturdy  citizens 
from  the  old  simple  times.  That  every  night  at  midnight, 
when  St.  Paul's  bell  tolls  out  one  and  we  may  move  and 
speak,  we  thus  discourse,  nor  leave  such  themes  till  the  first 
gray  gleam  of  day  shall  strike  us  dumb.  Is  that  our  bar- 
gain, brother  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  giant  Gog,  "that  is  the  league  between 
us  who  guard  this  city,  by  day  in  spirit,  and  by  night  in 


138  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

body  also  ;  and  never  on  ancient  holidays  have  its  conduits 
run  wine  more  merrily  than  we  will  pour  forth  our  legendary 
lore.  We  are  old  chroniclers  from  this  time  hence.  The 
crumbled  walls  encircle  us  once  more,  the  postern  gates  are 
closed,  the  draw-bridge  is  up,  and  pent  in  its  narrow  den 
beneath,  the  water  foams  and  struggles  with  the  sunken 
starlings.  Jerkins  and  quarter-staves  are  in  the  streets 
again,  the  nightly  watch  is  set,  the  rebel,  sad  and  lonely  in 
his  Tower  dungeon,  tries  to  sleep,  and  weeps  for  home  and 
children.  Aloft  upon  the  gates  and  walls  are  noble  heads 
glaring  fiercely  down  upon  the  dreaming  city,  and  vexing 
the  hungry  dogs  that  scent  them  in  the  air,  and  tear  the 
ground  beneath  with  dismal  howlings.  The  ax,  the  block, 
the  rack,  in  their  dark  chambers  give  signs  of  recent  use. 
The  Thames,  floating  past  long  lines  of  cheerful  windows 
whence  come  a  burst  of  music  and  a  stream  of  light,  bears 
sullenly  to  the  palace  wall  the  last  red  stain  brought  on  the 
tide  from  Traitor's  Gate.  But  your  pardon,  brother.  The 
night  wears,  and  I  am  talking  idly." 

The  other  giant  appeared  to  be  entirely  of  this  opinion, 
for  during  the  foregoing  rhapsody  of  his  fellow-sentinel  he 
had  been  scratching  his  head  with  an  air  of  comical  uneasi- 
ness, or  rather  with  an  air  that  would  have  been  very  comi- 
cal if  he  had  been  a  dwarf  or  an  ordinary-sized  man.  He 
winked,  too,  and  though  it  could  not  be  doubted  for  a 
moment  that  he  winked  to  himself,  still,  he  certainly  cocked 
his  enormous  eye  toward  the  gallery  where  the  listener  was 
concealed.  Nor  was  this  all,  for  he  gaped,  and  when  he 
gaped,  Joe  was  horribly  reminded  of  the  popular  prejudice" 
on  the  subject  of  giants,  and  of  their  fabled  power  of  smell- 
ing out  Englishmen,  however  closely  concealed. 

His  alarm  was  such  that  he  nearly  swooned,  and  it  was 
some  little  time  before  his  power  of  sight  or  hearing  was 
restored.  When  he  recovered  he  found  that  the  elder  giant 
was  pressing  the  younger  to  commence  the  chronicles,  and 
that  the  latter  was  endeavering  to  excuse  himself,  on  the 
ground  that  the  night  was  far  spent  and  it  would  be  better 
to  wait  until  the  next.  Well  assured  by  this  that  he  was 
certainly  about  to  begin  directly,  the  listener  collected  his 
faculties  by  a  great  effort,  and  distinctly  heard  Magog 
express  himself  to  the  following  effect : — 

In  the  sixteenth  century  and  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth  of  glorious  memory  (albeit  her  golden  days  are  sadly 
rusted  with  blood),  there  lived  in  the  city  of  London  a  bold 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  139 

young  'prentice  who  loved  his  master's  daughter.  There 
were  no  doubt  within  the  walls  a  great  many  'prentices  in 
this  condition,  but  I  speak  of  only  one,  and  his  name  was 
Hugh  Graham. 

This  Hugh  was  apprenticed  to  an  honest  bowyer  who 
dwelt  in  the  ward  of  Cheype  and  was  rumored  to  possess 
great  wealth.  Rumor  was  quite  as  infallible  in  those  days 
as  at  the  present  time,  but  it  happened  then  as  now  to  be 
sometimes  right  by  accident.  It  stumbled  upon  the  truth 
when  it  gave  the  old  bowyer  a  mint  of  money.  His  trade 
had  been  a  profitable  one  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the 
Eighth,  who  encouraged  English  archery  to  the  utmost,  and 
he  had  been  prudent  and  discreet.  Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that  Mistress  Alice,  his  only  daughter,  was  the  richest 
heiress  in  all  this  wealthy  ward.  Young  Hugh  had  often 
maintained  with  staff  and  cudgel  that  she  was  the  hand- 
somest.    To  do  him  justice,  I  believe  she  was. 

If  he  could  have  gained  the  heart  of  pretty  Mistress 
Alice  by  knocking  this  conviction  into  stubborn  people's 
heads,  Hugh  would  have  had  no  cause  to  fear.  But 
though  the  bowyer's  daughter  smiled  in  secret  to  hear  of 
his  doughty  deeds  for  her  sake,  and  though  her  little 
waiting-woman  reported  all  her  smiles  (and  many  more) 
to  Hugh,  and  though  he  was  at  a  vast  expense  in  kisses 
and  small  coin  to  recompense  her  fidelity,  he  made  no 
progress  in  his  love.  He  durst  not  whisper  it  to  Mistress 
Alice  save  on  sine  encouragement,  and  that  she  never 
gave  him.  A  glance  of  her  dark  eye  as  she  sat  at  the  door 
on  a  summer's  evening  after  prayer-time,  while  he  and  the 
neighboring  'prentices  exercised  themselves  in  the  street  with 
blunted  sword  and  buckler,  would  fire  Hugh's  blood  so  that 
none  could  stand  before  him  ;  but  then  she  glanced  at 
others  quite  as  kindly  as  on  him,  and  where  was  the  use  of 
cracking  crowns  if  Mistress  Alice  smiled  upon  the  cracked 
as  well  as  on  the  cracker  ? 

Still  Hugh  went  on,  and  loved  her  more  and  more.  He 
thought  of  her  all  day,  and  dreamed  of  her  all  night  long. 
He  treasured  up  her  every  word  and  gesture,  and  had  a  pal- 
pitation of  the  heart  whenever  he  heard  her  footsteps  on  the 
stairs  or  her  voice  in  an  adjoining  room.  To  him,  the  old 
bowyer's  house  was  haunted  by  an  angel  ;  there  was  en- 
chantment in  the  air  and  space  in  which  she  moved.  It 
would  have  been  no  miracle  to  Hugh  if  flowers  had  sprung 
from  the  rush-strewn  floors  beneath  the  tread  of  lovely  Mis* 
tress  Alice. 


i4o  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

Never  did  'prentice  long  to  distinguish  himself  in  the  eyes 
of  his  lady-love  so  ardently  as  Hugh.  Sometimes  he  pic- 
tured to  himself  the  house  taking  fire  by  night,  and  he,  when 
all  drew  back  in  fear,  rushing  through  flame  and  smoke  and 
bearing  her  from  the  ruins  in  his  arms.  At  other  times  he 
thought  of  a  rising  of  fierce  rebels,  an  attack  upon  the  city, 
a  strong  assault  upon  the  bowyer's  house  in  particular,  and 
he  falling  on  the  threshold  pierced  with  numberless  wounds 
in  defense  of  Mistress  Alice.  If  he  could  only  enact  some 
prodigy  of  valor,  do  some  wonderful  deed,  and  let  her  know 
that  she  had  inspired  it,  he  thought  he  could  die  contented. 

Sometimes  the  bowyer  and  his  daughter  would  go  out  to 
supper  with  a  worthy  citizen  at  the  fashionable  hour  of  six 
o'clock,  and  on  such  occasions  Hugh,  wearing  his  blue 
'prentice  cloak  as  gallantly  as  'prentice  might,  would  attend 
with  a  lantern  and  his  trusty  club  to  escort  them  home. 
These  were  the  brightest  moments  of  his  life.  To  hold  the 
light  while  Mistress  Alice  picked  her  steps,  to  touch  her 
hand  as  he  helped  her  over  broken  ways,  to  have  her  leaning 
on  his  arm — it  sometimes  even  came  to  that — this  was  hap- 
piness indeed  ! 

When  the  nights  were  fair,  Hugh  followed  in  the  rear,  his 
eyes  riveted  on  the  graceful  figure  of  the  bowyer's  daughter 
as  she  and  the  old  man  moved  on  before  him.  So  they 
threaded  the  narrow  winding  streets  of  the  city,  now  passing 
beneath  the  overhanging  gables  of  old  wooden  houses  whence 
creaking  signs  projected  into  the  street,  and  now  emerging 
from  some  dark  and  frowning  gateway  into  the  clear  moon- 
light. At  such  times,  or  when  the  shouts  of  straggling 
brawlers  met  her  ear,  the  bowyer's  daughter  would  look 
timidly  back  at  Hugh  beseeching  him  to  draw  nearer ;  and 
then  how  he  grasped  his  club  and  longed  to  do  battle  with  a 
dozen  rufBers,  for  the  love  of  Mistress  Alice  ! 

The  old  bowyer  was  in  the  habit  of  lending  money  on  in- 
terest to  the  gallants  of  the  court,  and  thus  it  happened  that 
many  a  richly  dressed  gentleman  dismounted  at  his  door. 
More  waving  plumes  and  gallant  steeds,  indeed,  were  seen 
at  the  bowyer's  house,  and  more  embroidered  silks  and  vel- 
vets sparkled  in  his  dark  shop  and  darker  private  closet, 
than  at  any  merchant's  in  the  city.  In  those  times  no  less 
than  in  the  present  it  would  seem  that  the  richest-looking 
cavaliers  often  wanted  money  the  most. 

Of  these  glittering  clients  there  was  one  who  always  came 
alone.     He  was  always  nobly  mounted,  and  having  no  at- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  141 

tendant  gave  his  horse  in  charge  to  Hugh  while  he  and  the 
bowyer  were  closeted  within.  Once  as  he  sprung  into  the 
saddle  Mistress  Alice  was  seated  at  an  upper  window,  and 
before  she  could  withdraw  he  had  doffed  his  jeweled  cap 
and  kissed  his  hand.  Hugh  watched  him  caracoling  down 
the  street,  and  burned  with  indignation.  But  how  much 
deeper  was  the  glow  that  reddened  in  his  cheeks  when,  rais- 
ing his  eyes  to  the  casement,  he  saw  that  Alice  watched  the 
stranger  too  ! 

He  came  again  and  often,  each  time  arrayed  more  gayly 
than  before,  and  still  the  little  casement  showed  him  Mis- 
tress Alice.  At  length  one  heavy  day,  she  fled  from  home. 
It  had  cost  her  a  hard  struggle,  for  all  her  old  father's  gifts 
were  strewn  about  her  chamber  as  if  she  had  parted  from 
them  one  by  one,  and  knew  that  the  time  must  come  when 
these  tokens  of  his  love  would  wring  her  heart — yet  she  was 
gone. 

She  left  a  letter  commending  her  poor  father  to  the  care 
of  Hugh,  and  wishing  he  might  be  happier  than  he  could 
ever  have  been  with  her,  for  he  deserved  the  love  of  a  bet- 
ter and  a  purer  heart  than  she  had  to  bestow.  The  old 
man's  forgiveness  (she  said)  she  had  no  power  to  ask,  but 
she  prayed  God  to  bless  him — and  so  ended  with  a  blot 
upon  the  paper  where  her  tears  had  fallen. 

At  first  the  old  man's  wrath  was  kindled,  and  he  carried  his 
wrong  to  the  queen's  throne  itself  ;  there  was  no  redress  he 
learned  at  court,  for  his  daughter  had  been  conveyed  abroad. 
This  afterward  appeared  to  be  the  truth,  as  there  came  from 
France,  after  an  interval  of  several  years,  a  letter  in  her  hand. 
It  was  written  in  trembling  characters,  and  almost  illegible. 
Little  could  be  made  out  save  that  she  often  thought  of  home 
and  her  old  dear  pleasant  room — and  that  she  had  dreamed 
her  father  was  dead  and  had  not  blessed  her — and  that  her 
heart  was  breaking. 

The  poor  old  bowyer  lingered  on,  never  suffering  Hugh  to 
quit  his  sight,  for  he  knew  now  that  he  had  loved  his  daugh- 
ter, and  that  was  the  only  link  that  bound  him  to  earth.  It 
broke  at  length  and  he  died,  bequeathing  his  old  'prentice 
his  trade  and  all  his  wealth,  and  solemnly  charging  him  with 
his  last  breath  to  revenge  his  child  if  ever  he  who  had 
worked  her  misery  crossed  his  path  in  life  again. 

From  the  time  of  Alice's  flight,  the  tilting-ground,  the 
fields,  the  fencing-school,  the  summer-evening  sports,  knew 
Hugh  no  more.     His  spirit  was  dead  within  him.     He  rose 


i42  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

to  great  eminence  and  repute  among  the  citizens,  but  was 
seldom  seen  to  smile,  and  never  mingled  in  their  reveries  or 
rejoicings.  Brave,  humane,  and  generous,  he  was  beloved 
by  all.  He  was  pitied  too  by  those  who  knew  his  story,  and 
these  were  so  many  that  when  he  walked  along  the  streets 
alone  at  dusk,  even  the  rude  common  people  doffed  their 
caps  and  mingled  a  rough  air  of  sympathy  with  their  respect. 

One  night  in  May — it  was  her  birthnight  and  twenty  years 
since  she  had  left  her  home — Hugh  Graham  sat  in  the  room 
she  had  hallowed  in  his  boyish  days.  He  was  now  a  gray- 
haired  man,  though  still  in  the  prime  of  life.  Old  thoughts 
had  borne  him  company  for  many  hours,  and  the  chamber 
had  gradually  grown  quite  dark,  when  he  was  aroused  by  a 
low  knocking  at  the  outer  door. 

He  hastened  down,  and  opening  it,  saw  by  the  light  of  a 
lamp  which  he  had  seized  upon  the  way,  a  female  figure 
crouching  in  the  portal.  It  hurried  swiftly  past  him  and 
glided  up  the  stairs.  He  looked  for  pursuers.  There  were 
none  in  sight.     No,  not  one. 

He  was  inclined  to  think  it  a  vision  of  his  own  brain,  when 
suddenly  a  vague  suspicion  of  truth  flashed  upon  his  mind. 
He  barred  the  door  and  hastened  wildly  back.  Yes,  there 
she  was — there,  in  the  chamber  he  had  quitted — there,  in 
her  old  innocent  happy  home,  so  changed  that  none  but  he 
could  trace  one  gleam  of  what  she  had  been — there,  upon 
her  knees — with  her  hands  clasped  in  agony  and  shame  be- 
fore her  burning  face. 

11  My  God,  my  God  !  "  she  cried,  "  now  strike  me  dead  ! 
Though  I  have  brought  death  and  shame  and  sorrow  on  this 
roof,  oh,  let  me  die  at  home  in  mercy  !  " 

There  was  no  tear  upon  her  face  then,  but  she  trembled 
and  glanced  round  the  chamber.  Every  thing  was  in  its  old 
place.  Her  bed  looked  as  if  she  had  risen  from  it  but  that 
morning.  The  sight  of  these  familiar  objects,  marking  the 
dear  remembrance  in  which  she  had  been  held,  and  the  blight 
she  had  brought  upon  herself,  was  more  than  the  woman's 
better  nature  that  had  carried  her  there  could  bear.  She 
wept  and  fell  upon  the  ground. 

A  rumor  was  spread  about,  in  a  few  days'  time,  that  the 
bowyer's  cruel  daughter  had  come  home,  and  that  Master 
Graham  had  given  her  lodging  in  his  house.  It  was  rumored 
too  that  he  had  resigned  her  fortune,  in  order  that  she  might 
bestow  it  in  acts  of  charity  ;  and  that  he  had  vowed  to  guard 
her  in  her  solitude,  but  that  they  were   never  to  see  each 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  143 

other  more.  These  rumors  greatly  incensed  all  virtuous 
wives  and  daughters  in  the  ward,  especially  when  they  ap- 
peared to  receive  some  corroboration  from  the  circumstance 
of  Master  Graham  taking  up  his  abode  in  another  tenement 
hard  by.  The  estimation  in  which  he  was  held,  however, 
forbade  any  questioning  on  the  subject  ;  and  as  the  bowyer's 
house  was  close  shut  up,  and  nobody  came  forth  when  public 
shows  and  festivities  were  in  progress,  or  to  flaunt  in  the 
public  walks,  or  to  buy  new  fashions  at  the  mercers'  booths, 
all  the  well-conducted  females  agreed  among  themselves 
that  there  could  be  no  woman  there. 

These  reports  had  scarcely  died  away  when  the  wonder  of 
every  good  citizen,  male  and  female,  was  utterly  absorbed 
and  swallowed  up  by  a  royal  proclamation,  in  which  her 
majesty,  strongly  censuring  the  practice  of  wearing  long 
Spanish  rapiers  of  preposterous  length  (as  being  a  bullying 
and  swaggering  custom,  tending  to  bloodshed  and  public  dis- 
order), commanded  that  on  a  particular  day  therein  named, 
certain  grave  citizens  should  repair  to  the  city  gates,  and 
there,  in  public,  break  all  rapiers  worn  or  carried  by  persons 
claiming  admission,  that  exceeded,  though  it  were  only  by  a 
quarter  of  an  inch,  three  standard  feet  in  length. 

Royal  proclamations  usually  take  their  course,  let  the  pub- 
lic wonder  never  so  much.  On  the  appointed  day  two  citi- 
zens of  high  repute  took  up  their  stations  at  each  of  the  gates 
attended  by  a  party  of  the  city  guard  :  the  main  body  to  en- 
force the  queen's  will,  and  take  custody  of  all  such  rebels 
(if  any)  as  might  have  the  temerity  to  dispute  it  ;  and  a  few 
to  bear  the  standard  measures  and  instruments  for  reducing 
all  unlawful  sword-blades  to  the  prescribed  dimensions.  In 
pursuance  of  these  arrangements,  Master  Graham  and  an- 
other where  posted  at  Lud  Gate,  on  the  hill  before  Saint 
Paul's. 

A  pretty  numerous  company  were  gathered  together  at 
this  spot,  for,  besides  the  officers  in  attendance  to  enforce 
the  proclamation,  there  was  a  motley  crowd  of  lookers-on 
of  various  degrees,  who  raised  from  time  to  time  such  shouts 
and  cries  as  the  circumstances  called  forth.  A  spruce  young 
courtier  was  the  first  who  approached  ;  he  unsheathed  a 
weapon  of  burnished  steel  that  shone  and  glistened  in  the 
sun,  and  handed  it  with  the  newest  air  to  the  officer,  who, 
finding  it  exactly  three  feet  long,  returned  it  with  a  bow. 
Thereupon  the  gallant  raised  his  hat  and  crying  "  God  save 
the   Queen,"   passed    on  amidst  the  plaudits  of  the  mob. 


144  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

Then  came  another — a  better  courtier  still — who  wore  a 
blade  but  two  feet  long,  whereat  the  people  laughed,  much 
to  the  disparagement  of  his  honor's  dignity.  Then  came  a 
third,  a  sturdy  old  officer  of  the  army,  girded  with  a  rapier 
at  least  a  foot  and  a  half  beyond  her  majesty's  pleasure  ; 
at  him  they  raised  a  great  shout,  and  most  of  the  spectators 
(but  especially  those  who  were  armorers  or  cutlers)  laughed 
very  heartily  at  the  breakage  which  would  ensue.  But  they 
were  disappointed,  for  the  old  campaigner,  coolly  unbuck- 
ling his  sword  and  bidding  his  servant  carry  it  home  again, 
passed  through  unarmed  to  the  great  indignation  of  all  the 
beholders.  They  relieved  themselves  in  some  degree  by 
hooting  a  tall  blustering  fellow  with  a  prodigious  weapon, 
who  stopped  short  on  coming  in  sight  of  the  preparations, 
and  after  a  little  consideration  turned  back  again  ;  but  all  this 
time  no  rapier  had  been  broken,  although  it  was  high  noon, 
and  all  cavaliers  of  any  quality  or  appearance  were  taking 
their  way  toward  St.  Paul's  church -yard. 

During  these  proceedings  Master  Graham  had  stood 
apart,  strictly  confining  himself  to  the  duty  imposed  upon 
him,  and  taking  little  heed  of  any  thing  beyond.  He 
stepped  forward  now  as  a  richly  dressed  gentleman  on  foot, 
followed  by  a  single  attendant,  was  seen  advancing  up  the 
hill. 

As  this  person  drew  nearer,  the  crowd  stopped  their 
clamor,  and  bent  forward  with  eager  looks.  Master  Graham 
standing  alone  in  the  gateway,  and  the  stranger  coming 
slowly  toward  him,  they  seemed,  as  it  were,  set  face  to  face. 
The  nobleman  (for  he  looked  one)  had  a  haughty  and  dis- 
dainful air  which  bespoke  the  slight  estimation  in  which  he 
held  the  citizen.  The  citizen  on  the  other  hand  preserved 
the  resolute  bearing  of  one  who  was  not  to  be  frowned  down 
or  daunted,  and  who  cared  very  little  for  any  nobility  but 
that  of  worth  and  manhood.  It  was  perhaps  some  conscious- 
ness on  the  part  of  each,  of  these  feelings  in  the  other,  that 
infused  a  more  stern  expression  into  their  regards  as  they 
came  closer  together. 

"  Your  rapier,  worthy  sir  !  " 

At  the  instant  that  he  pronounced  these  words  Graham 
started,  and  falling  back  some  paces,  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
dagger  in  his  belt. 

"  You  are  the  man  whose  horse  I  used  to  hold  before  the 
bowyer's  door  ?     You  are  that  man  ?     Speak  !  " 

"  Out,  you  'prentice  hound  !  "  said  the  other. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  145 

11  You  are  he  !  I  know  you  well  now  !  "  cried  Graham. 
*■  Let  no  man  step  between  us  two,  or  I  shall  be  his  mur- 
derer." With  that  he  drew  his  dagger  and  rushed  in  upon 
him. 

The  stranger  had  drawn  his  weapon  from  the  scabbard 
ready  for  the  scrutiny,  before  a  word  was  spoken.  He 
made  a  thrust  at  his  assailant,  but  the  dagger  which  Graham 
clutched  in  his  left  hand  being  the  dirk  in  use  at  that  time 
for  parrying  such  blows,  promptly  turned  the  point  aside. 
They  closed.  The  dagger  fell  rattling  upon  the  ground,  and 
Graham,  wresting  his  adversary's  sword  from  his  grasp, 
plunged  it  through  his  heart.  As  he  drew  it  out  it  snapped 
in  two,  leaving  a  fragment  in  the  dead  man's  body. 

All  this  passed  so  swiftly  that  the  bystanders  looked  on 
without  an  effort  to  interfere,  but  the  man  was  no  sooner 
down  than  an  uproar  broke  forth  which  rent  the  air.  The 
attendant  rushing  through  the  gate  proclaimed  that  his 
master,  a  nobleman,  had  been  set  upon  and  slain  by  a  citi- 
zen ;  the  word  quickly  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  Saint 
Paul's  Cathedral,  and  every  book-shop,  ordinary,  and  smok- 
ing-house  in  the  church-yard  poured  out  its  stream  of  cava- 
liers and  their  followers,  who,  mingling  together  in  a  dense 
tumultuous  body,  struggled,  sword  in  hand,  toward  the  spot. 

With  equal  impetuosity,  and  stimulating  each  other  by 
loud  cries  and  shouts,  the  citizens  and  common  people  took 
up  the  quarrel  on  their  side,  and  encircling  Master  Graham 
a  hundred  deep,  forced  him  from  the  gate.  In  vain  he 
waved  the  broken  sword  above  his  head,  crying  that  he 
would  die  on  London's  threshold  for  their  sacred  homes. 
They  bore  him  on,  and  ever  keeping  him  in  the  midst  so  that 
no  man  could  attack  him,  fought  their  way  into  the  city. 

The  clash  of  swords  and  roar  of  voices,  the  dust  and  heat 
and  pressure,  the  trampling  under  foot  of  men,  the  distracted 
looks  and  shrieks  of  women  at  the  windows  above  as  they  rec- 
ognized their  relatives  or  lovers  in  the  crowd,  the  rapid  tolling 
of  alarm  bells,  the  furious  rage  and  passion  of  the  scene,  were 
fearful.  Those  who,  being  on  the  outskirts  of  each  crowd, 
could  use  their  weapons  with  effect,  fought  desperately,  while 
those  behind,  maddened  with  baffled  rage,  struck  at  each 
other  over  the  heads  of  those  before  them,  and  crushed 
their  own  fellows.  Wherever  the  broken  sword  was  seen 
above  the  people's  heads,  toward  that  spot  the  cavaliers 
made  a  new  rush.  Every  one  of  these  charges  was  marked 
by  sudden  gaps  in  the  throng  where  men  were  trodden  down, 


146  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

but  as  fast  as  they  were  made,  the  tide  swept  over  them,  and 
still  the  multitude  pressed  on  again,  a  confused  mass  of 
swords,  clubs,  staves,  broken  plumes,  fragments  of  rich 
cloaks  and  doublets,  and  angry  bleeding  faces,  all  mixed  up 
together  in  inextricable  disorder. 

The  design  of  the  people  was  to  force  Master  Graham  to 
take  refuge  in  his  dwelling,  and  to  defend  it  until  the  authori- 
ties could  interfere  or  they  could  gain  time  for  parley.  But 
either  from  ignorance  or  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment,  they 
stopped  at  his  old  house,  which  was  closely  shut.  Some 
time  was  lost  in  beating  the  doors  open  and  passing  him  to 
the  front.  About  a  score  of  the  boldest  of  the  other  party 
threw  themselves  into  the  torrent  while  this  was  being  done, 
and  reaching  the  door  at  the  same  moment  with  himself,  cut 
him  off  from  his  defenders. 

"  I  never  will  turn  in  such  a  righteous  cause,  so  help  me 
heaven  !  "  cried  Graham,  in  a  voice  that  at  last  made  itself 
heard,  and  confronting  them  as  he  spoke.  "  Least  of  all 
will  I  turn  upon  this  threshold  which  owes  its  desolation  to 
such  men  as  ye.  I  give  no  quarter,  and  I  will  have  none  ! 
Strike  !  " 

For  a  moment  they  stood  at  bay.  At  that  moment  a  shot 
from  an  unseen  hand,  apparently  fired  by  some  person  who 
had  gained  access  to  one  of  the  opposite  houses,  struck  Gra- 
ham in  the  brain  and  he  fell  dead.  A  low  wail  was  heard  in 
the  air — many  people  in  the  concourse  cried  that  they  had 
seen  a  spirit  glide  across  the  little  casement  window  of  the 
bowyer's  house — 

A  dead  silence  succeeded.  After  a  short  time  some  of 
the  flushed  and  heated  throng  lay  down  their  arms  and  softly 
carried  the  body  within  doors.  Others  fell  off  or  slunk 
away  in  knots  of  two  or  three,  others  whispered  together  in 
groups,  and  before  a  numerous  guard  which  then  rode  up 
could  muster  in  the  street,  it  was  nearly  empty. 

Those  who  carried  Master  Graham  to  the  bed  up  stairs 
were  shocked  to  see  a  woman  lying  beneath  the  window  with 
her  hands  clasped  together.  After  trying  to  recover  her  in 
vain,  they  laid  her  near  the  citizen,  who  still  retained,  tightly 
grasped  in  his  right  hand,  the  first  and  last  sword  that  was 
broken  that  day  at  Lud  Gate. 

The  giant  uttered  these  concluding  words  with  sudden 
precipitation,  and  on  the  instant  the  strange  light  which  had 
filled  the  hall  faded  away.  Joe  Toddyhigh  glanced  involun- 
tarily at  the  eastern  window  and  saw  the  first  pale   gleam  of 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  147 

morning.  He  turned  his  head  again  toward  the  other  win- 
dow in  which  the  giants  had  been  seated.  It  was  empty, 
The  cask  of  wine  was  gone,  and  he  could  dimly  make  out 
that  the  two  great  figures  stood  mute  and  motionless  upon 
their  pedestals. 

After  rubbing  his  eyes  and  wondering  for  full  half  an  hour, 
during  which  time  he  observed  morning  come  creeping  on 
apace,  he  yielded  to  the  drowsiness  which  overpowered  him 
and  fell  into  a  refreshing  slumber.  When  he  awoke  it  was 
broad  day ;  the  building  was  open,  and  workmen  were 
busily  engaged  in  removing  the  vestiges  of  last  night's  feast. 

Stealing  gently  down  the  little  stairs  and  assuming  the  air 
of  some  early  lounger  who  had  dropped  in  from  the  street, 
he  walked  up  to  the  front  of  each  pedestal  in  turn,  and  atten- 
tively examined  the  figure  it  supported.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  about  the  features  of  either ;  he  recollected  the 
exact  expression  they  had  worn  at  different  passages  of  their 
conversation,  and  recognized  in  every  line  and  lineament 
the  giants  of  the  night.  Assured  that  it  was  no  vision,  but 
that  he  had  heard  and  seen  with  his  own  proper  senses,  he 
walked  forth,  determining  at  all  hazards  to  conceal  himself 
in  the  Guildhall  again  that  evening.  He  further  resolved  to 
sleep  all  day,  so  that  he  might  be  very  wakeful  and  vigilant,, 
and  above  all  that  he  might  take  notice  of  the  figures  at  the 
precise  moment  of  their  becoming  animated  and  subsiding 
into  their  old  state,  which  he  greatly  reproached  himself  for 
not  having  done  already. 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

TO      MASTER     HUMPHREY. 

"  Sir — Before  you  proceed  any  further  in  your  account  of 
your  friends  and  what  you  say  and  do  when  you  meet  to- 
gether, excuse  me  if  I  proffer  my  claim  to  be  elected  to  one 
of  the  vacant  chairs  in  that  old  room  of  yours.  Don't  reject 
me  without  full  consideration,  for  if  you  do  you'll  be  sorry 
for  it  afterward — you  will,  upon  my  life. 

"  I  inclose  my  card,  sir,  in  this  letter.  I  never  was  ashamed 
of  my  name,  and  I  never  shall  be.  I  am  considered  a  dev- 
ilish gentlemanly  fellow,  and  I  act  up  to  the  character.  If 
you  want  a  reference^  ask  any  of  the  men  at  our  club.     Ask 


148  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

any  fellow  who  goes  there  to  write  his  letters,  what  sort  of 
conversation  mine  is.  Ask  him  if  he  thinks  I  have  the  sort 
cf  voice  that  will  suit  your  deaf  friend  and  make  him  hear,  if 
he  can  hear  any  thing  at  all.  Ask  the  servants  what  they 
'.hmk  of  me.  There's  not  a  rascal  among  'em,  sir,  but  will 
tremble  to  hear  my  name.  That  reminds  me — don't  you 
say  too  much  about  that  housekeeper  of  yours  ;  it's  a  low 
subject,  damned  low. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  sir.  If  you  vote  me  into  one  of  those 
empty  chairs,  you'll  have  among  you  a  man  with  a  fund  of 
gentlemanly  information  that'll  rather  astonish  you.  I  can 
let  you  into  a  few  anecdotes  about  some  fine  women  of  title, 
that  are  quite  high  life,  sir — the  tiptop  sort  of  thing.  I 
know  the  name  of  every  man  who  has  been  out  on  an  affair 
of  honor  within  the  last  five-and-twenty  years  ;  I  know  the 
private  particulars  of  every  cross  and  squabble  that  has  taken 
place  upon  the  turf,  the  gaming-table  or  elsewhere,  during 
the  whole  of  that  time.  I  have  been  called  the  gentlemanly 
chronicle.  You  may  consider  yourself  a  lucky  dog  ;  upon 
my  soul  you  may  congratulate  yourself,  though  I  say  so. 

"  It's  an  uncommon  good  notion  that  of  yours,  not  letting 
any  body  know  where  you  live.  I  have  tried  it,  but  there 
has  always  been  an  anxiety  respecting  me  which  has  found 
me  out.  Your  deaf  friend  is  a  cunning  fellow  to  keep  his 
name  so  close.  I  have  tried  that  too,  but  have  always  failed. 
I  shall  be  proud  to  make  his  acquaintance — tell  him  so, 
with  my  compliments. 

"  You  must  have  been  a  queer  fellow  when  you  were  a 
child,  confounded  queer.  It's  odd  all  that  about  the  picture 
in  your  first  paper — prosy,  but  told  in  a  devilish  gentle- 
manly sort  of  way.  In  places  like  that,  I  could  come  in 
with  great  effect  with  a  touch  of  life — Don't  you  feel  that  ? 

"I  am  anxiously  waiting  for  your  next  paper  to  know 
whether  your  friends  live  upon  the  premises,  and  .at  your  ex- 
pense, which  I  take  it  for  granted  is  the  case.  If  I  am  right 
in  this  impression,  I  know  a  charming  fellow  (an  excellent 
companion  and  most  delightful  company)  who  will  be  proud 
to  join  you.  Some  years  ago  he  seconded  a  great  many 
prize-fighters,  and  once  fought  an  amateur  match  himself  ; 
since  then,  he  has  driven  several  mails,  broken  at  different 
periods  all  the  lamps  on  the  right-hand  side  of  Oxford  Street, 
and  six  times  carried  away  every  bell-handle  in  Bloomsbury 
Square,  besides  turning  off  the  gas  in  various  thoroughfares. 
In  point  of  gentlemanliness  he  is  unrivaled,  and   I  should 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  149 

say  that  next  to  myself  he  is  of  all  men  the  best  suited  to 
your  purpose. 

"  Expecting  your  reply, 

"  I  am, 

"Etc.,  Etc." 

Master  Humphrey  informs  this  gentleman  that  his  appli- 
cation, both  as  it  concerns  himself  and  his  friend,  is  rejected. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK 

n. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCK-SIDE  IN 
THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

My  old  companion  tells  me  it  is  midnight.  The  fire 
glows  brightly,  crackling  with  a  sharp  and  cheerful  sound, 
as  if  it  loved  to  burn.  The  merry  cricket  on  the  hearth  (my 
constant  visitor),  this  ruddy  blaze,  my  clock,  and  I,  seem 
to  share  the  world  among  us,  and  to  be  the  only  things 
awake.  The  wind,  high  and  boisterous  but  now,  has  died 
away  and  hoarsely  mutters  in  its  sleep.  I  love  all  times  and 
seasons  each  in  its  turn,  and  am  apt  perhaps  to  think  the 
present  one  the  best  ;  but  past  or  coming,  I  always  love  this 
peaceful  time  of  night,  when  long-buried  thoughts,  favored 
by  the  gloom  and  silence,  steal  from  their  graves,  and  haunt 
the  scenes  of  faded  happiness  and  hope. 

The  popular  faith  in  ghosts  has  a  remarkable  affinity  with 
the  whole  current  of  our  thoughts  at  such  an  hour  as  this, 
and  seems  to  be  their  necessary  and  natural  consequence. 
For  who  can  wonder  that  man  should  feel  a  vague  belief 
in  tales  of  disembodied  spirits  wandering  through  those 
places  which  they  once  dearly  affected,  when  he  himself, 
scarcely  less  separated  from  his  old  world  than  they,  is  for- 
ever lingering  upon  past  emotions  and  by-gone  times,  and 
hovering,  the  ghost  of  his  former  self,  about  the  places  and 
people  that  warmed  his  heart  of  old  ?  It  is  thus  that  at  this 
quiet  hour  I  haunt  the  house  where  I  was  born,  the  rooms  I 
used  to  tread,  the  scenes  of  my  infancy,  my  boyhood,  and 
my  youth  ;  it  is  thus  that  I  prowl  around  my  buried  treas- 
ure (though  not  of  gold  or  silver)  and  mourn  my  loss  ;  it  is 
thus  that  I  revisit  the  ashes  of  extinguished  fires,  and  take 
my  silent  stand  atold  bedsides.  If  my  spirit  should  ever 
glide  back  to  this  chamber  when  my  body  is  mingled  with 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  151 

the  dust,  it  will  but  follow  the  course  it  often  took  in  the  old 
man's  lifetime,  and  add  but  one  more  change  to  the  subjects 
of  its  contemplation. 

In  all  my  idle  speculations  I  am  greatly  assisted  by  vari- 
ous legends  connected  with  my  venerable  house,  which  are 
current  in  the  neighborhood,  and  are  so  numerous  that  there 
is  scarce  a  cupboard  or  corner  that  has  not  some  dismal 
story  of  its  own.  When  I  first  entertained  thoughts  of 
becoming  its  tenant,  I  was  assured  that  it  was  haunted  from 
roof  to  cellar,  and  I  believe  the  bad  opinion  in  which  my 
neighbors  once  held  me  had  its  rise  in  my  not  being  torn  to 
pieces,  or  at  least  distracted  with  terror,  on  the  night  I  took 
possession  :  in  either  of  which  cases  I  should  doubtless 
have  arrived  by  a  short  cut  at  the  very  summit  of  popu- 
larity. 

But  traditions  and  rumors  all  taken  into  account,  who  so 
;abets  me  in  every  fancy  and  chimes  with  my  every  thought, 
.as  my  dear  deaf  friend  ;  and  how  often  have  I  cause  to  bless 
the  day  that  brought  us  two  together  !  Of  all  days  in  the 
year  I  rejoice  to  think  that  it  should  have  been  Christmas 
Day,  with  which  from  childhood  we  associate  something 
.friendly,  hearty,  and  sincere. 

I  had  walked  out  to  cheer  myself  with  the  happiness  of 
.others,  and,  in  the  little  tokens  of  festivity  and  rejoicing,  of 
which  the  streets  and  houses  present  so  many  upon  that  day, 
had  lost  some  hours.  Now  I  stopped  to  look  at  a  merry 
party  hurrying  through  the  snow  on  foot  to  their  place  of 
meeting,  and  now  turned  back  to  see  a  whole  coachful  of 
children  safely  deposited  at  the  welcome  house.  At  one 
time,  I  admired  how  carefully  the  workingman  carried  the 
baby  in  its  gaudy  hat  and  feathers,  and  how  his  wife,  trudg- 
ing patiently  on  behind,  forgot  even -her  care  of  her  gay 
clothes,  in  exchanging  greetings  with  the  child  as  it  crowed 
and  laughed  over  the  father's  shoulder  ;  at  another,  I  pleased 
myself  with  some  passing  scene  of  gallantry  or  courtship, 
and  was  glad  to  believe  that  for  a  season  half  the  world  of 
poverty  was  gay. 

As  the  day  closed  in,  I  still  rambled  through  the  streets, 
feeling  a  companionship  in  the  bright  fires  that  cast  their 
warm  reflection  on  the  windows  as  I  passed,  and  losing  all 
sense  of  my  own  loneliness  in  imagining  the  sociality  and 
kind  fellowship  that  everywhere  prevailed.  At  length  I 
happened  to  stop  before  a  tavern,  and,  encountering  a  bill 
pf  fare  in  the  window,  it  all  at  once  brought  it  into  my  head 


152  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

to  wonder  what  kind  of  people  dined  alone  in  taverns  upon 
Christmas  Day. 

Solitary  men  are  accustomed,  I  suppose,  unconsciously  to 
look  upon  solitude  as  their  own  peculiar  property.  I  had 
sat  alone  in  my  room  on  many,  many  anniversaries  of  this 
great  holiday,  and  had  never  regarded  it  but  as  one  of 
universal  assemblage  and  rejoicing.  I  had  excepted,  and 
with  an  aching  heart,  a  crowd  of  prisoners  and  beggars,  but 
these  were  not  the  men  for  whom  the  tavern  doors  were  open. 
Had  they  any  customers,  or  was  it  a  mere  form  ? — a  form  no 
doubt. 

Trying  to  feel  quite  sure  of  this,  I  walked  away,  but  before 
I  had  gone  many  paces,  I  stopped  and  looked  back.  There 
was  a  provoking  air  of  business  in  the  lamp  above  the  door 
which  I  could  not  overcome.  I  began  to  be  afraid  there 
might  be  many  customers — young  men  perhaps  struggling 
with  the  world,  utter  strangers  in  this  great  place,  whose 
friends  lived  at  a  long  distance  off,  and  whose  means  were 
too  slender  to  enable  them  to  make  the  journey.  The  sup- 
position gave  rise  to  so  many  distressing  little  pictures,  that, 
in  preference  to  carrying  them  home  with  me,  I  determined 
to  encounter  the  realities.     So  I  turned,  and  walked  in. 

I  was  at  once  glad  and  sorry  to  find  that  there  was  only 
one  person  in  the  dining-room  ;  glad  to  know  that  there 
were  not  more,  and  sorry  that  he  should  be  there  by  himself. 
He  did  not  look  so  old  as  I,  but  like  me  he  was  advanced 
in  life,  and  his  hair  was  nearly  white.  Though  I  made  more 
noise  in  entering  and  seating  myself  than  was  quite  neces- 
sary, with  the  view  of  attracting  his  attention  and  saluting 
him  in  the  good  old  form  of  that  time  of  year,  he  did  not 
raise  his  head,  but  sat  with  it  resting  on  his  hand,  musing 
over  his  half-finished  meal. 

I  called  for  something  which  would  give  me  an  excuse  for 
remaining  in  the  room  (I  had  dined  early,  as  my  housekeeper 
was  engaged  at  night  to  partake  of  some  friend's  good  cheer), 
and  sat  where  I  could  observe  without  intruding  on  him. 
After  a  time  he  looked  up.  He  was  aware  that  somebody 
had  entered,  but  could  see  very  little  of  me  as  I  sat  in  the 
shade  and  he  in  the  light.  He  was  sad  and  thoughtful,  and 
I  forebore  to  trouble  him  by  speaking. 

Let  me  believe  that  it  was  something  better  than  curiosity 
which  riveted  my  attention  and  impelled  me  strongly  toward 
this  gentleman.  I  never  saw  so  patient  and  kind  a  face. 
He  should  have  been  surrounded  by  friends,  and  yet  here 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  153 

he  sat  dejected  and  alone  when  all  men  had  their  friends 
about  them.  As  often  as  he  roused  himself  from  his  reverie 
he  would  fall  into  it  again,  and  it  was  plain  that  whatever 
were  the  subjects  of  his  thoughts  they  were  of  a  melancholy 
kind,  and  would  not  be  controlled. 

He  was  not  used  to  solitude.  I  was  sure  of  that,  for  1 
knew  by  myself  that  if  he  had  been,  his  manner  would  have 
been  different,  and  he  would  have  taken  some  slight  interest 
in  the  arrival  of  another.  I  could  not  fail  to  mark  that  he 
had  no  appetite  ;  that  he  tried  to  eat  in  vain  ;  that  time 
after  time  the  plate  was  pushed  away,  and  he  relapsed  into 
his  former  posture. 

His  mind  was  wandering  among  old  Christmas  Days,  I 
thought.  Many  of  them  sprung  up  together,  not  with  a  long 
gap  between  each,  but  in  unbroken  succession  like  days  of 
the  week.  It  was  a  great  change  to  find  himself  for  the  first 
time  (I  quite  settled  that  it  was  the  first)  in  an  empty  silent 
room  with  no  soul  to  care  for.  I  could  not  help  following 
him  in  imagination  through  crowds  of  pleasant  faces,  and 
then  coming  back  to  that  dull  place  with  its  bough  of  mistle- 
toe sickening  in  the  gas,  and  sprigs  of  holly  parched  up 
already  by  a  simoom  of  roast  and  boiled.  The  very  waiter 
had  gone  home,  and  his  representative,  a  poor,  lean,  hungry 
man,  was  keeping  Christmas  in  his  jacket. 

I  grew  still  more  interested  in  my  friend.  His  dinner 
done,  a  decanter  of  wine  was  placed  before  him.  It  remained 
untouched  for  a  long  time,  but  at  length,  with  a  quivering 
hand,  he  filled  a  glass  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  Some  tender 
wish  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  give  utterance  on 
that  day,  or  some  beloved  name  that  he  had  been  used  to 
pledge,  trembled  upon  them  at  the  moment.  He  put  it 
down  very  hastily — took  it  up  once  more — again  put  it 
down — pressed  his  hand  upon  his  face — yes — and  tears  stole 
down  his  cheeks,  I  am  certain. 

Without  pausing  to  consider  whether  I  did  right  or  wrong, 
I  stepped  across  the  room,  and  sitting  down  beside  him  laid 
my  hand  gently  on  his  arm. 

"  My  friend,"  I  said,  "  forgive  me  if  I  beseech  you  to  take 
comfort  and  consolation  from  the  lips  of  an  old  man.  I  will 
not  preach  to  you  what  I  have  not  practiced,  indeed.  What- 
ever be  your  grief,  be  of  a  good  heart — be  cf  a  good  heart, 
pray  !  " 

u  I  see  that  you  speak  earnestly,"  he  replied, "  and  kindly, 
I  am  very  sure,  but — " 


i54  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

I  nodded  my  head  to  show  that  I  understood  what  he  would 
say,  for  I  had  already  gathered  from  a  certain  fixed  expression 
in  his  face  and  from  the  attention  with  which  he  watched  me 
while  I  spoke,  that  his  sense  of  hearing  was  destroyed. 
"  There  should  be  a  freemasonry  between  us,"  said  I,  point- 
ing from  himself  to  me  to  explain  my  meaning  ;  "  if  not  in 
our  gray  hairs,  at  least  in  our  misfortunes.  You  see  that  I 
am  but  a  poor  cripple." 

I  never  felt  so  happy  under  my  affliction  since  the  trying 
moment  of  my  first  becoming  conscious  of  it,  as  when  he 
took  my  hand  in  his  with  a  smile  that  has  lighted  my  path 
in  life  from  that  day,  and  we  sat  down  side  by  side. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  friendship  with  the  deaf 
gentleman,  and  when  was  ever  the  slight  and  easy  service  of 
a  kind  word  in  season  repaid  by  such  attachment  and 
devotion  as  he  had  shown  to  me  ! 

He  produced  a  little  set  of  tablets  and  a  pencil  to  facili- 
tate our  conversation,  on  that  our  first  acquaintance,  and  I 
well  remember  how  awkward  and  constrained  I  was  in 
writing  down  my  first  share  of  the  dialogue,  and  how  easily 
he  guessed  my  meaning  before  I  had  written  half  of  what  I 
had  to  say.  He  told  me  in  a  faltering  voice  that  he  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  be  alone  on  that  day — that  it  had 
always  been  a  little  festival  with  him — and  seeing  that  I 
glanced  at  his  dress  in  the  expectation  that  he  wore  mourn- 
ing, he  added  hastily  that  it  was  not  that  ;  if  it  had  been, 
he  thought  he  could  have  borne  it  better.  From  that  time 
to  the  present  we  have  never  touched  upon  this  theme. 
Upon  every  return  of  the  same  day  we  have  been  together ; 
and  although  we  make  it  our  annual  custom  to  drink  to 
each  other  hand  in  hand  after  dinner,  and  to  recall  with 
affectionate  garrulity  every  circumstance  of  our  first  meet- 
ing, we  always  avoid  this  one  as  if  by  mutual  consent. 

Meantime  we  have  gone  on  strengthening  in  our  friend- 
ship and  regard,  and  forming  an  attachment  which,  I  trust 
and  believe,  will  only  be  interrupted  by  death,  to  be  renewed 
in  another  existence.  I  scarcely  know  how  we  communicate 
as  we  do,  but  he  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  deaf  to  me. 
He  is  frequently  the  companion  of  my  walks,  and  even  in 
crowded  streets  replies  to  my  slightest  look  or  gesture  as 
though  he  could  read  my  thoughts.  From  the  vast  number 
of  objects  which  pass  in  rapid  succession  before  our  eyes,  we 
frequently  select  the  same  for  some  particular  notice  or  re- 
mark ;  and   when  one  of  these  little  coincidences  occurs,  I 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  155 

can  not  describe  the  pleasure  which  animates  my  friend,  or 
the  beaming  countenance  he  will  preserve  for  half  an  hour 
afterward  at  least. 

He  is  a  great  thinker  from  living  so  much  within  himself, 
and  having  a  lively  imagination,  has  a  facility  of  conceiving 
and  enlarging  upon  odd  ideas,  which  renders  him  invaluable 
to  our  little  body,  and  greatly  astonishes  our  two  friends. 
His  powers  in  this  respect  are  much  assisted  by  a  large 
pipe,  which  he  assures  us  once  belonged  to  a  German 
student.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  has  undoubtedly  a  very 
ancient  and  mysterious  appearance,  and  is  of  such  capacity 
that  it  takes  three  hours  and  a  half  to  smoke  it  out.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  my  barber,  who  is  the  chief  authority 
of  a  knot  of  gossips  who  congregate  every  evening  at  a  small 
tobacconist's  hard  by,  has  related  anecdotes  of  this  pipe 
and  the  grim  figures  that  are  carved  upon  its  bowl  at  which 
(all  the  smokers  in  the  neighborhood  have  stood  aghast  ; 
and  I  know  that  my  housekeeper,  while  she  holds  it  in  high 
veneration,  has  a  superstitious  feeling  connected  with  it 
which  would  render  her  exceedingly  unwilling  to  be  left 
alone  in  its  company  after  dark. 

Whatever  sorrow  my  deaf  friend  has  known,  and  what- 
ever grief  may  linger  in  some  secret  corner  of  his  heart,  he 
is  now  a  cheerful,  placid,  happy  creature.  Misfortune  can 
never  have  fallen  upon  such  a  man  but  for  some  good  pur- 
pose ;  and  when  I  see  its  traces  in  his  gentle  nature  and  his 
earnest  feeling,  I  am  the  less  disposed  to  murmur  at  such 
trials  as  I  may  have  undergone  myself.  With  regard  to  the 
pipe,  I  have  a  theory  of  my  own  ;  I  can  not  help  thinking 
that  it  is  in  some  manner  connected  with  the  event  that 
brought  us  together,  for  I  remember  that  it  was  a  long  time 
before  he  even  talked  about  it ;  that  when  he  did,  he  grew  re- 
served and  melancholy  ;  and  that  it  was  a  long  time  yet  be- 
fore he  brought  it  forth.  I  have  no  curiosity,  however, 
upon  this  subject,  for  I  know  that  it  promotes  his  tranquillity 
and  comfort,  and  I  need  no  other  inducement  to  regard  it 
with  my  utmost  favor. 

Such  is  the  deaf  gentleman.  I  can  call  up  his  figure  now, 
clad  in  sober  gray,  and  seated  in  the  chimney-corner.  As 
he  puffs  out  the  smoke  from  his  favorite  pipe,  he  casts  a 
look  on  me  brimful  of  cordiality  and  friendship,  and  says 
all  manner  of  kind  and  genial  things  in  a  cheerful  smile  ; 
then  he  raises  his  eyes  to  my  clock  which  is  just  about  to 
strike,  and  glancing  from  it  to  me  and  back  again,  seems,  to 


156  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

divide  his  heart  between  us.  For  myself,  it  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  I  would  gladly  part  with  one  of  my  poor  limbs, 
could  he  but  hear  the  old  clock's  voice. 

Of  our  two  friends  the  first  has  been  all  his  life  one  of  that 
easy,  wayward,  truant  class  whom  the  world  is  accustomed  to 
designate  as  nobody's  enemies  but  their  own.  Bred  to  a  pro- 
fession for  which  he  never  qualified  himself,  and  reared  in  the 
expectation  of  a  fortune  he  has  never  inherited,  he  has  under- 
gone every  vicissitude  of  which  such  an  existence  is  capable. 
He  and  his  younger  brother,  both  orphans  from  their  child- 
hood, were  educated  by  a  wealthy  relative  who  taught  them 
to  expect  an  equal  division  of  his  property  ;  but  too  indolent 
to  court,  and  too  honest  to  flatter,  the  elder  gradually  lost 
ground  in  the  affections  of  a  capricious  old  man,  and  the 
younger,  who  did  not  fail  to  improve  his  opportunity,  now 
triumphs  in  the  possession  of  enormous  wealth.  His  triumph 
is  to  hoard  it  in  solitary  wretchedness,  and  probably  to  feel 
with  the  expenditure  of  every  shilling  a  greater  pang  than 
the  loss  of  his  whole  inheritance  ever  cost  his  brother. 

Jack  Redburn — he  was  Jack  Redburn  at  the  first  little 
school  he  went  to,  where  every  other  child  was  mastered  and 
surnamed,  and  he  has  been  Jack  Redburn  all  his  life,  or  he 
would  perhaps  have  been  a  richer  man  by  this  time — has 
been  an  inmate  of  my  house  these  eight  years  past.  He  is 
my  librarian,  secretary,  steward,  and  first  minister  ;  director 
of  all  my  affairs  and  inspector-general  of  my  household.  He 
is  something  of  a  musician,  something  of  an  author,  some- 
thing of  an  actor,  something  of  a  painter,  very  much  of  a 
carpenter,  and  an  extraordinary  gardener  ;  having  had  all 
his  life  a  wonderful  aptitude  for  learning  every  thing  that  was 
of  no  use  to  him.  He  is  remarkably  fond  of  children,  and 
is  the  best  and  kindest  nurse  in  sickness  that  ever  drew  the 
breath  of  Life.  He  has  mixed  with  every  grade  of  society 
and  known  the  utmost  distress,  but  there  never  was  a  less 
selfish,  a  more  tender-hearted  ;  a  more  enthusiastic,  or  a 
more  guileless  man  ;  and  I  dare  say  if  few  have  done  less 
good,  fewer  still  have  done  less  harm  in  the  world  than  he. 
By  what  chance  nature  forms  such  whimsical  jumbles  I 
don't  know,  but  I  do  know  that  she  sends  them  among  us 
very  often,  and  the  king  of  the  whole  race  is  Jack  Redburn. 

I  should  be  puzzled  to  say  how  old  he  is.  His  health  is 
none  of  the  best,  and  he  wears  a  quantity  of  iron-gray  hair 
which  shades  his  face  and  gives  it  rather  a  worn  appearance  ; 
but  we  consider  him  quite  a  young  fellow  notwithstanding, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  157 

and  if  a  youthful  spirit  surviving  the  roughest  contact  with 
the  world  confers  upon  its  possessor  any  title  to  be  con- 
sidered young,  then  he  is  a  mere  child.  The  only  interrup- 
tions to  his  careless  cheerfulness  are  on  a  wet  Sunday,  when 
he  is  apt  to  be  unusually  religious  and  solemn,  and  some- 
times of  evening  when  he  has  been  blowing  a  very  slow 
tune  on  the  flute.  On  these  last-named  occasions  he  is  apt 
to  incline  toward  the  mysterious  or  the  terrible.  As  a  speci- 
men of  his  powers  in  this  mood,  I  refer  my  readers  to  the 
extract  from  the  clock-case  which  follows  this  paper  :  he 
brought  it  to  me  not  long  ago  at  midnight,  and  informed  me 
that  the  main  incident  had  been  suggested  by  a  dream  of 
the  night  before. 

His  apartments  are  two  cheerful  rooms  looking  toward  the 
garden,  and  one  of  his  great  delights  is  to  arrange  and  re-ar- 
range the  furniture  in  these  chambers  and  put  it  in  every  pos- 
sible variety  of  position.  During  the  whole  time  he  has  been 
here,  I  do  not  think  he  has  slept  for  two  nights  running  with 
the  head  of  his  bed  in  the  same  place,  and  every  time  he 
moves  it  is  to  be  the  last.  My  housekeeper  was  at  first  well- 
nigh  distracted  by  these  frequent  changes,  but  she  has 
become  quite  reconciled  to  them  by  degrees,  and  has  so 
fallen  in  with  his  humor  that  they  often  consult  together  with 
great  gravity  upon  the  next  final  alteration.  Whatever  his 
arrangements  are,  however,  they  are  always  a  pattern  of 
neatness,  and  every  one  of  the  manifold  articles  connected 
with  his  manifold  occupations  is  to  be  found  in  its  own  par- 
ticular place.  Until  within  the  last  two  or  three  years  he 
was  subject  to  an  occasional  fit  (which  usually  came  upon 
him  in  very  fine  weather),  under  the  influence  of  which  he 
would  dress  himself  with  peculiar  care,  and  going  out  under 
pretense  of  taking  a  walk,  disappear  for  several  days  to- 
gether. At  length  after  the  interval  between  each  outbreak 
of  this  disorder  had  gradually  grown  longer  and  longer,  it 
wholly  disappeared,  and  now  he  seldom  stirs  abroad  except 
to  stroll  out  a  little  way  on  a  summer's  evening.  Whether 
he  yet  mistrusts  his  own  constancy  in  this  respect,  and  is 
therefore  afraid  to  wear  a  coat,  I  know  not  ;  but  we  seldom 
see  him  in  any  other  upper  garment  than  an  old  spectral- 
looking  dressing-gown  with  very  disproportionate  pockets, 
full  of  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  odd  matters  which  he 
picks  up  wherever  he  can  lay  his  hands  upon  them. 

Every  thing  that  is  a  favorite  with  our  friend  is  a  favorite 
with  us,  and  thus  it  happens  that  the  fourth  among  us  is  Mr. 


i5S  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.. 

Owen  Miles,  a  most  worthy  gentleman,  who  had  treated  Jack 
with  great  kindness  before  my  deaf  friend  and  I  encountered 
him  by  an  accident,  to  which  I  may  refer  on  some  future  occa- 
sion. Mr.  Miles  was  once  a  very  rich  merchant,  but  receiving 
a  severe  shock  in  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  retired  from  business 
and  devoted  himself  to  a  quiet,  unostentatious  life.  He  is  an 
excellent  man  of  thoroughly  sterling  character  :  not  of  quick 
apprehension,  and  not  without  some  amusing  prejudice,  which 
I  shall  leave  to  their  own  development.  He  holds  us  all  in 
profound  veneration,  but  Jack  Redburn  he  esteems  as  a  kind 
of  pleasant  wonder,  that  he  may  venture  to  approach  famil- 
iarly. He  believes,  not  only  that  no  man  ever  lived  who 
could  do  so  many  things  as  Jack,  but  that  no  man  ever  lived 
who  could  do  any  thing  so  well  ;  and  he  never  calls  my  at- 
tention to  any  of  his  ingenious  proceedings  but  he  whispers 
in  my  ear,  nudging  me  at  the  same  time  with  his  elbow,  "  If 
he  had  only  made  it  his  trade,  sir — if  he  had  only  made  it 
his  trade  !  " 

They  are  inseparable  companions  ;  one  would  almost  sup- 
pose that  although  Mr.  Miles  never  by  any  chance  does  any 
thing  in  the  way  of  assistance,  Jack  could  do  nothing  with- 
out him.  Whether  he  is  reading,  writing,  painting,  carpen- 
tering, gardening,  flute-playing,  or  what  not,  there  is  Mr. 
Miles  beside  him,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  in  his  blue  coat, 
and  looking  on  with  a  face  of  incredulous  delight,  as 
though  he  could  not  credit  the  testimony  of  his  own  senses, 
and  had  a  misgiving  that  no  man  could  be  so  clever  but  in  a 
dream. 

These  are  my  friends  ;  I  have  now  introduced  myself  and 
them. 

THE  CLOCK-CASE. 

A    CONFESSION    FOUND  IN    A  PRISON  IN  THE  TIME  OF  CHARLES 
THE    SECOND. 

I  held  a  lieutenant's  commission  in  his  majesty's  army, 
and  served  abroad  in  the  campaign  of  1677  and  1678.  The 
treaty  of  Nimeguen  being  concluded,  I  returned  home,  and 
retiring  from  the  service,  withdrew  to  a  small  estate  lying  a 
few  miles  east  of  London,  which  I  had  recently  acquired  in 
right  of  my  wife. 

This  is  the  last  night  I  have  to  live,  and  I»will  set  down 
the  naked  truth  without  disguise.     I  was  never  a  brave  man, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  159 

and  had  always  been  from  my  childhood  of  a  secret,  sullen, 
distrustful  nature.  I  speak  of  myself  as  if  I  had  passed  from 
the  world,  for  while  I  write  this  my  grave  is  digging  and  my 
name  is  written  in  the  black  book  of  death. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  England,  my  only  brother  was 
seized  with  mortal  illness.  This  circumstance  gave  me  slight 
or  no  pain,  for  since  we  had  been  men  we  had  associated 
but  very  little  together.  He  was  open-hearted  and  generous, 
handsomer  than  I,  more  accomplished,  and  generally  be- 
loved. Those  who  sought  my  acquaintance  abroad  or  at 
home,  because  they  were  friends  of  his,  seldom  attached 
themselves  to  me  long,  and  would  usually  say  in  our  first 
conversation  that  they  were  surprised  to  find  two  brothers 
so  unlike  in  their  manners  and  appearance.  It  was  my 
habit  to  lead  them  on  to  this  avowal,  for  I  knew  what  com- 
parisons they  must  draw  between  us  ;  and  having  a  rankling 
envy  in  my  heart,  I  sought  to  justify  it  to  myself. 

We  had  married  two  sisters.  This  additional  tie  between 
us,  as  it  may  appear  to  some,  only  estranged  us  the  more. 
His  wife  knew  me  well.  I  never  struggled  with  any  secret 
jealousy  or  gall  when  she  was  present,  but  that  woman  knew 
it  as  well  as  I  did.  I  never  raised  my  eyes  at  such  times  but 
I  found  hers  fixed  upon  me  ;  I  never  bent  them  on  the 
ground  or  looked  another  way,  but  I  felt  that  she  overlooked 
me  always.  It  was  an  inexpressible  relief  to  me  when  we 
quarreled,  and  a  greater  relief  still  when  I  heard  abroad  that 
she  was  dead.  It  seems  to  me  now  as  if  some  strange  and 
terrible  foreshadowing  of  what  has  happened  since  must 
have  hung  over  us  then.  I  was  afraid  of  her  ;  she  haunted 
me  ;  her  fixed  and  steady  look  comes  back  upon  me  now, 
like  the  memory  of  a  dark  dream,  and  makes  my  blood  run 
cold. 

She  died  shortly  after  giving  birth  to  a  child — a  boy. 
When  my  brother  knew  that  all  hope  of  his  own  recovery 
was  passed,  he  called  my  wife  to  his  bedside  and  confided 
this  orphan,  a  child  of  four  years  old,  to  her  protection.  He 
bequeathed  to  him  all  the  property  he  had,  and  willed  that 
in  case  of  his  child's  death  it  should  pass  to  my  wife,  as  the 
only  acknowledgment  he  could  make  her  for  her  care  and 
love.  He  exchanged  a  few  brotherly  words  with  me,  de- 
ploring our  long  separation,  and  being  exhausted  fell  into  a 
slumber  from  which  he  never  awoke. 

We  had  no  children,  and  as  there  had  been  a  strong  affec- 
tion between  the  sisters,  and  my  wife   had   almost  supplied 


i6o  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

the  place  of  a  mother  to  this  boy,  she  loved  him  as  if  he  had 
been  her  own.  The  child  was  ardently  attached  to  her  ;  but 
he  was  his  mother's  image  in  face  and  spirit,  and  always 
mistrusted  me. 

I  can  scarcely  fix  the  date  when  the  feeling  first  came  upon 
me,  but  I  soon  began  to  be  uneasy  when  this  child  was  by.  I 
never  roused  myself  from  some  moody  train  of  thought,  but 
I  marked  him  looking  at  me;  not  with  mere  childish  wonder, 
but  with  something  of  the  purpose  and  meaning  that  I  had 
so  often  noted  in  his  mother.  It  was  no  effort  of  my_  fancy, 
founded  on  close  resemblance  of  feature  and  expression.  I 
never  could  look  the  boy  down.  He  feared  me,  but  seemed 
by  some  instinct  to  despise  me  while  he  did  so  ;  and  even 
when  he  drew  back  beneath  my  gaze — as  he  would  when  we 
were  alone,  to  get  nearer  to  the  door — he  would  keep  his 
bright  eyes  upon  me  still. 

Perhaps  I  hide  the  truth  from  myself,  but  I  do  not  think 
that  when  this  began,  I  meditated  to  do  him  any  wrong.  I 
may  have  thought  how  serviceable  his  inheritance  would  be 
to  us,  and  may  have  wished  him  dead,  but  I  believe  I  had 
no  thought  of  compassing  his  death.  Neither  did  the  idea 
come  upon  me  at  once,  but  by  very  slow  degrees,  presenting 
itself  at  first  in  dim  shapes  at  a  very  great  distance,  as  men 
may  think  of  an  earthquake  or  the  last  day — then  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer  and  losing  something  of  its  horror  and 
improbability— then  coming  to  be  part  and  parcel,  nay, 
nearly  the  whole  sum  and  substance  of  my  daily  thoughts 
and  resolving  itself  into  a  question  of  means  and  safety  ;  not 
of  doing  or  abstaining  from  the  deed. 

While  this  was  going  on  within  me,  I  never  could  bear 
that  the  child  should  see  me  looking  at  him,  and  yet  I  was 
under  a  fascination  which  made  it  a  kind  of  business  with 
me  to  contemplate  his  slight  and  fragile  figure  and  think 
how  easily  it  might  be  done.  Sometimes  I  would  steal  up 
stairs  and  watch  him  as  he  slept,  but  usually  I  hovered  in 
the  garden  near  the  window  of  the  room  in  which  he  learned 
his  little  tasks  ;  and  there,  as  he  sat  in  a  low  seat  beside  my 
wife,  I  would  peer  at  him  for  hours  together  from  behind  a 
tree  ;  starting  like  the  guilty  wretch  I  was  at  every  rustling 
of  a  leaf,  and  still  gliding  back  to  look  and  start  again. 

Hard  by  our  cottage,  but  quite  out  of  sight,  and  (if  there 
were  any  wind  astir  (of  hearing  too,  was  a  deep  sheet  of  wa- 
ter. I  spent  days  in  shaping  with  my  pocket-knife  a  rough 
model  of  a  boat,  which  I  finished  at  last  and  dropped  in  the 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  161 

child's  way.  Then  I  withdrew  to  a  secret  place  which  he 
must  pass  it  he  stole  away  alone  to  swim  this  bauble,  and 
lurked  there  for  his  coming.  He  came  neither  that  day  nor 
the  next,  though  I  waited  from  noon  till  nightfall.  I  was 
sure  that  I  had  him  in  my  net,  for  I  had  heard  him  prattling 
of  the  toy  and  knew  that  in  his  infant  pleasure  he  kept  it  by 
his  side  in  bed.  I  felt  no  weariness  or  fatigue,  but  waited 
patiently,  and  on  the  third  day  he  passed  me,  running  joy- 
ously along,  with  his  silken  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  and 
he  singing — God  have  mercy  upon  me  ! — singing  a  merry 
ballad,  who  could  hardly  lisp  the  words. 

I  stole  down  after  him,  creeping  under  certain  shrubs 
which  grow  in  that  place,  and  none  but  devils  know  with 
what  terror  I,  a  strong,  full-grown  man,  tracked  the  foot- 
steps of  that  baby.  As  he  approached  the  water's  brink  I 
was  close  upon  him,  had  sunk  upon  my  knee  and  raised  my 
hand  to  thrust  him  in,  when  he  saw  my  shadow  in  the  stream 
and  turned  him  round. 

His  mother's  ghost  was  looking  from  his  eyes.  The  sun 
burst  forth  from  behind  a  cloud  ;  it  shone  in  the  bright  sky, 
the  glistening  earth,  the  clear  water,  the  sparkling  drops  of 
rain  upon  the  leaves.  There  were  eyes  in  every  thing.  The 
whole  great  universe  of  light  was  there  to  see  the  murder 
done.  I  know  not  what  he  said  ;  he  came  of  blood  and 
manly  blood,  and,  child  as  he  was,  he  did  not  crouch  nor 
fawn  upon  me.  I  heard  him  cry  that  he  would  try  to  love 
me — not  that  he  did — and  then  I  saw  him  running  back  to- 
ward the  house.  The  next  I  saw  was  my  own  sword  naked 
in  my  hand,  and  he  lying  at  my  feet  stark  dead, — dabbled 
here  and  there  with  blood,  but  otherwise  no  different  from 
what  I  had  seen  him  in  his  sleep — in  the  same  attitude  too, 
with  his  cheek  resting  upon  his  little  hand. 

I  took  him  in  my'arms  and  laid  him — very  gently  now 
that  he  was  dead — in  a  thicket.  My  wife  was  from  home 
that  day  and  would  not  return  until  the  next.  _  Our  bed- 
room window,  the  only  sleeping  room  on  that  side  of  the 
house,  was  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  and  I  resolved 
to  descend  from  it  at  night  and  bury  him  in  the  garden.  I 
had  no  thought  that  I  had  failed  in  my  design,  no  thought 
that  the  water  would  be  dragged  and  nothing  found,  that 
the  money  must  now  lie  waste  since  I  must  encourage  the 
idea  that  the  child  was  lost  or  stolen.  All  my  thoughts  were 
bound  up  and  knotted  together,  in  the  one  absorbing  neces- 
sity of  hiding  what  I  had  done. 


\62  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

How  I  felt  when  they  came  to  tell  me  that  the  child  was 
missing,  when  I  ordered  scouts  in  all  directions,  when  I 
gasped  and  trembled  at  every  one's  approach,  no  tongue  can 
tell  or  mind  of  man  conceive.  I  buried  him  that  night. 
When  I  parted  the  boughs  and  looked  into  the  dark  thicket, 
there  was  a  glow-worm  shining  like  the  visible  spirit  of  God 
upon  the  murdered  child.  I  glanced  down  into  his  grave 
when  I  had  placed  him  there,  and  still  it  gleamed  upon  his 
breast  ;  an  eye  of  fire  looking  up  to  heaven  in  supplication 
to  the  stars  that  watched  me  at  my  work. 

I  had  to  meet  my  wife,  and  break  the  news,  and  give  her 
hope  that  the  child  would  soon  be  found.  All  this  I  did — 
with  some  appearance,  I  suppose,  of  being  sincere,  for  I  was 
the  object  of  no  suspicion.  This  done,  I  sat  at  the  bed- 
room window  all  day  long,  and  watched  the  spot  where  the 
dreadful  secret  lay. 

It  was  in  a  piece  of  ground  which  had  been  dug  up  to  be 
newly  turfed,  and  which  I  had  chosen  on  that  account,  as  the 
traces  of  my  spade  were  less  likely  to  attract  attention.  The 
men  who  laid  down  the  grass  must  have  thought  me  mad.  I 
called  to  them  continually,  to  expedite  their  work,  ran  out  and 
worked  beside  them,  trod  down  the  earth  with  my  feet,  and 
hurried  them  with  frantic  eagerness.  They  had  finished  their 
task  before  night,  and  then  I  thought  myself  comparatively 
safe. 

I  slept — not  as  men  do  who  awake  refreshed  and  cheerful, 
but  I  did  sleep,  passing  from  vague  and  shadowy  dreams  of 
being  hunted  down,  to  visions  of  the  plot  of  grass,  through 
which  now  a  hand  and  now  a  foot  and  now  the  head 
itself  was  starting  out.  At  this  point  I  always  woke  and 
stole  to  the  window,  to  make  sure  that  it  was  not  really  so. 
That  done,  I  crept  to  bed  again,  and  thus  I  spent  the  night 
in  fits  and  starts,  getting  up  and  lying  down  full  twenty 
times,  and  dreaming  the  same  dream  over  and  over  again — 
which  was  far  worse  than  lying  awake,  for  every  dream  had 
a  whole  night's  suffering  of  its  own.  Once  I  thought  the 
child  was  alive  and  that  I  had  never  tried  to  kill  him.  To 
wake  from  that  dream  was  the  most  dreadful  agony  of  all. 

The  next  day  I  sat  at  the  window  again,  never  once  tak- 
ing my  eyes  from  the  place,  which,  although  it  was  covered 
by  the  grass,  was  as  plain  to  me — -its  shape,  its  size,  its  depth, 
its  jagged  sides,  and  all — as  if  it  had  been  open  to  the  light 
of  day.  When  a  servant  walked  across  it,  I  felt  as  if  he 
must  sink  in  ;  when  he  had  passed,  I  looked  to  see  that  his 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  163 

feet  had  not  worn  the  edges.  If  a  bird  lighted  there,  I  was 
in  terror  lest  by  some  tremendous  interposition  it  should  be 
instrumental  in  the  discovery ;  if  a  breath  of  air  sighed 
across  it,  to  me  it  whispered  murder.  There  was  not  a  sight 
or  a  sound — how  ordinary,  mean,  or  unimportant  soever — 
but  was  fraught  with  fear.  And  in  this  state  of  ceaseless 
watching  I  spent  three  days. 

On  the  fourth,  there  came  to  the  gate  one  who  had  served 
with  me  abroad,  accompanied  by  a  brother  officer  of  his 
whom  I  had  never  seen.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  the  place.  It  was  a  summer  evening,  and  I 
bade  my  people  take  a  table  and  flask  of  wine  into  the 
garden.  Then  I  sat  down  with  my  chair  upon  the  grave,  and 
being  assured  that  nobody  could  disturb  it  now,  without  my 
knowledge,  tried  to  drink  and  talk. 

They  hoped  that  my  wife  was  well — that  she  was  not 
obliged  to  keep  her  chamber — that  they  had  not  frightened 
her  away.  What  could  I  do  but  tell  them  with  a  faltering 
tongue  about  the  child  ?  The  officer,  whom  I  did  not 
know,  was  a  down-looking  man,  and  kept  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground  while  I  was  speaking.  Even  that  terrified  me  !  I 
could  not  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  he  saw  something 
there  which  caused  him  to  suspect  the  truth.  I  asked  him 
hurriedly  if  he  supposed  that — and  stopped.  "  That  the 
child  had  been  murdered  ? "  said  he,  looking  mildly  at  me. 
"  Oh  no!  what  could  a  man  gain  by  murdering  a  poor  child  ?  " 
/could  have  told  him  what  a  man  gained  by  such  a  deed, 
no  one  better,  but  I  held  my  peace  and  shivered  as  with  an 
ague. 

Mistaking  my  emotion,  they  were  endeavoring  to  cheer  me 
with  the  hope  that  the  boy  would  certainly  be  found — great 
cheer  that  was  for  me — when  we  heard  a  low  deep  howl,  and 
presently  there  sprung  over  the  wall  two  great  dogs,  who, 
bounding  into  the  garden,  repeated  the  baying  sound  we  had 
heard  before. 

"  Bloodhounds  ?  "  cried  my  visitors. 

What  need  to  tell  me  that !  I  had  never  seen  one  of  that 
kind  in  all  my  life,  but  I  knew  what  they  were  and  for  what 
purpose  they  had  come.  I  grasped  the  elbows  of  my  chair, 
and  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"  They  are  of  the  genuine  breed,"  said  the  man  whom  I 
had  known  abroad,  "  and  being  out  for  exercise,  have  no 
doubt  escaped  from  their  keeper." 

Both  he  and  his  friend  turned  to  look   at  the  dogs,  whq? 


164  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

with  their  noses  to  the  ground,  moved  restlessly  about,  run- 
ning to  and  fro,  and  up  and  down,  and  across,  and  round  in 
circles,  careering  about  like  wild  things,  and  all  this  time 
taking  no  notice  of  us,  but  ever  and  again  repeating  the  yell 
we  had  heard  already,  then  dropping  their  noses  to  the 
ground  again  and  tracking  earnestly  here  and  there.  They 
now  began  to  snuff  the  earth  more  eagerly  than  they  had 
done  yet,  and  although  they  were  still  very  restless,  no  longer 
beat  about  in  such  wide  circuits,  but  kept  near  to  one  spot, 
and  constantly  diminished  the  distance  between  themselves 
and  me. 

At  last  they  came  up  close  to  the  great  chair  on  which  I  sat, 
and  raising  their  frightful  howl  once  more,  tried  to  tear  away 
the  wooden  rails  that  kept  them  from  the  ground  beneath.  I 
saw  how  I  looked,  in  the  faces  of  the  two  who  were  with  met 

"  They  scent  some  prey,"  said  they,  both  together. 

"  They  scent  no  prey  !  "  cried  I. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  move,"  said  the  one  I  knew,  very  earn- 
estly, "  or  you  will  be  torn  to  pieces." 

"  Let  them  tear  me  limb  from  limb,  I'll  never  leave  this 
place!"  cried  I.  "Are  dogs  to  hurry  men  to  shameful 
deaths  ?     Hew  them  down,  cut  them  in  pieces." 

"  There  is  some  foul  mystery  here  !  "  said  the  officer  whom 
I  did  not  know,  drawing  his  sword.  "  In  King  Charles's 
name,  assist  me  to  secure  this  man." 

They  both  set  upon  me  and  forced  me  away,  though  I 
fought  and  bit  and  caught  at  them  like  a  madman.  After  a 
struggle  they  got  me  quietly  between  them,  and  then,  my 
God  !  I  saw  the  angry  dogs  tearing  at  the  earth  and  throw- 
ing it  up  into  the  air  like  water. 

What  more  have  I  to  tell  !  That  I  fell  upon  my  knees 
and  with  chattering  teeth  confessed  the  truth  and  prayed  to 
be  forgiven.  That  I  have  since  denied  and  now  confess  to 
it  again.  That  I  have  been  tried  for  the  crime,  found  guilty, 
and  sentenced.  That  I  have  not  the  courage  to  anticipate  my 
doom  or  to  bear  up  manfully  against  it.  That  I  have  no 
compassion,  no  consolation,  no  hope,  no  friend.  That  my 
wife  has  happily  lost  for  the  time  those  faculties  which  would 
enable  her  to  know  my  misery  or  hers.  That  I  am  alone  in 
this  stone  dungeon  with  my  evil  spirit,  and  that  I  die  to- 
morrow !* 


*  Old  Curiosity  Shop  begins  here. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  165 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

Master  Humphrey  has  been  favored  with  the  following 
letter,  written  on  strong  scented  paper,  and  sealed  in  light 
blue  wax  with  the  representation  of  two  very  plump  doves, 
interchanging  beaks.  It  does  not  commence  with  any  of  the 
usual  forms  of  address,  but  begins  as  is  here  set  forth. 

Bath,   Wednesday  Night. 

Heavens  !  into  what  an  indiscretion  do  I  suffer  myself  to 
be  betrayed  !  To  address  these  faltering  lines  to  a  total 
stranger,  and  that  stranger  one  of  the  conflicting  sex  ! — and 
yet  I  am  precipitated  into  the  abyss,  and  have  no  power  of 
self-snatchation  (forgive  me  if  I  coin  that  phrase)  from  the 
yawning  gulf  before  me. 

Yes,  I  am  writing  to  a  man,  but  let  me  not  think  of  that, 
for  madness  is  in  the  thought.  You  will  understand  my 
feelings  ?  Oh  yes  !  I  am  sure  you  will  !  and  you  will  respect 
them  too,  and  not  despise  them — will  you  ? 

Let  me  be  calm.  That  portrait — smiling  as  once  he  smiled 
on  me  ;  that  cane — dangling  as  I  have  seen  it  dangle  from 
his  hand  I  know  not  how  oft  ;  those  legs  that  have  glided 
through  my  nightly  dreams  and  never  stopped  to  speak  ; 
the  perfectly  gentlemanly,  though  false  original — can  I  be 
mistaken  ?     Oh  no,  no. 

Let  me  be  calmer  yet :  I  would  be  calm  as  coffins.  You 
have  published  a  letter  from  one  whose  likeness  is  engraved, 
but  whose  name  (and  wherefore  ?)  is  suppressed.  Shall  / 
breathe  that  name  ?  Is  it— but  why  ask  when  my  heart  tells 
me  too  truly  that  it  is  ! 

I  would  not  upbraid  him  with  his  treachery,  I  would  not 
remind  him  of  those  times  when  he  plighted  the  most  elo- 
quent of  vows,  and  procured  from  me  a  small  pecuniary  ac- 
commodation ;  and  yet  I  would  see  him — see  him  did  I  say 
— him — alas  !  such  is  woman's  nature.  For  as  the  poet 
beautifully  says— but  you  will  already  have  anticipated  the 
sentiment.     Is  it  not  sweet  ?     Oh  yes  ! 

It  was  in  this  city  (hallowed  by  the  recollection)  that  I 
met  him  first,  and  assuredly  if  mortal  happiness  be  recorded 
anywhere,  then  those  rubbers  with  their  three-and-sixpenny 
points  are  scored  on  tables  of  celestial  brass.  He  always 
held  an  honor — generally  two.     On  that  eventful  night,  we 


166  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

stood  at  eight.  He  raised  his  eyes  (luminous  in  their  se- 
ductive sweetness)  to  my  agitated  face.  "  Can  you  ?  "  said 
he,  with  peculiar  meaning.  I  felt  the  gentle  pressure  of  his 
foot  on  mine  ;  our  corns  throbbed  in  unison.  "  Can  you  ?  " 
he  said  again,  and  every  lineament  of  his  expressive  counte- 
nance added  the  words  "  resist  me  ?  "  I  murmured  "  No," 
and  fainted. 

They  said  when  I  recovered,  it  was  the  weather.  /  said  it 
was  the  nutmeg  in  the  negus.  How  little  did  they  suspect  the 
truth  !  How  little  did  they  guess  the  deep  mysterious  meaning 
of  that  inquiry  ?  He  called  next  morning  on  his  knees  :  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  he  actually  came  in  that  position  to  the 
house  door,  but  that  he  went  down  upon  those  joints  directly 
the  servant  had  retired.  He  brought  some  verses  in  his  hat 
which  he  said  were  original,  but  which  I  have  since  found 
were  Milton's.  Likewise  a  little  bottle  labeled  laudanum  ; 
also  a  pistol  and  a  swordstick.  He  drew  the  latter,  uncorked 
the  former,  and  clicked  the  trigger  of  the  pocket  fire-arm. 
He  had  come,  he  said,  to  conquer  or  to  die.  He  did  not 
die.  He  wrested  from  me  an  avowal  of  my  love,  and  let  off 
the  pistol  out  of  a  back  window  previous  to  partaking  of  a 
slight  repast. 

Faithless,  inconstant  man  !  How  many  ages  seem  to  have 
elapsed  since  his  unaccountable  and  perfidious  disappear- 
ance !  Could  I  still  forgive  him  both  that  and  the  borrowed 
lucre  that  he  promised  to  pay  next  week  !  Could  I  spurn 
him  from  my  feet  if  he  approached  in  penitence,  and  with  a 
matrimonial  object !  Would  the  blandishing  enchanter  still 
weave  his  spells  around  me,  or  should  I  burst  them  all  and 
turn  away  in  coldness  !  I  dare  not  trust  my  weakness  with 
the  thought. 

My  brain  is  in  a  whirl  again.  You  know  his  address,  his 
occupations,  his  mode  of  life — are  acquainted,  perhaps,  with 
his  inmost  thoughts.  You  are  a  humane  and  philanthropic 
character  ;  reveal  all  you  know — all  ;  but  especially  the 
street  and  number  of  his  lodgings.  The  post  is  departing, 
the  bellman  rings — pray  heaven  it  be  not  the  knell  of  love 
and  hope  too. 

Belinda. 

P.  S.  Pardon  the  wanderings  of  a  bad  pen  and  a  distracted 
mind.  Address  to  the  post-office.  The  bellman,  rendered 
impatient  by  delay,  is  ringing  dreadfully  in  the  passage. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  167 

P.  P.  S.  I  open  this  to  say  that  the  bellman  is  gone,  and 
that  you  must  not  expect  it  till  the  next  post  ;  so  don't  be 
surprised  when  you  don't  get  it. 

Master  Humphrey  does  not  feel  himself  at  liberty  to  fur- 
nish his  fair  correspondent  with  the  address  of  the  gentle- 
man in  question,  but  he  publishes  her  letter  as  a  public  ap- 
peal to  his  faith  and  gallantry. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK, 

in. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  VISITOR. 

When  I  am  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  I  often  succeed  in 
diverting  the  current  of  some  mournful  reflections,  by  con- 
juring up  a  number  of  fanciful  associations  with  the  objects 
that  surround  me  and  dwelling  upon  the  scenes  and  char- 
acters they  suggest. 

I  have  been  led  by  this  habit  to  assign  to  every  room  in 
my  house,  and  every  old  staring  portrait  on  its  walls,  a 
separate  interest  of  its  own.  Thus,  I  am  persuaded  that  a 
stately  dame,  terrible  to  behold  in  her  rigid  modesty,  who 
hangs  above  the  chimney-piece  of  my  bedroom,  is  the  former 
lady  of  the  mansion.  In  the  court-yard  below  is  a  stone 
face  of  surpassing  ugliness,  which  I  have  somehow — in  a 
kind  of  jealousy,  I  am  afraid — associated  with  her  husband. 
Above  my  study  is  a  little  room  with  ivy  peeping  through 
the  lattice,  from  which  I  bring  their  daughter,  a  lovely  girl 
of  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  age,  and  dutiful  in  all 
respects  save  one,  that  one  being  her  devoted  attachment 
to  a  young  gentleman  on  the  stairs,  whose  grandmother 
(degraded  to  a  disused  laundry  in  the  garden)  piques  herself 
upon  an  old  family  quarrel,  and  is  the  implacable  enemy  of 
their  love.  With  such  materials  as  these,  I  work  out  many 
a  little  drama,  whose  chief  merit  is,  that  I  can  bring  it  to  a 
happy  end  at  will  ;  I  have  so  many  of  them  on  hand,  that  if 
on  my  return  home  one  of  these  evenings  I  were  to  find 
some  bluff  old  wight  of  two  centuries  ago  comfortably  seated 
in  my  easy-chair,  and  a  love-lorn  damsel  vainly  appealing  to 
his  heart  and  leaning  her  white  arm  upon  my  clock  itself,  I 
verily  believe  I  should  only  express  my  surprise  that  they 
had  kept  me  waiting  so  long,  and  never  honored  me  with  a 
call  before. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  169 

1  was  in  such  a  mocd  as  this,  sitting  in  my  garden  yester- 
day morning  under  the  shade  of  a  favorite  tree  reveling  in 
all  the  bloom  and  brightness  about  me,  and  feeling  every 
sense  of  hope  and  enjoyment  quickened  by  this  most  beau- 
tiful season  of  spring,  when  my  meditations  were  interrupted 
by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  my  barber  at  the  end  of 
the  walk,  who  I  immediately  saw  was  coming  toward  me 
with  a  hasty  step  that  betokened  something  remarkable. 

My  barber  is  at  all  times  a  very  brisk,  bustling,  active 
little  man— for  he  is,  as  it  were,  chubby  all  over  without 
being  stout  or  unwieldy — but  yesterday  his  alacrity  was  so 
very  uncommon  that  it  quite  took  me  by  surprise.  For 
could  I  fail  to  observe  when  he  came  up  to  me,  that  his  gray 
eyes  were  twinkling  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner,  that 
his  little  red  nose  was  in  an  unusual  glow,  that  every  line  in 
his  round,  bright  face  was  twisted  and  curved  into  an  ex- 
pression of  pleased  surprise,  and  that  his  whole  countenance 
was  radiant  with  glee  ?  I  was  still  more  surprised  to  see  my 
housekeeper,  who  usually  preserves  a  very  staid  air,  and 
stands  somewhat  upon  her  dignity,  peeping  round  the  hedge 
at  the  bottom  of  the  walk,  and  exchanging  nods  and  smiles 
with  the  barber,  who  twice  or  thrice  looked  over  his  shoulder 
for  that  purpose.  I  could  conceive  no  announcement  to 
which  these  appearances  could  be  the  prelude,  unless  it  were 
that  they  had  married  each  other  that  morning. 

I  was,  consequently,  a  little  disappointed  when  it  only 
came  out  that  there  was  a  gentleman  in  the  house  who  wished 
to  speak  with  me. 

"  And  who  is  it  ?  "  said  I. 

The  barber,  with  his  face  screwed  up  still  tighter  than 
before,  replied  that  the  gentleman  would  not  send  his  name, 
but  wished  to  see  me.  I  pondered  for  a  moment,  wondering 
who  this  visitor  might  be,  and  I  remarked  that  he  embraced 
the  opportunity  of  exchanging  another  nod  with  the  house- 
keeper, who  still  lingered  in  the  distance. 

"  Well  !  "  said  I,  "  bid  the  gentleman  come  here." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  consummation  of  the  barber's  hopes, 
for  he  turned  sharp  round,  and  actually  ran  away. 

Now,  my  sight  is  not  very  good  at  a  distance,  and  there- 
fore when  the  gentleman  first  appeared  in  the  walk,  I  was 
not  quite  clear  whether  he  was  a  stranger  to  me  or  other- 
wise. He  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  but  came  tripping  along 
in  the  pleasantest  manner  conceivable,  avoiding  the  garden- 
roller  and  the  borders  of  the  beds  with  inimitable  dexterity. 


170  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

picking  his  way  among  the  flower-pots,  and  smiling  with 
unspeakable  good  humor.  Before  he  was  half  way  up  the 
walk  he  began  to  salute  me  ;  then  I  thought  I  knew  him  ; 
but  when  he  came  toward  me  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  the 
sun  shining  on  his  bald  head,  his  bland  face,  his  bright  spec- 
tacles, his  fawn-colored  tights,  and  his  black  gaiters — then, 
my  heart  warmed  toward  him,  and  I  felt  quite  certain  that 
it  was  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  that  gentleman,  as  I  rose  to  receive 
him,  "  pray  be  seated.  Pray  sit  down.  Now  do  not  stand 
on  my  account.  I  must  insist  upon  it,  really."  With  these 
words  Mr.  Pickwick  gently  pressed  me  down  into  my  seat, 
and  taking  my  hand  in  his,  shook  it  again  and  again  with  a 
warmth  of  manner  perfectly  irresistible.  I  endeavored  to 
express  in  my  welcome  something  of  that  heartiness  and 
pleasure  which  the  sight  of  him  awakened,  and  made  him  sit 
down  beside  me.  All  this  time  be  kept  alternately  releasing 
my  hand  and  grasping  it  again,  and  surveying  me  through 
his  spectacles  with  such  a  beaming  countenance  as  I  never 
beheld. 

"  You  knew  me  directly  !  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "What  a 
pleasure  it  is  to  think  that  you  knew  me  directly  !  " 

I  remarked  that  I  had  read  his  adventures  very  often,  and 
his  features  were  quite  familiar  to  me  from  the  published 
portraits.  As  I  thought  it  a  good  opportunity  of  adverting 
to  the  circumstance,  I  condoled  with  him  upon  the  various 
libels  on  his  character  which  had  found  their  way  into  print. 
Mr.  Pickwick  shook  his  head,  and  for  a  moment  looked  very 
indignant,  but  smiling  again  directly,  added  that  no  doubt 
I  was  acquainted  with  Cervantes's  introduction  to  the  second 
part  of  Don  Quixote,  and  that  it  fully  expressed  his  senti- 
ments on  the  subject. 

"  But  now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "  don't  you  wonder  how  I 
found  you  out  ?" 

"  I  shall  never  wonder,  and  with  your  good  leave,  never 
know,"  said  I,  smiling  in  my  turn.  "  It  is  enough  for  me 
that  you  give  me  this  gratification.  I  have  not  the  least 
desire  that  you  should  tell  me  by  what  means  I  have  ob- 
tained it." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  shaking  me 
by  the  hand  again  ;  "  you  are  so  exactly  what  I  expected  ! 
But  for  what  particular  purpose  do  you  think  I  have  sought 
you,  my  dear  sir  ?    Now  what  do  you  think  I  have  come  for  ? " 

Mr.  Pickwick  put  this  question  as  though  he  were  persuaded 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  171 

that  it  was  morally  impossible  that  I  could  by  any  means  di- 
vine the  deep  purpose  of  his  visit,  and  that  it  must  be  hidden 
from  all  human  ken.  Therefore,  although  I  was  rejoiced  to 
think  that  I  had  anticipated  his  drift,  I  feigned  to  be  quite 
ignorant  of  it  and  after  a  brief  consideration  shook  my  head 
despairingly. 

"  What  should  you  say,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  laying 
the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  upon  my  coat-sleeve,  and  look- 
ing at  me  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and  a  little  on  one 
side — "  what  should  you  say  if  I  confessed  that  after  read- 
ing your  account  of  yourself  and  your  little  society,  I  had 
come  here,  a  humble  candidate  for  one  of  those  empty 
chairs  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,"  I  returned,  "  that  I  know  of  only  one  cir- 
cumstance which  could  still  further  endear  that  little  society 
to  me,  and  that  would  be  the  associating  with  it  my  old 
friend — for  you  must  let  me  call  you  so — my  old  friend, 
Mr.  Pickwick." 

As  I  made  him  this  answer  every  feature  of  Mr.  Pickwick's 
face  fused  itself  into  one  all-pervading  expression  of  de- 
light. After  shaking  me  heartily  by  both  hands  at  once,  he 
patted  me  gently  on  the  back,  and  then — I  well  understand 
why — colored  up  to  the  eyes,  and  hoped  with  great  earnest- 
ness of  manner  that  he  had  not  hurt  me. 

If  he  had  I  would  have  been  content  that  he  should  have 
repeated  the  offense  a  hundred  times,  rather  than  suppose 
so  :  but  as  he  had  not,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  changing  the 
subject  by  making  an  inquiry  which  had  been  upon  my  lips 
twenty  times  already. 

"  You  have  not  told  me,"  said  I,  "  any  thing  about  Sam 
Weller." 

"Oh  !  Sam,"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick,  "is  the  same  as  ever. 
The  same  true,  faithful  fellow  that  he  ever  was.  What  should 
I  tell- you  about  Sam,  my  dear  sir,  except  that  he  is  more  in- 
dispensable to  my  happiness  and  comfort  every  day  of  my 
life  ?  " 

"  And  Mr.  Weller,  senior  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Old  Mr.  Weller,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  "  is  in  no  re- 
spect more  altered  than  Sam,  unless  it  be  that  he  is  a  little 
more  opinionated  than  he  was  formerly,  and  perhaps  at 
times  more  talkative.  He  spends  a  good  deal  of  his  time 
now  in  our  neighborhood,  and  has  so  constituted  himself  a 
part  of  my  body-guard,  that  when  I  ask  permission  for  Sam 
to  have  a  seat  in  your  kitchen  on  clock  nights   (supposing 


172  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

your  three  friends  think  me  worthy  to  fill  one  of  the  chairs), 
I  am  afraid  I  must  often  include  Mr.  Weller  too." 

I  very  readily  pledged  myself  to  give  both  Sam  and  his 
father  a  free  admission  to  my  house  at  all  hours  and  sea- 
sons ;  and  this  point  settled,  we  fell  into  a  lengthy  conver- 
sation which  was  carried  on  with  as  little  reserve  on  both 
sides  as  if  we  had  been  intimate  friends  from  our  youth,  and 
which  conveyed  to  me  the  comfortable  assurance  that  Mr. 
Pickwick's  buoyancy  of  spirit,  and  indeed  all  his  old  cheer- 
ful characteristics,  were  wholly  unimpaired.  As  he  had 
spoken  of  the  consent  of  my  friends  as  being  yet  in  abey- 
ance, I  repeatedly  assured  him  that  his  proposal  was  certain 
to  receive  their  most  joyful  sanction,  and  several  times  en- 
treated that  he  would  give  me  leave  to  introduce  him  to  Jack 
Redburn  and  Mr.  Miles  (who  were  near  at  hand)  without 
further  ceremony. 

To  this  proposal,  however,  Mr.  Pickwick's  delicacy  would 
by  no  means  allow  him  to  accede,  for  he  urged  that  his  eligi- 
bility must  be  formally  discussed,  and  that,  until  this  had 
been  done,  he  could  not  think  of  obtruding  himself  further. 
The  utmost  I  could  obtain  from  him  was  a  promise  that  he 
would  attend  upon  our  next  night  of  meeting,  that  I  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  him  immediately  on  his 
election. 

Mr.  Pickwick,  having  with  many  blushes  placed  in  my 
hands  a  small  roll  of  paper,  which  he  termed  his  "  qualifi- 
cation," put  a  great  many  questions  to  me  touching  my 
friends,  and  particularly  Jack  Redburn,  whom  he  repeatedly 
termed  "  a  fine  fellow,"  and  in  whose  favor  I  could  see  he 
was  strongly  predisposed.  When  I  had  satisfied  him  on  these 
points,  I  took  him  up  into  my  room  that  he  might  make  ac- 
quaintance with  the  old  chamber  which  is  our  place  of 
meeting. 

"  And  this,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  stopping  short,  "  is  the 
clock  !     Dear  me  !     And  this  is  really  the  old  clock  !  " 

I  thought  he  would  never  have  come  away  from  it.  After 
advancing  toward  it  softly,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  it  with 
as  much  respect  and  as  many  smiling  looks  as  if  it  were  alive, 
he  set  himself  to  consider  it  in  every  possible  direction,  now 
mounting  on  a  chair  to  look  at  the  top,  now  going  down  upon 
his  knees  to  examine  the  bottom,  now  surveying  the  sides 
with  his  spectacles  almost  touching  the  case,  and  now  trying 
to  peep  between  it  and  the  wall  to  get  a  slight  view  of  the 
back.     Then  he  would  retire  a  pace  or  two  and   look  up  at 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  173 

the  dial  to  see  it  go,  and  then  draw  near  again  and  stand 
with  his  head  on  One  side  to  hear  it  tick  :  never  failing  to 
glance  toward  me  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds  each,  and 
nod  his  head  with  such  complacent  gratification  as  I  am 
quite  unable  to  describe.  His  admiration  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  clock,  either,  but  extended  itself  to  every 
article  in  the  room,  and  really,  when  he  had  gone 
through  them  every  one,  and  at  last  sat  himself  down  in  all  the 
six  chairs,  one  after  another,  to  try  how  they  felt,  I  never  saw 
such  a  picture  of  good-humor  and  happiness  as  he  presented, 
from  the  top  of  his  shining  head  down  to  the  very  last  but- 
ton of  his  gaiters. 

I  should  have  been  well  pleased,  and  should  have  had  the 
utmost  enjoyment  of  his  company,  if  he  had  remained  with 
me  all  day,  but  my  favorite,  striking  the  hour,  reminded  him 
that  he  must  take  his  leave.  I  could  not  forbear  telling  him 
once  more  how  glad  he  made  me,  and  we  shook  hands  all 
the  way  down  stairs. 

We  had  no  sooner  arrived  in  the  hall,  than  my  house- 
keeper, gliding  out  of  her  little  room  (she  had  changed  her 
gown  and  cap,  I  observed),  greeted  Mr.  Pickwick  with  her 
best  smile  and  courtesy  ;  and  the  barber,  feigning  to  be  ac- 
cidentally passing  on  his  way  out,  made  him  a  vast  number 
of  bows.  When  the  housekeeper  courtesied,  Mr.  Pickwick 
bowed  with  the  utmost  politeness,  and  when  he  bowed,  the 
housekeeper  courtesied  again  ;  between  the  housekeeper 
and  the  barber,  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Pickwick  faced 
about  and  bowed  with  undiminished  affability,  fifty  times 
at  least. 

I  saw  him  to  the  door  ;  an  omnibus  was  at  the  moment 
passing  the  corner  of  the  lane,  which  Mr.  Pickwick  .hailed 
and  ran  after  with  extraordinary  nimbleness.  When  he  had 
got  about  half-way  he  turned  his  head,  and  seeing  that  I 
was  still  looking  after  him  and  that  I  waved  my  hand, 
stopped,  evidently  irresolute  whether  to  come  back  and  shake 
hands  again  or  go  on.  The  man  behind  the  omnibus 
shouted,  and  Mr.  Pickwick  ran  a  little  way  toward  him  : 
then  he  looked  round  at  me  and  ran  a  little  way  back  again. 
Then  there  was  another  shout,  and  he  turned  round  once 
more  and  ran  the  other  way.  After  several  of  these  vibra- 
tions, the  man  settled  the  question  by  taking  Mr.  Pickwick 
by  the  arm,  and  putting  him  into  the  carriage  ;  but  his  last 
action  was  to  let  down  the  window  and  wave  his  hat  to  me 
as  it  drove  off. 


i74  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

I  lost  no  time  in  opening  the  parcel  he  had  left  with  me. 
The  following  were  its  contents  : 


MR.    PICKWICK  S    TALE. 

A  good  many  years  have  passed  away  since  old  John 
Podgers  lived  in  the  town  of  Windsor,  where  he  was  born,  and 
where,  in  course  of  time,  he  came  to  be  comfortably  and 
snugly  buried.  You  may  be  sure  that  in  the  time  of  King 
James  the  First,  Windsor  was  a  very  quaint,  queer  old  town, 
and  you  may  take  it  upon  my  authority  that  John  Podgers 
was  a  very  quaint,  queer  old  fellow  ;  consequently  he  and 
Windsor  fitted  each  other  to  a  nicety,  and  seldom  parted 
company  even  for  half  a  day. 

John  Podgers  was  broad,  sturdy,  Dutch-built,  short,  and 
a  very  hard  eater,  as  men  of  his  figure  often  are.  Being  a 
hard  sleeper  likewise,  he  divided  his  time  pretty  equally  be- 
tween these  two  recreations,  always  falling  asleep  when  he 
had  done  eating,  and  always  taking  another  turn  at  the 
trencher  when  he  had  done  sleeping,  by  which  means  be 
grew  more  corpulent  and  more  drowsy  every  day  of  his  life. 
Indeed  it  used  to  be  currently  reported  that  when  he  saun- 
tered up  and  down  the  sunny  side  of  the  street  before  din- 
ner (as  he  never  failed  to  do  in  fair  weather),  he  enjoyed  his 
soundest  nap  ;  but  many  people  held  this  to  be  a  fiction,  as 
he  had  several  times  been  seen  to  look  after  fat  oxen  on 
market-days,  and  had  even  been  heard,  by  persons  of  good 
credit  and  reputation,  to  chuckle  at  the  sight,  and  say  to 
himself  with  great  glee,  "  Live  beef,  live  beef  !  "  It  was  upon 
this  evidence  that  the  wisest  people  in  Windsor  (beginning 
with  the  local  authorities  of  course)  held  that  John  Podgers 
was  a  man  of  strong  sound  sense — not  what  is  called  smart, 
perhaps,  and  it  might  be  of  a  rather  lazy  and  apoplectic 
turn,  but  still  a  man  of  solid  parts,  and  one  who  meant  much 
more  than  he  cared  to  show.  This  impression  was  con- 
firmed by  a  very  dignified  way  he  had  of  shaking  his  head 
and  imparting,  at  the  same  time,  a  pendulous  motion  to  his 
double  chin  ;  in  short  he  passed  for  one  of  those  people  who, 
being  plunged  into  the  Thames,  would  make  no  vain  efforts 
to  set  it  a-fire,  but  would  straightway  flop"  down  to  the  bottom 
with  a  deal  of  gravity,  and  be  highly  respected  in  conse- 
quence by  all  good  men. 

Being  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  a  peaceful  widower — 
having  a  great  appetite,  which,  as  he  could  afford  to  gratify 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  175 

it,  was  a  luxury  and  no  inconvenience,  and  a  power  of  going 
to  sleep,  which,  as  he  had  no  occasion  to  keep  awake,  was 
a  most  enviable  faculty — you  will  readily  suppose  that 
John  Podgers  was  a  happy  man.  But  appearances  are 
often  deceptive  when  they  least  seem  so,  and  the  truth 
is,  that  notwithstanding  his  extreme  sleekness,  he  was  ren- 
dered uneasy  in  his  mind  and  exceedingly  uncomfortable  by 
a  constant  apprehension  that  beset  him  night  and  day. 

You  know  very  well  that  in  those  times  there  nourished 
divers  evil  old  women  who,  under  the  name  of  witches,  spread 
great  disorder  through  the  land,  and  inflicted  various  dismal 
tortures  upon  Christian  men,  sticking  pins  and  needles  into 
them  when  they  least  expected  it,  and  causing  them  to  walk  in 
the  air  with  their  feet  upward,  to  the  great  terror  of  their  wives 
and  families,  who  were  naturally  very  much  disconcerted  when 
the  master  of  the  house  unexpectedly  came  home,  knocking 
at  the  door  with  his  heels  and  combing  his  hair  on  the 
scraper.  These  were  their  commonest  pranks,  but  they 
every  day  played  a  hundred  others,  of  which  none  were  less 
objectionable  and  many  were  much  more  so,  being  improper 
besides  ;  the  result  was  that  vengeance  was  denounced 
against  all  old  women,  with  whom  even  the  king  himself  had 
no  sympathy  (as  he  certainly  ought  to  have  had),  for  with 
his  own  most  gracious  hand  he  penned  a  most  gracious  con- 
signment of  them  to  everlasting  wrath,  and  devised  most 
gracious  means  for  their  confusion  and  slaughter,  in  virtue 
whereof  scarcely  a  day  passed  but  one  witch  at  the  least  was 
most  graciously  hanged,  drowned,  or  roasted  in  some  part  of 
his  dominions.  Still,  the  press  teemed  with  strange  and  ter- 
rible news  from  the  north  or  the  south,  or  the  east  or  the 
west,  relative  to  witches  and  their  unhappy  victims  in  some 
corner  of  the  country,  and  the  public's  hair  stood  on  end  to 
that  degree  that  it  lifted  its  hat  off  its  head,  and  made  its 
face  pale  with  terror. 

You  may  believe  that  the  little  town  of  Windsor  did  not 
escape  the  general  contagion.  The  inhabitants  boiled  a 
witch  on  the  king's  birthday  and  sent  a  bottle  of  the  broth 
to  court,  with  a  dutiful  .address  expressive  of  their  loyalty. 
The  king,  being  rather  frightened  by  the  present,  piously 
bestowed  it  upon  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  returned 
an  answer  to  the  address,  wherein  he  gave  them  golden  rules 
for  discovering  witches,  and  laid  great  stress  upon  certain 
protecting  charms,  and  especially  horseshoes.  Immediately 
the  townspeople  went  to  work  nailing  up   horseshoes  over 


176  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

every  door,  and  so  many  anxious  parents  apprenticed  their 
children  to  farriers,  to  keep  them  out  of  harm's  way,  that  it 
became  quite  a  genteel  trade  and  flourished  exceedingly. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  bustle  John  Podgers  ate  and  slept 
as  usual,  but  shook  his  head  a  great  deal  oftener  than  was 
his  custom,  and  was  observed  to  look  at  the  oxen  less,  and 
at  the  old  women  more.  He  had  a  little  shelf  put  up  in  his 
sitting-room,  whereon  was  displayed,  in  a  row  which  grew 
longer  every  week,  all  the  witchcraft  literature  of  the  time  ; 
he  grew  learned  in  charms  and  exorcisms,  hinted  at  certain 
questionable  females  on  broomsticks  whom  he  had  seen 
from  his  chamber  window,  riding  in  the  air  at  night,  and 
was  in  constant  terror  of  being  bewitched.  At  length,  from 
perpetual  dwelling  upon  this  one  idea,  which,  being  alone  in 
his  head,  had  it  all  its  own  way,  the  fear  of  witches  became 
the  single  passion  of  his  life.  He,  who  up  to  that  time  had 
never  known  what  it  was  to  dream,  began  to  have  visions  of 
witches  whenever  he  fell  asleep  ;  waking,  they  were  inces- 
santly present  to  his  imagination  likewise  ;  and,  sleeping  or 
waking,  he  had  not  a  moment's  peace.  He  began  to  set 
witch-traps  in  the  highway,  and  was  often  seen  lying  in  wait 
round  the  corner  for  hours  together,  to  watch  their  effect. 
These  engines  were  of  simple  construction,  usually  consist- 
ing of  two  straws  disposed  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  or  piece 
of  a  Bible-cover  with  a  pinch  of  salt  upon  it  ;  but  they  were 
infallible,  and  if  an  old  woman  chanced  to  stumble  over 
them  (as  not  unfrequently  happened,  the  chosen  spot  being 
a  broken  and  stony  place),  John  started  from  a  doze, 
pounced  upon  her,  and  hung  round  her  neck  till  assistance 
arrived,  when  she  was  immediately  carried  away  and 
drowned.  By  dint  of  constantly  inveigling  old  ladies  and 
disposing  of  them  in  this  summary  manner,  he  acquired  the 
reputation  of  a  great  public  character  ;  and  as  he  received 
no  harm  in  these  pursuits  beyond  a  scratched  face  or  so,  he 
came,  in  course  of  time,  to  be  considered  witch-proof. 

There  was  but  one  person  who  entertained  the  least  doubt 
of  John  Podgers's  gifts,  and  that  person  was  his  own  nephew, 
a  wild,  roving  young  fellow  of  twenty  who  had  been  brought 
up  in  his  uncle's  house  and  lived  there  still — that  is  to  say, 
when  he  was  at  home,  which  was  not  as  often  as  it  might 
have  been.  As  he  was  an  apt  scholar,  it  was  he  who  read 
aloud  every  fresh  piece  of  strange  and  terrible  intelligence 
that  John  Podgers  bought  ;  and  this  he  always  did  of  an 
evening  in  the  little  porch  in  front  of  the  house,  round  which 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  177 

the  neighbors  would  flock  in  crowds  to  hear  the  direful 
news, — for  people  like  to  be  frightened,  and  when  they  can 
be  frightened  for  nothing  and  at  another  man's  expense, 
they  like  it  all  the  better. 

One  fine  midsummer  evening,  a  group  of  persons  were 
gathered  in  this  place,  listening  intently  to  Will  Marks  (that 
was  the  nephew's  name),  as  with  his  cap  very  much  on  one 
side,  his  arm  coiled  slyly  round  the  waist  of  a  pretty 
girl  who  sat  beside  him,  and  his  face  screwed  into  a 
comical  expression  intended  to  represent  extreme  gravity, 
he  read  —  with  heaven  knows  how  many  embellishments 
of  his  own — a  dismal  account  of  a  gentleman  down  in 
Northamptonshire  under  the  influence  of  witchcraft  and 
taken  forcible  possession  of  by  the  devil,  who  was  playing 
his  very  self  with  him.  John  Podgers,  in  a  high  sugar-loaf 
hat  and  short  cloak,  filled  the  opposite  seat,  and  surveyed 
the  auditory  with  a  look  of  mingled  pride  and  horror  very 
edifying  to  see  ;  while  the  hearers,  with  their  heads  thrust 
forward  and  their  mouths  open,  listened  and  trembled, 
and  hoped  there  was  a  great  deal  more  to  come.  Some- 
times Will  stopped  for  an  instant  to  look  round  upon  his 
eager  audience,  and  then,  with  a  more  comical  expression 
of  face  than  before  and  a  settling  of  himself  comfortably, 
which  included  a  squeeze  of  the  young  lady  before  men- 
tioned, he  launched  into  some  new  wonder  surpassing  all  the 
others. 

The  setting  sun  shed  his  last  golden  rays  upon  this 
little  party,  who,  absorbed  in  their  present  occupation,  took 
no  heed  of  the  approach  of  night  or  the  glory  in  which 
the  day  went  down,  when  the  sound  of  a  horse  approaching 
at  a  good  round  trot,  invading  the  silence  of  the  hour, 
caused  the  reader  to  make  a  sudden  stop  and  the  listeners 
to  raise  their  heads  in  wonder.  Nor  was  their  wonder 
diminished  when  a  horseman  dashed  up  to  the  porch,  and 
abruptly  checking  his  steed,  inquired  where  one  John 
Podgers  cjwelt. 

"  Here  ! "  cried  a  dozen  voices,  while  a  dozen  hands 
pointed  out  sturdy  John,  still  basking  in  the  terrors  of  the 
pamphlet. 

The  rider,  giving  his  bridle  to  one  of  those  who  surrounded 
him,  dismounted,  and  approached  John,  hat  in  hand,  but  with 
great  haste. 

"  Whence  come  ye  ?"  said  John. 

"  From  Kingston,  master." 


173  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"  And  wherefore  ?  " 

"  On  most  pressing  business." 

"  Of  what  nature  ?  " 

"  Witchcraft." 

Witchcraft  !  Every  body  looked  aghast  at  the  breathless 
messenger,  and  the  breathless  messenger  looked  equally 
aghast  at  every  body — except  Will  Marks,  who  finding  him- 
self unobserved,  not  only  squeezed  the  young  lady  again, 
but  kissed  her  twice.  Surely  he  must  have  been  bewitched 
himself,  or  he  never  could  have  done  it — and  the  young 
lady  too,  or  she  never  would  have  let  him. 

11  Witchcraft  ? "  cried  Will,  drowning  the  sound  of  his  last 
kiss,  which  was  rather  a  loud  one. 

The  messenger  turned  toward  him,  and  with  a  frown, 
repeated  the  word  more  solemnly  than  before  ;  then  told 
his  errand,  which  was  in  brief,  that  the  people  of  Kingston 
had  been  greatly  terrified  for  some  nights  past  by  hideous 
revels,  held  by  witches  beneath  the  gibbet  within  a  mile  of 
the  town,  and  related  and  deposed  to  by  chance  wayfarers 
who  had  passed  within  ear-shot  of  the  spot  ;  that  the  sound 
of  their  voices  in  their  wild  orgies  had  been  plainly  heard 
by  many  persons  ;  that  three  old  women  labored  under 
strong  suspicion,  and  that  precedents  had  been  consulted, 
solemn  council  had,  and  it  was  found  that  to  identify  the 
hags  some  single  person  must  watch  upon  the  spot  alone  ; 
that  no  single  person  had  the  courage  to  perform  the  task, 
and  that  he  had  been  dispatched  express  to  solicit  John 
Podgers  to  undertake  it  that  very  night,  as  being  a  man  of 
great  renown,  who  bore  a  charmed  life,  and  was  proof  against 
unholy  spells. 

John  received  this  communication  with  much  composure, 
and  said  in  a  few  words,  that  it  would  have  afforded  him  in- 
expressible pleasure  to  do  the  Kingston  people  so  slight  a  serv- 
ice if  it  were  not  for  His  unfortunate  propensity  to  fall  asleep, 
which  no  man  regretted  more  than  himself  upon  the  present 
occasion,  but  which  quite  settled  the  question.  Neverthe- 
less, he  said,  there  was  a  gentleman  present  (and  here  he 
looked  very  hard  at  a  tall  farrier)  who,  having  been  engaged 
all  his  life  in  the  manufacture  of  horseshoes,  must  be  quite 
invulnerable  to  the  power  of  witches,  and  who,  he  had  no 
doubt,  from  his  own  reputation  for  bravery  and  good-nature, 
would  readily  accept  the  commission.  The  farrier  politely 
thanked  him  for  his  good  opinion,  which  it  would  always  be 
his  study  to  deserve,  but  added  that,  with  regard  to  the 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  179 

present  little  matter,  he  couldn't  think  of  it  on  any  account, 
as  his  departing  on  such  an  errand  would  certainly  occasion 
the  instant  death  of  his  wife,  to  whom,  as  they  all  knew,  he 
was  tenderly  attached.  Now,  so  far  from  this  circumstance 
being  notorious,  every  body  had  suspected  the  reverse,  as 
the  farrier  was  in  the  habit  of  beating  his  lady  rather  more 
than  tender  husbands  usually  do  ;  all  the  married  men  pres- 
ent, however,  applauded  his  resolution  with  great  vehemence, 
and  one  and  all  declared  that  they  would  stop  at  home  and 
die  if  needful  (which  happily  it  was  not)  in  defense  of  their 
lawful  partners. 

This  burst  of  enthusiasm  over,  they  began  to  look,  as  by 
one  consent,  toward  Will  Marks,  who,  with  his  cap  more  on 
one  side  than  ever,  sat  watching  the  proceedings  with  extra- 
ordinary unconcern.  He  had  never  been  heard  openly  to 
express  his  disbelief  in  witches,  but  had  often  cut  such  jokes 
at  their  expense  as  left  it  to  be  inferred  ;  publicly  stating  on 
several  occasions  that  he  considered  a  broomstick  an  incon- 
venient charger,  and  one  especially  unsuited  to  the  dignity 
of  the  female  character,  and  indulging  in  other  free  remarks 
of  the  same  tendency,  to  the  great  amusement  of  his  wild 
companions. 

As  they  looked  at  Will,  they  began  to  whisper  and  murmur 
among  themselves,  and  at  length  one  man  cried,  "  Why  don't 
you  ask  Will  Marks  ?" 

As  this  was  what  every  body  had  been  thinking  of,  they  all 
took  up  the  word,  and  cried  in  concert,  "  Ah  !  why  don't  you 
ask  Will  ?  " 

"  He  don't  care,"  said  the  farrier. 

"  Not  he,"  added  another  voice  in  the  crowd. 

"  He  don't  believe  in  it,  you  know,"  sneered  a  little  man 
with  a  yellow  face  and  a  taunting  nose  and  chin,  which  he 
thrust  out  from  under  the  arm  of  a  long  man  before  him. 

"  Besides,"  said  a  red-faced  gentleman  with  a  gruff  voice, 
"he's  a  single  man." 

"  That's  the  point  !  "  said  the  farrier  ;  and  all  the  married 
men  murmured,  ah  !  that  was  it,  and  they  only  wished  they 
were  single  themselves  ;  and  they  would  show  him  what 
spirit  was,  very  soon. 

The  messenger  looked  toward  Will  Marks  beseechingly. 

"  It  will  be  a  wet  night,  friend,  and  my  gray  nag  is  tired 
after  yesterday's  work — " 

Here  there  was  a  general  titter. 

"  But,"  resumed  Will,  looking  about  him  with  a  smile,  "  if 


i8o  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

nobody  else  puts  in  a  better  claim  to  go,  for  the  credit  of  the 
town,  I  am  your  man,  and  I  would  be  if  I  had  to  go  afoot. 
In  five  minutes  I  shall  be  in  the  saddle,  unless  I  am  depriv- 
ing any  worthy  gentleman  here  of  the  honor  of  the  adven- 
ture, which  I  wouldn't  do  for  the  world." 

But  here  arose  a  double  difficulty,  for  not  only  did  John 
Podgers  combat  the  resolution  with  all  the  words  he  had, 
which  were  not  many,  but  the  young  lady  combated  it  too 
with  all  the  tears  she  had,  which  were  very  many  indeed. 
Will,  however,  being  inflexible,  parried  his  uncle's  objections 
writh  a  joke,  and  coaxed  the  young  lady  into  a  smile  in  three 
short  whispers.  As  it  was  plain  that  he  would  go  and  set  his 
mind  upon  it,  John  Podgers  offered  him  a  few  first-rate 
charms  out  of  his  own  pocket,  which  he  dutifully  declined 
to  accept,  and  the  young  lady  give  him  a  kiss  which  .^e  also 
returned. 

"  You  see  what  a  rare  thing  it  is  to  be  married,"  said  Will, 
"  and  how  careful  and  considerate  all  these  husbands  are. 
There's  not  a  man  among  them  but  his  heart  is  leaping  to 
forestall  me  in  this  adventure,  and  yet  a  strong  sense  of  duty 
keeps  him  back.  The  husbands  in  this  one  little  town  are 
a  pattern  to  the  world,  and  so  must  the  wives  be  too,  for 
that  matter,  or  they  could  never  boast  half  the  influence  they 
have  !  " 

Waiting  for  no  reply  to  this  sarcasm,  he  snapped  his  fin- 
gers and  withdrew  into  the  house,  and  thence  into  the  stable, 
while  some  busied  themselves  in  refreshing  the  messenger, 
and  others  in  baiting  his  steed.  In  less  than  the  specified 
time,  he  returned  by  another  way,  with  a  good  cloak  hang- 
ing over  his  arm,  a  good  sword  girded  by  his  side,  and  lead- 
ing his  good  horse  caparisoned  for  the  journey. 

"  Now,"  said  Will,  leaping  into  the  saddle  at  abound,  "  up 
and  away.  Upon  your  mettle,  friend,  and  push  on.  Good- 
night !  " 

He  kissed  his  hand  to  the  girl,  nodded  to  his  drowsy  uncle, 
waved  his  cap  to  the  rest — and  off  they  flew  pell-mell,  as  if 
all  the  witches  in  England  were  in  their  horses'  legs.  They 
were  out  of  sight  in  a  minute. 

The  men  who  were  left  behind  shook  their  heads  doubt- 
fully, stroked  their  chins,  and  shook  their  heads  again.  The 
farrier  said  that  certainly  Will  Marks  was  a  good  horseman, 
nobody  should  say  he  denied  that  ;  but  he  was  rash,  very 
rash,  and  there  was  no  telling  what  the  end  of  it  might  be  ; 
what  did  he  go  for,  that  was  what  he  wanted  to  know  ?     He 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  181 

wished  the  young  fellow  no  harm,  but  why  did  he  go  ? 
Every  body  echoed  these  words,  and  shook  their  heads  again, 
having  done  which  they  wished  John  Podgers  good-night, 
and  straggled  home  to  bed. 

The  Kingston  people  were  in  their  first  sleep,  when  Will 
Marks  and  his  conductor  rode  through  the  town  and  up  to 
the  door  of  a  house  where  sundry  grave  functionaries  were 
assembled,  anxiously  expecting  the  arrival  of  the  renowned 
Podgers.  They  were  a  little  disappointed  to  find  a  gay 
young  man  in  his  place,  but  they  put  the  best  face  upon  the 
matter,  and  gave  him  full  instructions  how  he  was  to  conceal 
himself  behind  the  gibbet,  and  watch  and  listen  to  the 
witches,  and  how  at  a  certain  time  he  was  to  burst  forth 
and  cut  and  slash  among  them  vigorously,  so  that  the  sus- 
pected parties  might  be  found  bleeding  in  their  beds  next 
day,  and  thoroughly  confounded.  They  gave  him  a  great 
quantity  of  wholesome  advice  besides,  and — which  was  more 
to  the  purpose  with  Will — a  good  supper.  All  these  things 
being  done,  and  midnight  nearly  come,  they  sallied  forth  to 
show  him  the  spot  where  he  was  to  keep  his  dreary  vigil. 

The  night  was  by  this  time  dark  and  threatening.  There 
was  a  rumbling  of  distant  thunder,  and  alow  sighing  of  wind 
among  the  trees,  which  was  very  dismal.  The  potentates  of 
the  town  kept  so  uncommonly  close  to  Will  that  they  trod  upon 
his  toes,  or  stumbled  against  his  ankles,  or  nearly  tripped  up 
his  heels  at  every  step  he  took,  and  besides  these  annoy- 
ances, their  teeth  chattered  so  with  fear  that  he  seemed  to 
be  accompanied  by  a  dirge  of  castanets. 

At  last  they  made  a  halt  at  the  opening  of  a  lonely,  deso- 
late space,  and  pointing  to  a  black  object  at  some  distance, 
asked  Will  he  if  saw  that,  yonder. 

"  Yes/'  he  replied.     What  then  ?  " 

Informing  him  abruptly  that  it  was  the  gibbet  where  he 
was  to  watch,  they  wished  him  good-night  in  an  extremely 
friendly  manner,  and  ran  back  as  fast  as  their  feet  would 
carry  them. 

Will  walked  boldly  to  the  gibbet,  and,  glancing  upward 
when  he  came  under  it,  saw — certainly  with  satisfaction — 
that  it  was  empty,  and  that  nothing  dangled  from  the  top 
but  some  iron  chains,  which  swung  mournfully  to  and  fro  as 
they  were  moved  bv  the  breeze.  After  a  careful  survey  of 
every  quarter,  he  determined  to  take  his  station  with  his 
face  toward  the  town  ;  both  because  that  would  place  him 
with  his  back  to  the  wind,  and  because  if  any  trick  or  sur- 


182  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

prise  were  attempted,  it  would  probably  come  from  that 
direction  in  the  first  instance.  Having  taken  these  precau- 
tions, he  wrapped  his  cloak  about  him  so  that  it  left  the 
handle  of  his  sword  free,  and  ready  to  his  hand,  and  leaning 
against  the  gallows-tree,  with  his  cap  not  quite  so  much  on 
one  side  as  it  had  been  before,  took  up  his  position  for  the 
night. 

SECOND    CHAPTER    OF    MR.    PICKWICK'S    TALE. 

We  left  Will  Marks  leaning  under  the  gibbet  with  his  face 
toward  the  town,  scanning  the  distance  with  a  keen  eye, 
which  sought  to  pierce  the  darkness  and  catch  the  earliest 
glimpse  of  any  person  or  persons  that  might  approach 
toward  him.  But  all  was  quiet,  and  save  the  howling  of  the 
wind  as  it  swept  across  the  heath  in  gusts,  and  the  creaking 
of  the  chains  that  dangled  above  his  head,  there  was  no  sound 
to  break  the  sullen  stillness  of  the  night.  After  half  an  hour 
or  so,  this  monotony  became  more  disconcerting  to  Will  than 
the  most  furious  uproar  would  have  been,  and  he  heartily 
wished  for  some  one  antagonist  with  whom  he  might  have  a 
fair  stand-up  fight,  if  it  were  only  to  warm  himself. 

Truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  bitter  wind,  and  seemed  to  blow  to 
the  very  heart  of  a  man  whose  blood,  heated  but  now  with 
rapid  riding,  was  the  more  sensitive  to  the  chilling  blast. 
Will  was  a  daring  fellow,  and  cared  not  a  jot  for  hard  knocks 
or  sharp  blades  ;  but  he  could  not  persuade  himself  to  move 
or  walk  about,  having  just  that  vague  expectation  of  a  sud- 
den assault  which  made  it  a  comfortable  thing  to  have  some- 
thing at  his  back,  even  though  that  something  were  a  gallows- 
tree.  He  had  no  great  faith  in  the  superstitions  of  the  age,  still 
such  of  them  as  occurred  to  him  did  not  serve  to  lighten  the 
time,  or  to  render  his  situation  more  endurable.  He  remem- 
bered how  witches  were  said  to  repair  at  that  ghostly  hour 
to  church-yards  and  gibbets,  and  such  like  dismal  spots,  to 
pluck  the  bleeding  mandrake  or  scrape  the  flesh  from  dead 
men's  bones,  a  choice  ingredient  for  their  spells  ;  how,  steal- 
ing by  night  to  lonely  places,  they  dug  graves  with  their 
finger-nails,  or  anointed  themselves  before  riding  in  the  air 
with  a  delicate  pomatum  made  of  the  fat  of  infants  newly 
boiled.  These,  and  many  other  fabled  practices  of  a  no  less 
agreeable  nature,  and  all  having  some  reference  to  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  was  placed,  passed  and  re-passed  in 
quick  succession  through  the  mind  of  Will  Marks,  and  add- 
ing a  shadowy  dread  to  that  distrust  and  watchfulness  which 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  183 

his  situation  inspired,  rendered  it,  upon  the  whole,  suffi- 
ciently uncomfortable.  As  he  had  foreseen,  too,  the  rain  be- 
gan to  descend  heavily,  and  driving  before  the  wind  in  a 
thick  mist,  obscured  even  those  few  objects  which  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  had  before  imperfectly  revealed. 

"  Look  !  "  shrieked  a  voice  ;  *  great  heaven,  it  has  fallen 
down  and  stands  erect  as  if  it  lived  !  " 

The  speaker  was  close  behind  him  ;  the  voice  was  almost 
at  his  ear.  Will  threw  off  his  cloak,  drew  his  sword,  and 
darting  swiftly  round,  seized  a  woman  by  the  wrist,  who, 
recoiling  from  him  with  a  dreadful  shriek,  fell  struggling 
upon  her  knees.  Another  woman  clad  like  her,  whom  he 
had  grasped,  in  mourning  garments,  stood  rooted  to  the  spot 
on  which  they  were,  gazing  upon  his  face  with  wild  and 
glaring  eyes  that  quite  appalled  him. 

"  Say,"  cried  Will,  when  they  had  confronted  each  other 
thus  for  some  time,  "  what  are  ye  ?  " 

"  Say,  what  are \you"  returned  the  woman,  "who  trouble 
even  this  obscene  resting-place  of  the  dead,  and  strip  the 
gibbet  of  its  honored  burden  ?     Where  is  the  body  ?" 

He  looked  in  wonder  and  affright  from  the  woman  who 
questioned  him  to  the  other  whose  arm  he  clutched. 

"Where  is  the  body?"  repeated  his  questioner  more 
firmly  than  before.  "  You  wear  no  livery  which  marks  you 
for  the  hireling  of  the  government.  You  are  no  friend  to 
us,  or  I  should  recognize  you,  for  the  friends  of  such  as  we 
are  few  in  number.  What  are  you  then,  and  wherefore  are 
you  here  ? " 

"  I  am  no  foe  to  the  distressed  and  helpless,"  said  Will. 
"  Are  ye  among  that  number  ?  ye  should  be,  by  your  looks." 

"  We  are  !  "  was  the  answer. 

"  Is  it  ye  who  have  been  wailing  and  weeping  here  under 
cover  of  the  night  ?  "  said  Will. 

"It  is,"  replied  the  woman,  sternly;  and  pointing,  as  she 
spoke,  toward  her  companion,  "  she  mo.urns  a  husband  and 
I  a  brother.  Even  the  bloody  law  that  wreaks  its  vengeance 
on  the  dead  does  not  make  that  a  crime,  and  if  it  did,  'twould 
be  alike  to  us,  who  are  past  its  fear  or  favor." 

Will  glanced  at  the  two  females,  and  could  barely  discern 
that  the  one  whom  he  addressed  was  much  the  elder,  and 
that  the  other  was  young  and  of  a  slight  figure.  Both  were 
deadly  pale,  their  garments  wet  and  worn,  their  hair 
disheveled  and  streaming  in  the  wind,  themselves  bowed 
down  with  grigf  and  misery  ;  their  whole  appearance  most 


i84  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

dejected,  wretched  and  forlorn.  A  sight  so  different  from 
any  he  had  expected  to  encounter  touched  him  to  the  quick, 
and  all  idea  of  any  thing  but  their  pitiable  condition  van- 
ished before  it. 

"  I  am  a  rough,  blunt  yeoman,"  said  Will.  "  Why  I  came 
here  is  told  in  a  word ;  you  have  been  overheard  at  a  dis- 
tance in  the  silence  of  the  night,  and  I  have  undertaken  a 
watch  for  hags  or  spirits.  I  came  here  expecting  an  adven- 
ture, and  prepared  to  go  through  with  any.  If  there  be  aught 
that  I  can  do  to  help  or  aid  you,  name  it,  and  on  the  faith  of 
a  man  who  can  be  secret  and  trusty,  I  will  stand  by  you  to 
the  death." 

"  How  comes  this  gibbet  to  be  empty  ?  "  asked  the  elder 
female. 

"  I  swear  to  you,"  replied  Will,  "  that  I  know  as  little  as 
yourself.  But  this  I  know,  that  when  I  came  here  an  hour 
ago  or  so,  it  was  as  it  is  now  ;  and  if,  as  I  gather  from  your 
question,  it  was  not  so  last  night,  sure  I  am  that  it  has  been 
secretly  disturbed  without  the  knowledge  of  the  folks  in 
yonder  town.  Bethink  you,  therefore,  whether  you  have  no 
friends  in  league  with  you  or  him  on  whom  the  law  has  done 
its  worst,  by  whom  these  sad  remains  have  been  removed  for 
burial." 

The  women  spoke  together,  and  Will  retired  a  pace  or 
two  while  they  conversed  apart.  He  could  hear  them  sob 
and  moan,  and  saw  that  they  wrung  their  hands  in  fruitless 
agony.  He  could  make  out  little  that  they  said,  but  be- 
tween whiles  he  gathered  enough  to  assure  him  that  his  sug- 
gestion was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark,  and  that  they  not 
only  suspected  by  whom  the  body  had  been  removed,  but 
also  whither  it  had  been  conveyed.  When  they  had  been  in 
conversation  a  long  time,  they  turned  toward  him  once  more. 
This  time  the  younger  female  spoke  : 

"  You  have  offered  us  your  help  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  And  given  a  pledge  that  you  are  still  willing  to  re- 
deem ? " 

"  Yes.  So  far  as  I  may,  keeping  all  plots  and  conspiracies 
at  arm's-length." 

"  Follow  us,  friend." 

Will,  whose  self-possession  was  now  quite  restored, 
needed  no  second  bidding,  but  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  his  cloak  so  muffled  over  his  left  arm  as  to  serve 
for  a  kind  of  shield  without  offering  any  impediment  to  its 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  185 

free  action,  suffered  them  to  lead  the  way.  Through  mud 
and  mire,  and  wind  and  rain,  they  walked  in  silence  a  full 
mile.  At  length  they  turned  into  a  dark  lane,  where,  sud- 
denly starting  out  from  beneath  some  trees  where  he  had 
taken  shelter,  a  man  appeared,  having  in  his  charge  three 
saddled  horses.  One  of  these  (his  own,  apparently),  in 
obedience  to  a  whisper  from  the  women,  he  consigned  to  Will, 
who,  seeing  that  they  mounted,  mounted  also.  Then,  with- 
out a  word  spoken,  they  rode  on  together,  leaving  the  attend- 
ant behind. 

They  made  no  halt  nor  slackened  their  pace  until  they  ar- 
rived near  Putney.  At  a  large  wooden  house  which  stood 
apart  from  any  other,  they  alighted,  and  giving  their  horses 
to  one  who  was  already  waiting,  passed  in  by  a  side  door, 
and  so  up  some  narrow,  creaking  stairs  into  a  small  pan- 
neled  chamber,  where  Will  was  left  alone.  He  had  not  been 
there  very  long,  when  the  door  was  softly  opened,  and  there 
entered  to  him  a  cavalier  whose  face  was  concealed  beneath 
a  black  mask. 

Will  stood  upon  his  guard  and  scrutinized  this  figure  from 
head  to  foot.  The  form  was  that  of  a  man  pretty  far  ad- 
vanced in  life,  but  of  a  firm  and  stately  carriage.  His  dress 
was  of  a  rich  and  costly  kind,  but  so  soiled  and  disordered 
that  it  was  scarcely  to  be  recognized  for  one  of  those  gor- 
geous suits  which  the  expensive  taste  and  fashion  of  the 
time  prescribed  for  men  of  any  rank  or  station.  He  was 
booted  and  spurred,  and  bore  about  him  even  as  many 
tokens  of  the  state  of  the  roads  as  Will  himself.  All  this 
he  noted,  while  the  eyes  behind  the  mask  regarded  him 
with  equal  attention.  This  survey  over,  the  cavalier  broke 
silence  : 

"Thou'rt  young  and  bold,  and  wouldst  be  richer  than 
thou  art  ?  " 

"  The  two  first  I  am,"  returned  Will.  "  The  last  I  have 
scarcely  thought  of.  But  be  it  so.  Say  that  I  would  be 
richer  than  I  am  ;  what  then  ? " 

"The  way  lies  before  thee  now,"  replied  the  Mask. 

"  Show  it  me." 

"  First  let  me  inform  thee,  that  thou  wert  brought  here 
to-night  lest  thou  shouldst  too  soon  have  told  thy  tale  to 
those  who  placed  thee  on  the  watch." 

"  I  thought  as  much  when  I  followed,"  said  Will.  "  But 
I  am  no  blab,  not  I." 

"  Good,"  returned  the  Mask.     *'  Now  listen.    He  who  was 


186  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

to  have  executed  the  enterprise  of  burying  that  body  which, 
as  thou  hast  suspected,  was  taken  down  to-night,  has  left  us 
in  our  need." 

Will  nodded,  and  thought  within  himself  that  if  the  Mask 
were  to  attempt  to  play  any  tricks,  the  first  eyelet-hole  on  the 
left  hand  side  of  his  doublet,  counting  from  the  buttons  up 
the  front,  would  be  a  very  good  place  in  which  to  pink  him 
neatly. 

"  Thou  art  here,  and  the  emergency  is  desperate.  I  pro- 
pose his  task  to  thee.  Convey  the  body  (now  coffined  in  this 
house),  by  means  that  I  shall  show,  to  the  church  of  Saint 
Dunstan  in  London  to-morrow  night,  and  thy  service  shall  be 
richly  paid.  Thou'rt  about  to  ask  whose  corpse  it  is.  Seek 
not  to  know.  I  warn  thee  seek  not  to  know.  Felons  hang 
in  chains  on  every  moor  and  heath.  Believe,  as  others  do, 
that  this  was  one,  and  ask  no  further.  The  murders  of  state 
policy,  its  victims  or  avengers,  had  best  remain  unknown  to 
such  as  thee." 

"  The  mystery  of  this  service,"  said  Will,  "  bespeaks  its 
danger.     What  is  the  reward  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  golden  unities,"  replied  the  cavalier.  "  The 
danger  to  one  who  can  not  be  recognized  as  the  friend  of  a 
fallen  cause  is  not  great,  but  there  is  some  hazard  to  be  run. 
Decide  between  that  and  the  reward." 

"  What  if  I  refuse  ?  "  said  Will. 

"  Depart  in  peace,  in  God's  name,"  returned  the  Mask  in 
a  melancholy  tone,  "  and  keep  our  secret :  remembering 
that  those  who  brought  thee  here  were  crushed  and  stricken 
women,  and  that  those  who  bade  thee  go  free  could  have 
had  thy  life  with  one  word,  and  no  man  the  wiser." 

Men  were  readier  to  undertake  desperate  adventures  in 
those  times  than  they  are  now.  In  this  case  the  temptation 
was  great,  and  the  punishment,  even  in  case  of  detection, 
Aras  not  likely  to  be  very  severe,  as  Will  came  of  a  loyal 
stock,  and  his  uncle  was  in  good  repute,  and  a  passable  tale 
to  account  for  his  possession  of  the  body  and  his  ignorance 
of  the  identity  might  be  easily  devised.  The  cavalier  ex- 
plained that  a  covered  cart  had  been  prepared  for  the  pur- 
pose ;  that  the  time  of  departure  could  be  arranged  so  that  he 
should  reach  London  Bridge  at  dusk,  and  proceed  through 
the  city  after  the  day  had  closed  in  ;  that  people  would  be 
ready  at  his  journey's  end  to  place  the  coffin  in  a  vault  with- 
out a  minute's  delay  ;  that  officious  inquirers  in  the  streets 
would  be  easily  repelled  by  the  tale  that  he  was  carrying  for 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  187 

interment  the  corpse  of  one  who  had  died  of  the  plague  ;  and 
in  short  showed  him  every  reason  why  he  should  succeed, 
and  none  why  he  should  fail.  After  a  time  they  were  joined 
by  another  gentleman,  masked  like  the  first,  who  added  new 
arguments  to  those  which  had  been  already  urged  ;  the 
wretched  wife,  too,  added  her  tears  and  prayers  to  their 
calmer  representations;  and  in  the  end,  Will,  moved  by  com- 
passion and  good-nature,  by  a  love  of  the  marvelous,  by  a 
mischievous  anticipation  of  the  terrors  of  the  Kingston  peo- 
ple when  he  should  be  missing  next  day,  and  finally,  by  the 
prospect  of  gain,  took  upon  himself  the  task,  and  devoted  all 
his  energies  to  its  successful  execution. 

The  following  night,  when  it  was  quite  dark,  the  hollow 
echoes  of  Old  London  Bridge  responded  to  the  rumbling  of 
the  cart  which  contained  the  ghastly  load,  the  object  of  Will 
Marks's  care.  Sufficiently  disguised  to  attract  no  attention 
by  his  garb,  Will  walked  at  the  horse's  head,  as  uncon- 
cerned as  a  man  could  be  who  was  sensible  that  he  had  now 
arrived  at  the  most  dangerous  part  of  his  undertaking,  but 
full  of  boldness  and  confidence. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock.  After  nine,  none  could  walk  the 
streets  without  danger  of  their  lives,  and  even  at  this  hour, 
robberies  and  murder  were  of  no  uncommon  occurrence. 
The  shops  upon  the  bridge  were  all  closed  ;  the  low  wooden 
arches  thrown  across  the  way  were  like  so  many  black  pits, 
in  every  one  of  which  ill-favored  fellows  lurked  in  knots  of 
three  and  four  ;  some  standing  upright  against  the  wall, 
lying  in  wait  ;  others  skulking  in  gate-ways,  and  thrusting  out 
their  uncombed  heads  and  scowling  eyes  ;  others  crossing 
and  re-crossing,  and  constantly  jostling  both  horse  and  man 
to  provoke  a  quarrel  ;  others  stealing  away  and  summoning 
their  companions  in  a  low  whistle.  Once,  even  in  that  short 
passage,  there  was  the  noise  of  scuffling  and  the  clash  of 
swords  behind  him,  but  Will,  who  knew  the  city  and  its  ways, 
kept  straight  on  and  scarcely  turned  his  head. 

The  streets  being  unpaved,  the  rain  of  the  night  before  had 
converted  them  into  a  perfect  quagmire,  which  the  splashing 
water-spouts  from  the  gables,  and  the  filth  and  offal  cast 
from  the  different  houses,  swelled  in  no  small  degree.  These 
odious  matters  being  left  to  nutrefy  in  the  close  and  heavy 
air,  emitted  an  insupportable  stench,  to  which  every  court 
and  passage  poured  forth  a  contribution  of  its  own.  Many 
parts,  even  of  the  main  streets,  with  their  projecting  stories 
tottering  overhead    and  nearly   shutting  out  the  sky,  were 


i88  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

more  like  huge  chimneys  than  open  ways.  At  the  corners 
of  some  of  these,  great  bonfires  were  burning  to  prevent  in- 
fection from  the  plague,  of  which  it  was  rumored  that  some 
citizens  had  lately  died  ;  and  few,  who,  availing  themselves 
of  the  light  thus  afforded,  paused  for  a  moment  to  look 
around  them,  would  have  been  disposed  to  doubt  the  exist- 
ence of  the  disease,  or  wonder  at  its  dreadful  visitations. 

But  it  was  not  in  such  scenes  as  these,  or  even  in  the  deep 
and  miry  road,  that  Will  Marks  found  the  chief  obstacles 
to  his  progress.  There  were  kites  and  ravens  feeding  in 
the  streets  (the  only  scavengers  the  city  kept),  who,  scenting 
what  he  carried,  followed  the  cart  or  fluttered  on  its  top, 
and  croaked  their  knowledge  of  its  burden  and  their  ravenous 
appetite  for  prey.  There  were  distant  fires,  where  the  poor 
wood  and  plaster  tenements  wasted  fiercely,  and  whither 
crowds  made  their  way,  clamoring  eagerly  for  plunder, 
beating  down  all  who  came  within  their  reach,  and  yelling 
like  devils  let  loose.  There  were  single-handed  men  flying 
from  bands  of  ruffians,  who  pursued  them  with  naked  weap- 
ons, and  hunted  them  savagely  ;  there  were  drunken,  des- 
perate robbers  issuing  from  their  dens  and  staggering 
through  the  open  streets  where  no  man  dared  molest  them  ; 
there  were  vagabond  servitors  returning  from  the  bear  gar- 
den, where  had  been  good  sport  that  day,  dragging  after 
them  their  torn  and  bleeding  dogs,  or  leaving  them  to 
die  and  rot  upon  the  road.  Nothing  was  abroad  but  cruelty, 
violence,  and  disorder. 

Many  were  the  interruptions  which  Will  Marks  encount- 
ered from  these  stragglers,  and  many  the  narrow  escapes  he 
made.  Now  some  stout  bully  would  take  his  seat  upon  the 
cart,  insisting  to  be  driven  to  his  own  home,  and  now  two  or 
three  men  would  come  upon  him  together  and  demand  that 
on  peril  of  his  life  he  showed  them  what  he  had  inside.  Then 
a  party  of  the  city  watch,  upon  their  rounds,  would  draw  across 
the  road,  and  not  satisfied  with  details,  question  him  closely, 
and  revenge  themselves  by  a  little  cuffing  and  hustling  and 
maltreatment  sustained  at  other  hands  that  night.  All  these 
assailants  had  to  be  rebutted,  some  by  fair  words,  some  by 
foul,  and  some  by  blows.  But  Will  Marks  was  not  the  man 
to  be  stopped  or  turned  back  now  he  had  penetrated  so  far, 
and  though  he  got  on  slowly,  still  he  made  his  way  down 
Fleet  Street  and  reached  the  church  at  last. 

As  he  had  been  forewarned,  all  was  in  readiness.  Di- 
rectly he   stopped,  the  coffin  was  removed  by  four  men  who 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  189 

appeared  so  suddenly  that  they  seemed  to  have  started  from 
the  earth.  A  fifth  mounted  the  cart,  and  scarcely  allowing 
Will  time  to  snatch  from  it  a  little  bundle  containing  such 
of  his  own  clothes  as  he  had  thrown  off  on  assuming  his  dis- 
guises, drove  briskly  away.  Will  never  saw  cart  nor  man 
again. 

He  followed  the  body  into  the  church,  and  it  was  well  he 
lost  no  time  in  doing  so,  for  the  door  was  immediately 
closed.  There  was  no  light  in  the  building  save  that  which 
came  from  a  couple  of  torches  borne  by  two  men  in  cloaks 
who  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a  vault.  Each  supported  a 
female  figure,  and  all  observed  a  profound  silence. 

By  this  dim  and  solemn  glare,  which  made  Will  feel  as 
though  light  itself  were  dead,  and  its  tomb  the  dreary  arches 
that  frowned  above,  they  placed  the  coffin  in  the  vault,  with 
uncovered  heads,  and  closed  it  up.  One  of  the  torch- 
bearers  then  turned  to  Will  and  stretched  forth  his  hand,  in 
which  was  a  purse  of  gold.  Something  told  him  directly  that 
those  were  the  same  eyes  which  he  had  seen  beneath  the 
mask. 

"  Take  it,"  said  the  cavalier  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  be 
happy.  Though  these  have  been  hasty  obsequies,  and  no 
priest  has  blessed  the  work,  there  will  not  be  the  less  peace 
with  thee  hereafter,  for  having  laid  his  bones  beside  those 
of  his  little  children.  Keep  thy  own  counsel,  for  thy  sake 
no  less  than  ours,  and  God  be  with  thee  !  " 

"  The  blessing  of  a  widowed  mother  on  thy  head,  good 
friend!"  cried  the  young  lady  through  her  tears  ;  "  the 
blessing  of  one  who  has  now  no  hope  or  rest  but  in  this 
grave  !  " 

Will  stood  with  the  purse  in  his  hand,  and  involuntarily 
made  a  gesture  as  though  he  would  return  it,  for  though  a 
thoughtless  fellow,  he  was  of  a  frank  and  generous  nature. 
But  the  two  gentlemen  extinguishing  their  torches,  cautioned 
him  to  be  gone,  as  their  common  safety  would  be  endan- 
gered by  a  longer  delay  ;  and  at  the  same  time  their  retreat- 
ing footsteps  sounded  through  the  church.  He  turned, 
therefore,  toward  the  point  at  which  he  had  entered,  and 
seeing  by  a  faint  gleam  in  the  distance  that  the  door  was 
again  partially  open,  groped  his  way  toward  it  and  passed  into 
the  street. 

Meantime  the  local  authorities  of  Kingston  had  kept  watch 
and  ward  all  the  previous  night,  fancying  every  now  and 
then  that   dismal   shrieks   were   borne  toward  them  on  the 


i9o         Master  Humphrey's  clock. 

wind,  and  frequently  winking  to  each  other  and  drawing 
closer  to  the-  fire  as  they  drank  the  health  of  the  lonely 
sentinel,  upon  whom  a  clerical  gentleman  present  was  espe- 
cially severe  by  reason  of  his  levity  and  youthful  folly.  Two 
or  three  of  the  gravest  in  company,  who  were  of  theological 
turn,  propounded  to  him  the  question  whether  such  a  charac- 
ter was  not  but  poorly  armed  for  single  combat  with  the 
devil,  and  whether  he  himself  would  not  have  been  a  stronger 
opponent  ;  but  the  clerical  gentleman,  sharply  reproving 
them  for  their  presumption  in  discussing  such  questions, 
clearly  showed  that  a  fitter  champion  than  Will  could  scarcely 
have  been  selected,  not  only  for  that  being  a  child  of  Satan, 
he  was  the  less  likely  to  be  alarmed  by  the  appearance  of. 
his  own  father,  but  because  Satan  himself  would  be  at  his 
ease  in  such  company,  and  would  not  scruple  to  kick  up  his 
heels  to  an  extent  which  it  was  quite  certain  he  would  never 
venture  before  clerical  eyes,  under  whose  influence  (as  was 
notorious)  he  became  quite  a  tame  and  milk-and-water 
character. 

But  when  next  morning  arrived,  and  with  it  no  Will 
Marks,  and  when  a  strong  party  repairing  to  the  spot,  as  a 
strong  party  ventured  to  do  in  broad  day,  found  Will  gone 
and  the  gibbet  empty,  matters  grew  serious  indeed.  The 
day  passing  away  and  no  news  arriving,  and  the  night  going 
on  also  without  any  intelligence,  the  thing  grew  more  tre- 
mendous still  ;  in  short,  the  neighborhood  worked  itself  up  lo 
such  a  comfortable  pitch  of  mystery  and  horror  that  it  is  a 
great  question  whether  the  general  feeling  was  not  one  of 
excessive  disappointment,  when,  on  the  second  morning, 
Will  Marks  returned. 

However  this  may  be,  back  Will  came  in  a  very  cool  and 
collected  state,  and  appearing  not  to  trouble  himself  much 
about  anybody  except  old  John  Podgers,  who  having  been 
sent  for,  was  sitting  in  the  Town  Hall  crying  slowly  and 
dozing  between  whiles.  Having  embraced  his  uncle  and 
assured  him  of  his  safety,  Will  mounted  on  a  table  and  told 
his  story  to  the  crowd. 

And  surely  they  would  have  been  the  most  unreasonable 
crowd  that  ever  assembled  together,  if  they  had  been  in  the 
least  respect  disappointed  with  the  tale  he  told  them,  for 
besides  describing  the  Witches'  Dance  to  the  minutest  motion 
of  their  legs,  and  performing  it  in  character  on  the  table, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  broomstick,  he  related  how  they 
had  carried    off    the    body  in  a  copper  caldron,    and    so 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  r9i 

bewitched  him  that  he  lost  his  senses  until  he  found  himself 
lying  under  a  hedge  at  least  ten  miles  off,  whence  he 
had  straightway  returned  as  they  then  beheld.  The  story 
gained  such  universal  applause  that  it  soon  afterward  brought 
down  express  from  London  the  great  witch-finder  of  the 
age,  the  heaven-born  Hopkins,  who  having  examined  Will 
closely  on  several  points,  pronounced  it  the  most  extraor- 
dinary and  the  best  accredited  witch  story  ever  known,  under 
which  title  it  was  published  at  the  Three-Bibles  on  London 
Bridge,  in  small  quarto,  with  a  view  of  the  caldron  from  an 
original  drawing,  and  a  portrait  of  the  clerical  gentleman  as 
he  sat  by  the  fire. 

On  one  point  Will  was  particularly  careful  :  and  that  was 
to  describe  for.  the  witches  he  had  seen,  three  impossible 
old  females  whose  likenesses  never  were  or  will  be.  Thus 
he  saved  the  lives  of  the  suspected  parties,  and  of  all  other 
old  women  who  were  dragged  before  him  to  be  identified. 

The  circumstance  occasioned  Jonn  Podgers  much  grief 
and  sorrow,  until  happening  one  day  to  cast  his  eyes  upon 
his  housekeeper,  and  observing  her  to  be  plainly  afflicted 
with  rheumatism,  he  procured  her  to  be  burned  as  an 
undoubted  witch.  For  this  service  to  the  state  he  was 
immediately  knighted,  and  became  from  that  time  Sir  John 
Podgers. 

Will  Marks  never  gained  any  clew  to  the  mystery  in  which 
he  had  been  an  actor,  nor  did  any  inscription  in  the  church, 
which  he  often  visited  afterward,  nor  any  of  the  limited 
inquiries  that  he  dared  to  make,  yield  him  the  least  assist- 
ance. As  he  kept  his  own  secret,  he  was  compelled  to 
spend  the  gold  discreetly  and  sparingly.  In  the  course  of 
time  he  married  the  young  lady  of  whom  I  have  already 
told  you,  whose  maiden  name  is  not  recorded,  with  whom  he 
led  a  prosperous  and  happy  life.  Years  and  years  after  this 
adventure,  it  was  his  wont  to  tell  her  upon  a  stormy  night 
that  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  him  to  think  those  bones,  to 
whomsoever  they  might  have  once  belonged,  were  not  bleach- 
ing in  the  troubled  air,  but  were  moldering  away  with  the 
dust  of  their  own  kith  and  kindred  in  a  quiet  grave. 

FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  VISITOR. 

Being  very  full  of  Mr.  Pickwick's  application,  and  highly 
pleased  with  the  compliment  he  had  paid  me,  it  will  be  readily 
supposed  that  long  before  our  next  night  of  meeting  I  com- 


i92  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

municated  it  to  my  three  friends,  who  unanimously  voted  his 
admission  into  our  body.  We  all  looked  forward  with  some 
impatience  to  the  occasion  which  would  enroll  him  among 
us,  but  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if  Jack  Redburn  and  myself 
were  not  by  many  degrees  the  most  impatient  of  the 
party. 

At  length  the  night  came,  and  a  few  minutes  after  ten 
Mr.  Pickwick's  knock  was  heard  at  the  street  door.  He  was 
shown  into  a  lower  room,  and  I  directly  took  my  crooked 
stick  and  went  to  accompany  him  up  stairs,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  presented  with  all  honor  and  formality. 

"  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  I,  on  entering  the  room,  "  I  am  re- 
joiced to  see  you — rejoiced  to  believe  that  this  is  but  the 
opening  of  a  long  series  of  visits  to  this  house,  and  but  the 
beginning  of  a  close  and  lasting  friendship." 

That  gentleman  made  a  suitable  reply  with  a  cordialit) 
and  frankness  peculiarly  his  own,  and  glanced  with  a  smile 
toward  two  persons  behind  the  door,  whom  I  had  not  at  first 
observed,  and  whom  I  immediately  recognized  as  Mr.  Samuel 
Weller  and  his  father. 

It  was  a  warm  evening,  but  the  elder  Mr.  Weller  was 
attired,  notwithstanding,  in  a  most  capacious  great-coat,  and 
his  chin  enveloped  in  a  large  speckled  shawl,  such  as  is 
usually  worn  by  stage  coachmen  on  active  service.  He 
looked  very  rosy  and  very  stout,  especially  about  the  legs, 
which  appeared  to  have  been  compressed  into  his  top-boots 
with  some  difficulty.  His  broad-brimmed  hat  he  held  under 
his  left  arm,  and  with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  he 
touched  his  forehead  a  great  many  times  in  acknowledgment 
of  my  presence. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  in  such  good  health,  Mr. 
Weller,"  said  I. 

"Why,  thankee,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Weller,  "the  axle  an't 
broke  yet.  We  keeps  up  a  steady  pace — not  too  sewere 
but  vith  a  moderate  degree  o'  friction — and  the  consekens 
is  that  ve're  still  a-runnin'  and  comes  in  to  the  time  reg'lar. 
— My  son  Samivel,  sir,  as  you  may  have  read  on  in  history," 
added  Mr.  Weller,  introducing  his  first-born. 

I  received  Sam  very  graciously,  but  before  he  could  say  a 
word  his  father  struck  in  again. 

u  Samivel  Veller,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  has  con- 
ferred upon  me  the  ancient  title  o'  grandfather  vich  had 
long  laid  dormouse,  and  wos  s'posed  to  be  nearly  hex-tinct 
in  our  family.     Sammy,  relate  a  anecdote   o'   vun   o'  them 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  193 

boys — that  'ere  little  anecdote  about  young  Tony   sayin'  as 
he  vould  smoke  a  pipe  unbeknown  to  his  mother." 

"  Be  quiet,  can't  you  ?"  said  Sam  ;  "I  never  see  such  a 
old  magpie — never  !  " 

"  That  'ere  Tony  is  the  blessedest  boy,"  said  Mr.  Weller, 
heedless  of  this  rebuff — "  the  blessedest  boy  as  ever  /  see 
in  my  days  !  of  all  the  charmin'est  infants  as  ever  I  heerd 
tell  on,  includin'  them  as  wos  kivered  over  by  the  robin  red- 
breasts arter  they'd  committed  sooicide  with  blackberries, 
there  never  wos  any  like  that  'ere  little  Tony.  He's  always 
a  playin'  vith  a  quart  pot,  that  boy  is  !  To  see  him  a-settin' 
down  on  the  door-step  pretending  to  drink  out  of  it,  and 
fetching  a  long  breath  artervards,  and  smoking  a  bit  of  fire- 
vood  and  sayin',  '  Now  I'm  grandfather,' — to  see  him  a-doin' 
that  at  two  year  old  is  better  than  any  play  as  wos  ever 
wrote.  '  Now  I'm  grandfather  ! '  He  wouldn't  take  a  pint 
pot  if  you  wos  to  make  him  a  present  on  it,  but  he  gets  his 
quart,  and  then  he  says,  '  Now  I'm  grandfather  !  '  " 

Mr.  Weller  was  so  overpowered  by  this  picture  that  he 
straightway  fell  into  a  most  alarming  fit  of  coughing,  which 
must  certainly  have  been  attended  with  some  fatal  result 
but  for  the  dexterity  and  promptitude  of  Sam,  who,  taking 
a  firm  grasp  of  the  shawl  just  under  his  father's  chin,  shook 
him  to  and  fro  with  great  violence,  at  the  same  time  admin- 
istering some  smart  blows  between  his  shoulders.  By  this 
curious  mode  of  treatment  Mr.  Weller  was  finally  recovered, 
but  with  a  very  crimson  face,  and  in  a  state  of  great  ex- 
haustion. 

"  He'll  do  now,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  who  had  been 
in  some  alarm  himself. 

"  He'll  do,  sir  !  "  cried  Sam,  looking  reproachfully  at  his 
parent.  "  Yes,  he  will  do  one  o'  these  days — he'll  do  for 
hisself  and  then  he'll  wish  he  hadn't.  Did  any  body  ever 
see  sich  a  inconsiderate  old  file — laughing  into  conwulsions 
afore  company,  and  stamping  on  the  floor  as  if  he'd  brought 
his  own  carpet  vith  him  and  wos  under  a  wager  to  punch 
the  pattern  out  in  a  given  time  ?  He'll  begin  again  in  a 
minute.     There — he's  a-goin'  off — I  said  he  would  !  " 

In  fact,  Mr.  Weller,  whose  mind  was  still  running  upon 
his  precocious  grandson,  was  seen  to  shake  his  head  from 
side  to  side,  while  a  laugh,  working  like  an  earthquake, 
below  the  surface,  produced  various  extraordinary  appear- 
ances in  his  face,  chest,  and  shoulders — the  more  alarming 
because   unaccompanied    by    any    noise   whatever.      These 


i94  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

emotions,  however,  gradually  subsided,  and  after  three  or 
four  short  relapses  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  cuff  of  his 
coat  and  looked  about  him  with  tolerable  composure. 

"  Afore  the  governor  vith-draws,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  there 
is  a  pint,  respecting  vich  Sammy  had  a  qvestion  to  ask.  Vile 
that  qvestion  is  a  perwadin'  this  here  conwersation,  p'raps  the 
genl'men  vill  permit  me  to  re-tire." 

"  Wot  are  you  goin'  away  for  ?"  demanded  Sam,  seizing 
his  father  by  the  coat-tail. 

"  I  never  see  such  a  undootiful  boy  as  you,  Samivel,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Weller.  "  Didn't  you  make  a  solemn  promise, 
amountin'  almost  to  a  speeshes  o'  wow,  that  you'd  put  that 
ere  qvestion  on  my  account  ? " 

"  Well,  I'm  agreeable  to  do  it,"  said  Sam,  "  but  not  if  you 
go  cuttin'  away  like  that,  as  the  bull  turned  round  and  mildly 
observed  to  the  drover  ven  they  wos  a-goadin'  him  into  the 
butcher's  door.  The  fact  is,  sir,"  said  Sam,  addressing  me, 
"  that  he  wants  to  know  somethin'  respectin'  that  'ere  lady 
as  is  housekeeper  here." 

"  Ay.     What  is  that  ? " 

"  Vy,  sir,"  said  Sam,  grinning  still  more,  "  he  wishes  to 
know  vether  she —  " 

"  In  short,"  interposed  old  Mr.  Weller,  decisively,  a  per- 
spiration breaking  out  upon  his  forehead,  "  vether  that  'ere 
old  creetur  is  or  rather  is  not  a  widder." 

Mr.  Pickwick  laughed  heartily,  and  so  did  T,  as  I  replied, 
decisively,  that  "  my  housekeeper  was  a  spinster." 

"  There  !  "  cried  Sam,  "  now  you're  satisfied.  You  hear 
she's  a  spinster." 

"  A  wot  ?  "  said  his  father  with  deep  scorn. 

"  A  spinster,"  replied  Sam. 

Mr.  Weller  looked  very  hard  at  his  son  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  then  said, — 

"  Never  mind  vether  she  makes  jokes  or  not,  that's  no 
matter.  Wot  I  say  is,  is  that  'ere  female  a  widder,  or  is  she" 
not?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  her  making  jokes  ?"  demanded 
Sam,  quite  aghast  at  the  obscurity  of  his  parent's  speech. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Samivel,"  returned  Mr.  Weller,  gravely  ; 
"puns  may  be  wery  good  things  or  they  maybewerybad 
'uns,  and  a  female  may  be  none  the  better  or  she  maybe  none 
the  vurse  for  making  of  'em  ;  that's  got  nothing  to  do  with 
widders." 

"  Wy,  now,"  said  Sam,  looking   round,  "  would  any  body 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  195 

believe  as  a  man  at  his  time  o'  life  could   be  a-running  his 
head  ag'in  spinsters  and  punsters  being  the  same  thing  ?  " 

There  an't  a  straw's  difference  between  'em,"  said  Mr. 
Weller.  "  Your  father  didn't  drive  a  coach  for  so  many 
years,  not  to  be  ekal  to  his  own  langvidge  as  far  as  that  goes, 
Sammy." 

Avoiding  the  question  of  etymology,  upon  which  the  old 
gentleman's  mind  was  quite  made  up,  he  was  several  times 
assured  that  the  housekeeper  had  never  been  married.  He 
expressed  great  satisfaction  on  hearing  this,  and  apologized 
for  the  question,  remarking  that  he  had  been  greatly  terri- 
fied by  a  widow  not  long  before,  and  that  his  natural  timidity 
was  increased  in  consequence. 

"  It  wos  on  the  rail,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  with  strong  em- 
phasis ;  "  I  wos  a-goin'  down  to  Birmingham  by  the  rail, 
and  I  was  locked  up  in  a  close  carriage  vith  a  living  widder. 
Alone  we  wos  ;  the  widder  and  me  wos  alone  ;  and  I  be- 
lieve it  wos  only  because  we  wos  alone  and  there  wos  no 
clergyman  in  the  conwayance,  that  that  'ere  widder  didn't 
marry  me  afore  ve  reached  the  half-way  station.  Ven  I 
think  how  she  began  a-screaming  as  we  wos  a-goin'  under 
them  tunnels  in  the  dark — how  she  kept  on  a-faintin'  and 
ketchin'  hold  o'  me — and  how  I  tried  to  burst  open  the 
door  as  was  tight-locked  and  perwented  all  escape — Ah  ! 
It  was  a  awful  thing,  most  awful  !  " 

Mr.  Weller  was  so  very  much  overcome  by  this  retrospect 
that  he  was  unable,  until  he  had  wiped  his  brow  several 
times,  to  return  any  reply  to  the  question  whether  he  ap- 
proved of  railway  communication,  notwithstanding  that  it 
would  appear  from  the  answer  which  he  ultimately  gave, 
that  he  entertained  strong  opinions  on  the  subject. 

"  I  con-sider,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  that  the  rail  is  unconsti- 
tootional  and  an  inwaser  o'  priwileges,  and  I  should  wery 
much  like  to  know  what  that  'ere  old  carter  as  once  stood 
up  for  our .  liberties  and  wun  'em  too — I  should  like  to 
know  wot  he  vould  say  if  he  wos  alive  now,  to  Englishmen 
being  locked  up  with  widders,  or  with  any  body  again  their 
wills.  Wot  a  old  carter  would  have  said,  a  old  coachman 
may  say,  and  I  as-sert  that  in  that  pint  o'  view  alone,  the  rail 
is  an  inwaser.  As  to  the  comfort,  vere's  the  comfort  o'  sit- 
tin'  in  a  harm-cheer  lookin'  at  brick  walls  or  heaps  o'  mud, 
never  comin'  to  a  public-house,  never  seein'  a  glass  o'  ale, 
never  goin'  through  a  pike,  never  meetin'  a  change  o'  no 
kind  (horses  or   otherwise),   but   alvays   comin'  to  a  place, 


i96  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

ven  you  come  to  one  at  all,  the  wery  picter  o'  the  last,  vith 
the  same  p'leesemen  standing  about,  the  same  blessed  olebell 
a-ringin',  the  same  unfort'nate  people  standing  behind  the 
bars,  a-waitin'  to  be  let  in  ;  and  every  thin'  the  same  except 
the  name,  vich  is  wrote  up  in  the  same  sized  letters  as  the 
last  name,  and  vith  the  same  colors.  As  to  the  honor  and 
dignity  o'  travelin',  vere  can  that  be  vithout  a  coachman;  and 
wot's  the  rail  to  sich  coachmen  and  guards  as  is  sometimes 
forced  to  go  by  it,  but  a  outrage  and  a  insult  ?  As  to  the 
pace,  wot  sort  o'  pace  do  you  think  I,  Tony  Veller,  could 
have  kept  a  coach  goin'  at  for  five  hundred  thousand  pound 
a  mile,  paid  in  adwance  afore  the  coach  was  on  the  road  ? 
And  as  to  the  ingein — a  nasty,  wheezin',  creaking,  gasping, 
puffin',  bustin'  monster,  always  out  o'  breath,  vith  a  shiny 
green  and  gold  back,  like  a  unpleasant  beetle  in  that  'ere 
gas  magnifier — as  to  the  ingein  as  is  alvays  a-pourin'  out 
red-hot  coals  at  night,  and  black  smoke  in  the  day,  the  sen- 
siblest  thing  it  does  in  my  opinion,  is,  ven  there's  somethin' 
in  the  vay  and  it  sets  up  that  'ere  frightful  scream  vich  seems 
to  say,  '  Now  here's  two  hundred  and  forty  passengers  in  the 
wery  greatest  extremity  o'  danger,  and  here's  their  two  hun- 
dred and  forty  screams  in  vun  !  " 

By  this  time  I  began  to  fear  that  my  friends  would  be  ren- 
dered impatient  by  my  protracted  absence.  I  therefore 
begged  Mr.  Pickwick  to  accompany  me  up  stairs,  and  left  the 
two  Mr.  Wellersin  the  care  of  the  housekeeper  ;  laying  strict 
injunctions  upon  her  to  treat  them  with  all  possible  hos- 
pitality. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

IV. 


THE  CLOCK. 

As  we  were  going  up  stairs,  Mr.  Pickwick  put  on  his  spec- 
tacles, which  he  had  held  in  his  hand  hitherto  ;  arranged  his 
neckerchief,  smoothed  down  his  waistcoat,  and  made  many 
other  little  preparations  of  that  kind  which  men  are  accus- 
tomed to  be  mindful  of,  when  they  are  going  among  stran- 
gers for  the  first  time,  and  are  anxious  to  impress  them 
pleasantly.  Seeing  that  I  smiled,  he  smiled  too,  and  said 
that  if  it  had  occurred  to  him  before  he  left  home,  he  would 
certainly  have  presented  himself  in  pumps  and  silk 
stockings. 

"  I  would  indeed,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  very  seriously  ; 
"  I  would  have  shown  my  respect  for  the  society,  by  laying 
aside  my  gaiters." 

"  You  may  rest  assured,"  said  I,  "  that  they  would  have 
regretted  your  doing  so  very  much,  for  they  are  quite  at- 
tached to  them." 

"  No,  really  !  "  cried  Mr.  Pickwick,  with  manifest  pleasure. 
"  Do  you  think  they  care  about  my  gaiters  ?  Do  you  seri- 
ously think  that  they  identify  me  at  all  with  my  gaiters  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  they  do,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "that  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  and  agreeable  circumstances  that  could  possibly 
have  occurred  to  me  !  " 

I  should  not  have  written  down  this  short  conversation, 
but  that  it  developed  a  slight  point  in  Mr.  Pickwick's  char- 
acter, with  which  I  was  not  previously  acquainted.  He  has 
a  secret  pride  in  his  legs.  The  manner  in  which  he  spoke, 
and  the  accompanying  glance  he  bestowed  upon  his  tights, 


i93  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

convince  me  that  Mr.  Pickwick  regards  his  legs  with  much 
innocent  vanity. 

"  But  here  are  our  friends,"  said  I,  opening  the  door  and 
taking  his  arm  in  mine  ;  "  let  them  speak  for  themselves. 
Gentlemen,  I  present  to  you  Mr.  Pickwick." 

Mr.  Pickwick  and  I  must  have  been  a  good  contrast  just 
then.  I,  leaning  quietly  on  my  crutch-stick,  with  something 
of  a  careworn,  patient  air  ;  he,  having  hold  of  my  arm,  and 
bowing  in  every  direction  with  the  most  elastic  politeness, 
and  an  expression  of  face  whose  sprightly  cheerfulness  and 
good-humor  knew  no  bounds.  The  di'fference  between  us 
must  have  been  more  striking  yet  as  we  advanced  toward 
the  table,  and  the  amiable  gentleman,  adopting  his  jocund 
step  to  my  poor  tread,  had  his  attention  divided  between 
treating  my  infirmities  with  the  utmost  consideration,  and 
affecting  to  be  wholly  unconscious  that  I  required  any. 

I  made  him  personally  known  to  each  of  my  friends  in 
turn.  First,  to  the  deaf  gentleman,  whom  he  regarded  with 
much  interest,  and  accosted  with  great  frankness  and  cor- 
diality. He  had  evidently  some  vague  idea,  at  the  moment, 
that  my  friend  being  deaf  must  be  dumb  also  ;  for  when  the 
latter  opened  his  lips  to  express  the  pleasure  it  afforded  him 
to  know  a  gentleman  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much,  Mr. 
Pickwick  was  so  extremely  disconcerted  that  I  was  obliged 
to  step  in  to  his  relief. 

His  meeting  with  Jack  Redburn  was  quite  a  treat  to  see. 
Mr.  Pickwick  smiled,  and  shook  hands,  and  looked  at  him 
through  his  spectacles,  and  under  them,  and  over  them,  and 
nodded  his  head  approvingly,  and  then  nodded  to  me,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  This  is  just  the  man  ;  you  are  quite  right  ; " 
and  then  turned  to  Jack  and  said  a  few  hearty  words,  and 
then  did  and  said  every  thing  over  again  with  unimpaired 
vivacity.  As  to  Jack  himself,  he  was  quite  as  much  delighted 
with  Mr.  Pickwick,  as  Mr.  Pickwick  could  possibly  be  with 
him.  Two  people  never  can  have  met  together  since  the 
world  began,  who  exchanged  a  warmer  or  more  enthusi- 
astic greeting. 

It  was  amusing  to  observe  the  difference  between  this 
encounter,  and  that  which  succeeded,  between  Mr.  Pick- 
wick and  Mr.  Miles.  It  was  clear  that  the  latter  gentleman 
viewed  our  new  member  as  a  kind  of  rival  in  the  affections 
of  Jack  Redburn,  and  besides  this,  he  had  more  than  once 
hinted  to  me,  in  secret,  that  although  he  had  no  doubt  Mr. 
Pickwick  was  a  very  worthy  man,  still,  he  did  consider  that 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  i9y 

some  of  his  exploits  were  unbecoming  a  gentleman  of  his 
years  and  gravity.  Over  and  above  these  grounds  of  dis- 
trust, it  is  one  of  his  fixed  opinions  that  the  law  never  can 
by  possibility  do  any  thing  wrong  ;  he  therefore  looks  upon 
Mr.  Pickwick  as  one  who  has  justly  suffered  in  curse  and 
peace  for  a  breach  of  his  plighted  faith  to  an  unprotected 
female,  and  holds  that  he  is  called  upon  to  regard  him  with 
some  suspicion  on  that  account.  These  causes  led  to  a 
rather  cold  and  formal  reception ;  which  Mr.  Pickwick 
acknowledged  with  the  same  stateliness  and  intense  polite- 
ness as  was  displayed  on  the  other  side.  Indeed,  he 
assumed  an  air  of  such  majestic  defiance  that  I  was  fearful 
he  might  break  out  into  some  solemn  protest  or  declaration, 
and  therefore  inducted  him  into  his  chair  without  a  moment's 
delay. 

This  piece  of  generalship  was  perfectly  successful.  The 
instant  he  took  his  seat,  Mr.  Pickwick  surveyed  us  all  with 
a  most  benevolent  aspect,  and  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  smil- 
ing full  five  minutes  long.  His  interest  in  our  ceremonies 
was  immense.  They  are  not  very  numerous  or  complicated, 
and  a  description  of  them  may  be  comprised  in  very  few 
words.  As  our  transactions  have  already  been,  and  must 
necessarily  continue  to  be,  more  or  less  anticipated  by  being 
presented  in  these  pages  at  different  times  and  under  various 
forms,  they  do  not  require  a  detailed  account. 

Our  first  proceeding  when  we  are  assembled  is  to  shake 
hands  all  around,  and  greet  each  other  with  cheerful  and 
pleasant  looks.  Remembering  that  we  assemble  not  only 
for  the  promotion  of  our  happiness,  but  with  the  view  of 
adding  something  to  the  common  stock,  an  air  of  languor  or 
indifference  in  any  member  of  our  body  would  be  regarded 
by  the  others  as  a  kind  of  treason.  We  have  never  had  an 
offender  in  this  respect  ;  but  if  we  had,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  would  be  taken  to  task  pretty  severely. 

Our  salutation  over,  the  venerable  piece  of  antiquity  from 
which  we  take  our  name  is  wound  up  in  silence.  This 
ceremony  is  always  performed  by  Master  Humphrey  him- 
self (in  treating  of  the  club,  I  may  be  permitted  to  assume 
the  historical  style,  and  speak  of  myself  in  the  third  person), 
who  mounts  upon  a  chair  for  the  purpose,  armed  with  a 
large  key.  While  it  is  in  progress,  Jack  Redburn  is  required 
to  keep  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  Mr.  Miles,  for  he  is  known  to  entertain  certain  aspir- 
ing and  unhallowed  thoughts  connected  with  the  clock,  and 


26o  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  state  that  if  he  might  take  the 
works  out  for  a  day  or  two,  he  thinks  he  could  improve  them. 
We  pardon  him  his  presumption  in  consideration  of  his 
good  intentions,  and  his  keeping  this  respectful  distance, 
which  last  penalty  is  insisted  on,  lest  by  secretly  wounding 
the  object  of  our  regard  in  some  tender  part,  in  the  ardor  of 
his  zeal  for  its  improvement,  he  should  fill  us  all  with  dis- 
may and  consternation. 

This  regulation  afforded  Mr.  Pickwick  the  highest  delight, 
and  seemed,  if  possible,  to  exalt  Jack  in  his  good  opinion. 

The  next  ceremony  is  the  opening  of  the  clock-case  (of 
which  Master  Humphrey  has  likewise  the  key),  the  taking 
from  it  as  many  papers  as  will  furnish  forth  our  evening's 
entertainment,  and  arranging  in  the  recess  such  new  contri- 
butions as  have  been  provided  since  our  last  meeting.  This 
is  always  done  with  peculiar  solemnity.  The  deaf  gentleman 
then  fills  and  lights  his  pipe,  and  we  once  more  take  our 
seats  round  the  table  before  mentioned,  Master  Humphrey 
acting  as  president — if  we  can  be  said  to  have  any  president, 
where  all  are  on  the  same  social  footing — and  our  friend 
Jack  as  secretary.  Our  preliminaries  being  now  concluded, 
we  fall  into  any  train  of  conversation  that  happens  to  suggest 
itself,  or  proceed  immediately  to  one  of  our  readings.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  paper  selected  is  consigned  to  Master 
Humphrey,  who  flattens  it  carefully  on  the  table  and  makes 
dogs'  ears  in  the  corner  of  every  page,  ready  for  turning 
over  easily  ;  Jack  Redburn  trims  the  lamp  with  a  small  ma- 
chine of  his  own  invention,  which  usually  puts  it  out ;  Mr. 
Miles  looks  on  with  great  approval  notwithstanding  ;  the 
deaf  gentleman  draws  in  his  chair,  so  that  he  can  follow  the 
words  on  the  paper  or  on  Master  Humphrey's  lips  as  he 
pleases  ;  and  Master  Humphrey  himself,  looking  round  with 
mighty  gratification,  and  glancing  up  at  his  old  clock,  begins 
to  read  aloud. 

Mr.  Pickwick's  face,  while  his  tale  was  being  read,  would 
have  attracted  the  attention  of  the  dullest  man  alive.  The 
complacent  motion  of  his  head  and  forefinger  as  he  gently 
beat  time  and  corrected  the  air  with  imaginary  punctuation, 
the  smile  that  mantled  on  his  features  at  every  jocose  pas- 
sage, and  the  shy  look  he  stole  around  to  observe  its  effect, 
the  calm  manner  in  which  he  shut  his  eyes  and  listened 
when  there  was  some  little  piece  of  description,  the  changing 
expression  with  which  he  acted  the  dialogue  to  himself,  his 
agony  that  the  deaf  gentleman  should  know  what  it  was  all 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  201 

about,  and  his  extraordinary  anxiety  to  correct  the  reader 
when  he  hesitated  at  a  word  in  the  manuscript,  or  substituted 
a  wrong  one,  were  alike  worthy  of  remark.  And  when  at 
last,  endeavoring  to  communicate  with  the  deaf  gentleman 
by  means  of  the  finger  alphabet,  with  which  he  constructed 
such  words  as  are  unknown  to  any  civilized  or  savage  lan- 
guage, he  took  up  a  slate  and  wrote  in  large  text,  one  word 
in  a  line,  the  question,  "  How — do — you — like — it  ?  "  When 
he  did  this,  and  handing  it  over  the  table  awaited  the  reply, 
with  a  countenance  only  brightened  and  improved  by  his 
great  excitement,  even  Mr.  Miles  relaxed,  and  could  not 
forbear  looking  at  him  for  the  moment  with  interest  and 
favor. 

"  It  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  the  deaf  gentleman,  who 
had  watched  Mr.  Pickwick  and  every  body  else  with  silent 
satisfaction — -  it  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  the  deaf  gentle- 
man, taking  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  "  that  now  is  our  time  for 
filling  our  only  empty  chair." 

As  our  conversation  had  naturally  turned  upon  the  vacant 
seat,  we  lent  a  willing  ear  to  this  remark,  and  looked  at  our 
friend  inquiringly. 

"I  feel  sure,"  said  he,  "that  Mr.  Pickwick  must  be  ac- 
quainted with  somebody  who  would  be  an  acquisition  to  us  • 
that  he  must  know  the  man  we  want.  Pray  let  us  not  lose 
any  time,  but  set  this  question  at  rest.  Is  it  so,  Mr.  Pick- 
wick ?  " 

The  gentleman  addressed  was  about  to  return  a  verbal 
reply,  but  remembering  our  friend's  infirmity,  he  substituted 
for  this  kind  of  answer  some  fifty  nods.  Then  taking  up 
the  slate  and  printing  on  it  a  gigantic  "  Yes,"  he  handed  it 
across  the  table,  and  rubbing  his  hands  as  he  looked  round 
upon  our  faces,  protested  that  he  and  the  deaf  gentleman 
quite  understood  each  other,  already. 

"  The  person  I  have  in  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick, 
"  and  whom  I  should  not  have  presumed  to  mention  to  you 
until  some  time  hence,  but  for  the  opportunity  you  have 
given  me,  is  a  very  strange  old  man.     His  name  is  Bamber." 

"  Bamber  !  "  said  Jack.  "  I  have  certainly  heard  the 
name  before." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  then,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  "that 
you  remember  him  in  those  adventures  of  mine  (the  Posthu- 
mous Papers  of  our  old  club,  I  mean),  although  he  is  only 
incidentally  mentioned  ;  and,  if  I  remember  right,  appears 
but  once." 


202  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"  That's  it,"  said  Jack.  "  Let  me  see.  He  is  the  person 
who  has  a  grave  interest  in  old  moldy  chambers  and  the 
Inns  of  Court,  and  who  relates  some  anecdotes  having  refer- 
ence to  his  favorite  theme — and  an  old  ghost  story — is  that 
the  man  ? " 

"  The  very  same.  Now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  mysterious  and  confidential  tone,  "  he  is  a  very  ex- 
traordinary and  remarkable  person  ;  living,  and  talking,  and 
looking,  like  some  strange  spirit,  whose  delight  is  to  haunt  old 
buildings  ;  and  absorbed  in  that  one  subject  which  you  have 
just  mentioned,  to  an  extent  which  is  quite  wonderful.  When 
I  retired  into  private  life,  I  sought  him  out,  and  I  do  assure 
you  that  the  more  I  see  of  him,  the  more  strongly  I  am 
impressed  with  the  strange  and  dreamy  character  of  his 
mind." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  He  lives,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "  in  one  of  those  dull, 
lonely  old  places  with  which  his  thoughts  and  stories  are  all 
connected  ;  quite  alone,  and  often  shut  up  close,  for  several 
weeks  together.  In  this  dusty  solitude  he  broods  upon  the 
fancies  he  has  so  long  indulged,  and  when  he  goes  into  the 
world,  or  any  body  from  the  world  without  goes-  to  see  him, 
they  are  still  present  to  his  mind  and  still  his  favorite  topic. 
I  may  say,  I  believe,  that  he  has  brought  himself  to  enter- 
tain a  regard  for  me,  and  an  interest  in  my  visits  ;  feelings 
which  I  am  certain  he  would  extend  to  Master  Humphrey's 
Clock  if  he  were  once  tempted  to  join  us.  All  I  wish  you 
to  understand  is,  that  he  is  a  strange  secluded  visionary,  in 
the  world  but '  not  of  it ;  and  as  unlike  any  body  here  as 
he  is  unlike  any  body  elsewhere  that  I  have  ever  met  or 
known." 

Mr.  Miles  received  this  account  of  our  proposed  com- 
panion with  rather  a  wry  face,  and  after  murmuring  that 
perhaps  he  was  a  little  mad,  inquired  if  he  were  rich. 

"  I  never  asked  him,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  You  might  know,  sir,  for  all  that,"  retorted  Mr.  Miles, 
sharply. 

"  Perhaps  so,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  no  less  sharply  than 
the  other,  "  but  I  do  not.  Indeed,"  he  added,  relapsing 
into  his  usual  mildness,  "  I  have  no  means  of  judging.  He 
lives  poorly,  but  that  would  seem  to  be  in  keeping  with  his 
character.  I  never  heard  him  allude  to  his  circumstances, 
and  never  fell  into  the  society  of  any  man  who  had  the 
slightest  acquaintance  with  them.     I  have  really  told  you 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  203 

all  I  know  about  him,  and  it  rests  with  you  to  say  whether 
you  wish  to  know  more,  or  know  quite  enough  already." 

We  were  unanimously  of  opinion  that  we  would  seek  to 
know  more  ;  and  as  a  sort  of  compromise  with  Mr.  Miles 
(who,  although  he  said,  "  Yes — Oh,  certainly — he  should 
like  to  know  more  about  the  gentleman — he  had  no  right  to 
put  himself  in  opposition  to  the  general  wish,"  and  so  forth, 
shook  his  head  doubtfully,  and  hemmed  several  times  with 
peculiar  gravity),  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Pickwick  should 
carry  me  with  him  on  an  evening  visit  to  the  subject  of  our 
discussion,  for  which  purpose  an  early  appointment  between 
that  gentleman  and  myself  was  immediately  agreed  upon  ; 
it  being  understood  that  I  was  to  act  upon  my  own  respon- 
sibility, and  to  invite  him  to  join  us  or  not,  as  I  might  think 
proper.  This  solemn  question  determined,  we  returned  to 
the  clock-case  (where  we  have  been  forestalled  by  the 
reader),  and  between  its  contents,  and  the  conversation 
they  occasioned,  the  remainder  of  our  time  passed  very 
quickly. 

When  we  broke  up,  Mr.  Pickwick  took  me  aside  to  tell 
me  that  he  had  spent  a  most  charming  and  delightful 
evening.  Having  made  this  communication  with  an  air  of 
the  strictest  secrecy,  he  took  Jack  Redburn  into  another 
corner  to  tell  him  the  same,  and  then  retired  into  another 
with  the  deaf  gentleman  and  the  slate,  to  repeat  the  assur- 
ance. It  was  amusing  to  observe  the  contest  in  his  mind 
whether  he  should  extend  his  confidence  to  Mr.  Miles,  or 
treat  him  with  dignified  reserve.  Half  a  dozen  times  he 
stepped  up  behind  him  with  a  friendly  air,  and  as  often 
stepped  back  again  without  saying  a  word  ;  at  last,  when  he 
was  close  at  that  gentleman's  ear  and  upon  the  very  point  of 
whispering  something  conciliating  and  agreeable,  Mr.  Miles 
happened  suddenly  to  turn  his  head,  upon  which  Mr.  Pick- 
wick skipped  away,  and  said  with  some  fierceness,  "  Good- 
night, sir — I  was  about  to  say  good-night,  sir  —  nothing 
more  ;  "  and  so  made  a  bow  and  left  him. 

"  Now,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  when  he  had  got  down 
stairs. 

"All  right,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "Hold  hard,  sir. 
Right  arm  fust — now  the  left — now  one  strong  conwulsion, 
and  the  great-coat's  on,  sir." 

Mr.  Pickwick  acted  upon  these  directions,  and  being 
further  assisted  by  Sam,  who  pulled  at  one  side  of  the 
collar,  and  Mr.  Weller,   who  pulled   hard  at  the  other,  was 


2o4  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

speedily  enrobed.  Mr.  Weller  senior  then  produced  a  full- 
sized  stable  lantern,  which  he  had  carefully  deposited  in  a 
remote  corner,  on  his  arrival,  and  inquired  whether  Mr. 
Pickwick  would  have  "the  lamps  alight." 

"  I  think  not  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Then  if  this  here  lady  vill  per-mit  me,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Weller,  "  we'll  leave  it  here,  ready  for  next  journey. 
This  here  lantern,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  handing  it 
to  the  housekeeper,  "  vunce  belonged  to  the  celebrated 
Bill  Blinder  as  is  now  at  grass,  as  all  on  us  vill  be 
in  our  turns.  Bill,  mum,  wos  the  hostler  as  had  charge 
o'  them  two  well-known  piebald  leaders  that  run  in  the 
Bristol  fast  coach,  and  vould  never  go  to  no  other  tune 
but  a  sutherly  vind  and  a  cloudy  sky,  which  wos  consekvently 
played  incessant,  by  the  guard,  wenever  they  wos  on  duty. 
He  wos  took  wery  bad  one  arternoon,  arter  having  been  off 
his  feed,  and  wery  shaky  on  his  legs  for  some  veeks  ;  and 
he  says  to  his  mate,  '  Matey,'  he  says,  *  I  think  I'm  a-goin' 
the  wrong  side  o'  the  post,  and  that  my  foot's  werry  near  the 
bucket.  Don't  say  I  an't,'  he  says,  'for  I  know  I  am,  and 
don't  let  me  be  interrupted/  he  says,  'for  I've  saved  a  little 
money,  and  I'm  a-goin'  into  the  stable  to  make  my  last  vill 
and  testymint.'  '  I'll  take  care  as  nobody  interrupts,'  says 
his  mate,  '  but  you  on'y  hold  up  your  head,  and  shake  your 
ears  a  bit,  and  you're  good  for  twenty  years  to  come.'  Bill 
Blinder  makes  him  no  answer,  but  he  goes  away  into  the 
stable,  and  there  he  soon  artervards  lays  himself  down 
a'tween  the  two  piebalds,  and  dies,  prevously  a-writin'  out- 
side the  corn-chest,  '  This  is  the  last  vill  and  testymint  of 
Villiam  Blinder.'  They  wos  nat'rally  wery  much  amazed  at 
this,  and  arter  looking  among  the  litter,  and  up  in  the  loft, 
and  vere  not,  they  opens  the  corn-chest,  and  finds  that  he'd 
been  and  chalked  his  vill  inside  the  lid  ;  so  the  lid  wos  ob- 
ligated to  be  took  off  the  hinges,  and  sent  up  to  Doctor 
Commons  to  be  proved,  and  under  that  ere  wery  instrument 
this  here  lantern  was  passed  to  'Tony  Veller,  vich  circum- 
starnce,  mum,  gives  it  a  wally  in  my  eyes,  and  makes  me 
rekvest,  if  you  vill  be  so  kind,  as  to  take  partickler  care 
on  it." 

The  housekeeper  graciously  promised  to  keep  the  object 
of  Mr.  Weller's  regard  in  the  safest  possible  custody,  and  Mr. 
Pickwick,  with  a  laughing  face,  took  his  leave.  The  body- 
guard followed,  side  by  side  :  old  Mr.  Weller  buttoned  and 
wrapped  up  from  his  boots  to  his  chin  ;  and  Sam  with  his 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  205 

hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  half  off  his  head,  remonstra- 
ting with  his  father,  as  he  went,  on  his  extreme  loquacity. 

I  was  not  a  little  surprised,  on  turning  to  go  up  stairs,  to 
encounter  the  barber  in  the  passage  at  that  late  hour  ;  for 
his  attendance  is  usually  confined  to  some  half-hour  in  the 
morning.  But  Jack  Redburn,  who  finds  out  (by  instinct,  I 
think)  every  thing  that  happens  in  the  house,  informed  me 
with  great  glee,  that  a  society  in  imitation  of  our  own  had 
been  formed  in  the  kitchen,  under  the  title  of  "  Mr  Weller's 
Watch,"  of  which  the  barber  was  a  member  ;  and  that  he 
could  pledge  himself  to  find  means  of  making  me  acquainted 
with  the  whole  of  its  future  proceedings,  which  I  begged 
him,  both  on  my  own  account  and  that  of  my  readers,  by 
no  means  to  neglect  doing.* 

******* 

Old  Curiosity  Shop  is  continued  here  to  the  end  of  No.  IV. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

v. 


MR.  WELLER'S  WATCH. 

It  seems  that  the  housekeeper  and  the  two  Mr.  Wellers 
were  no  sooner  left  together  on  the  occasion  of  their  first 
becoming  acquainted,  than  the  housekeeper  called  to  her 
assistance,  Mr.  Slithers,  the  barber,  who  had  been  lurking  in 
the  kitchen  in  expectation  of  her  summons  ;  and  with  many 
smiles  and  much  sweetness  introduced  him  as  one  who  would 
assist  her  in  the  responsible  office  of  entertaining  her  distin- 
guished visitors. 

"Indeed,"  said  she,  "without  Mr.  Slithers  I  should  have 
been  placed  in  quite  an  awkward  position." 

"There  is  no  call  for  any  hock'erdness,  mum,"  said  Mr. 
Weller,  with  the  utmost  politeness  ;  "  no  call  wotsumever.  A 
lady,"  added  the  old  gentleman,  looking  about  him  with  an 
air  of  one  who  establishes  an  incontrovertible  position, — "  a 
lady  can't  be  hock'erd.     Natur'  has  otherwise  purwided." 

The  housekeeper  inclined  her  head  and  smiled  yet  more 
sweetly.  The  barber,  who  had  been  fluttering  about  Mr. 
Weller  and  Sam  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety  to  improve  their 
acquaintance,  rubbed  his  hands  and  cried,  "  Hear,  hear  ! 
Very  true,  sir  ; "  whereupon  Sam  turned  about  and  steadily 
regarded  him  for  some  seconds  in  silence. 

"  I  never  knew,"  said  Sam,  fixing  his  eyes  in  a  ruminating 
manner  upon  the  blushing  barber, — "I  never  knew  but  vun 
o'  your  trade,  but  he  was  worth  a  dozen,  and  wos  indeed 
dewoted  to  his  callin'  !  " 

"  Was  he  in  the  easy  shaving  way,  sir,"  inquired  Mr.  Slith- 
ers ;  "  or  in  the  cutting  and  curling  line  ?  " 

"Both,"  replied  Sam  ;  "  easy  shavin'  was  his  natur',  and 
cuttin'  and  curlin'  was  his  pride  and  glory.  His  whole  de- 
light wos  in  his  trade.     He  spent  all  his  money  in  bears, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  207 

and  run  in  debt  for  'em  besides,  and  there  they  wos  a  growl- 
ing away  down  in  the  front  cellar  all  day  long,  and  ineffec* 
tooally  gnashing  their  teeth,  vile  the  grease  o'  their  relations 
and  friends  wos  being  re-tailed  in  gallipots  in  the  shop  above, 
and  the  first-floor  winder  wos  ornamented  vith  their  heads  ; 
not  to  speak  o'  the  dreadful  aggrawation  it  must  have  been 
to  'em  to  see  a  man  always  a-walkir'  up  and  down  the  pave- 
ment outside,  vith  the  portrait  of  a  bear  in  his  last  agonies, 
and  underneath  in  large  letters,  '  \nother  fine  animal  wos 
slaughtered  yesterday  at  Jinkinson's  !  '  Hows'ever,  there 
they"  wos,  and  there  Jinkinson  wos  till  he  wos  took  wery  ill 
with  some  inn'ard  disorder,  lost  the  use  of  his  legs,  and  wos 
confined  to  his  bed  vere  he  laid  a  wery  long  time,  but  sich 
wos  his  pride  in  his  profession  even  then,  that  whenever  he 
wos  worse  than'usual  the  doctor  used  to  go  down  stairs  and 
say,  *  Jinkinson's  wery  low  this  mornin  '  ;  we  must  give  the 
bears  a  stir  '  ;  and  as  sure  as  ever  they  stirred  'em  up  a  bit 
and  made  'em  roar,  Jinkinson  open  his  eyes  if  he  wos  ever 
so  bad,  calls  out,  '  There's  the  bears  !  '  and  rewives  agin." 

"Astonishing  !  "  cried  the  barber. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Sam,  "  human  natur'  neat  as  imported. 
Vun  day  the  doctor  happenin'  to  say,  \  I  shall  look  in  as  us- 
ual to-morrow  mormn','  Jinkinson  catches  hold  of  his  hand, 
and  says,  '  Doctor,'  he  says,  'will  you  grant  me  one  favor?  '  **? 
1  I  will,  Jinkinson,'  says  the  doctor.  '  Then,  doctor,'  says 
Jinkinson,  '  vill  you  come,  unshaved,  and  let  me  shave  you  ? ' 
'  I  will,'  says  the  doctor.  '  God  bless  you,'  says  Jinkinson. 
Next  day  the  doctor  came,  and  arter  he'd  been  shaved  all 
skillful  and  reg'lar,  he  says,  '  Jinkinson,'  he  says,  '  it's  wery 
plain  this  does  you  good.  Now,'  he  says,  '  I've  got  a  coach- 
man as  has  got  a  beard  that  it  'ud  warm  your  heart  to  work 
on,  and  though-the  footman,'  he  says,  'hasn't  got  much  of  a 
beard,  still  he's  a-trying  it  on  vith  a  pair  o'  viskers  to  that 
extent  that  razors  is  Christian  charity.  If  they  take  it  in 
turns  to  mind  the  carriage  wen  it's  a-waitin'  below,'  he  says, 
'  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  operatin'  on  both  of  'em  ev'ry 
day  as  well  as  upon  me  ?  you've  got  six  children,'  he  says, 
1  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  shavin'  all  their  heads  and  keep- 
in'  'em  shaved  ?  you've  got  two  assistants  in  the  shop  down 
stairs,  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  cuttin'  and  curlin'  them  as 
often' as  you  like  ?  Do  this,'  he  says,  '  and  you're  a  man 
agin.'  Jinkinson  squeedged  the  doctor's  hand  and  begun 
that  wery  day;  he  kept  his  tools  upon  the  bed,  and  wenever 
he  felt  his-self  gettin'  worse,  he  turned  to  at  vun  o'  the  chil- 


208  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

dren  who  wos  a-runnin'  about  the  house  vith  heads  like  clean 
Dutch  cheeses,  and  shaved  him  ag'in.  Vun  day  the  lawyer 
come  to  make  his  vill  ;  all  the  time  he  wos  a  takin'  it  down, 
Jinkinson  wos  secretly  a-clippin'  avay  at  his  hair  with  a  large 
pair  of  scissors.  '  Wot's  that  'ere  snippin'  noise  ? '  says  the 
lawyer  every  now  and  then  ;  'it's  like  a  man  havin'  his  hair 
cut.'  '  It  is  wery  like  a  man  havin'  his  hair  cut,'  says  poor 
Jinkinson,  hidin'  the  scissors,  and  lookin'  quite  innocent. 
By  the  time  the  lawyer  found  it  out,  he  was  wery  nearly 
bald.  Jinkinson  wos  kept  alive  in  this  vay  for  a  long  time, 
but  at  last  vun  day  he  has  in  all  the  children,  vun  after  an- 
other, shaves  each  on  'em  wery  clean,  and  gives  him  vun  kiss 
on  the  crown  o'  his  head;  then  he  has  in  the  two  assistants, 
and  arter  cuttin'  and  curlin'  of  'em  in  the  first  style  of  ele- 
gance, says  he  should  like  to  hear  the  woice  o'  the  greasiest 
bear,  vich  rekvest  is  immediately  complied  with  ;  then  he 
says  that  he  feels  wery  happy  in  his  mind  and  vishes  to  be 
left  alone  ;  and  then  he  dies,  previously  cuttin'  his  own  hair 
and  makin'  'one  flat  curl  in  the  wery  middle  of  his  fore- 
head." 

This  anecdote  produced  an  extraordinary  effect,  not  only 
upon  Mr.  Slithers,  but  upon  the  housekeeper  also,  who 
evinced  so  much  anxiety  to  please  and  be  pleased,  that  Mr. 
Weller,  with  a  manner  betokening  some  alarm,  conveyed 
a  whispered  inquiry  to  his  son  whether  he  had  gone  "  too 
fur." 

"  Wot  do  you  mean  by  too  fur  ?  "  demanded  Sam. 

"  In  that  'ere  little  compliment  respectin'  the  want  of  hock'- 
erdness  in  ladies,  Sammy,"  replied  his  father. 

"  You  don't  think  she's  fallen  in  love  with  you  in  conse- 
kens  o'  that,  do  you  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"  More  unlikelier  things  have  come  to  pass,  my  boy,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Weller  in  a  hoarse  whisper  ;  "  I'm  always  afeerd  of 
inadwertent  captiwation,  Sammy.  If  I  know'd  how  to  make 
myself  ugly  or  unpleasant,  I'd  do  it,  Samivel,  raytherthan  live 
in  this  here  state  of  perpetival  terror  !  " 

Mr.  Weller  had,  at  that  time,  no  further  opportunity  of 
dwelling  upon  the  apprehensions  which  beset  his  mind,  for  the 
immediate  occasion  of  his  fears  proceeded  to  lead  the  way 
down  stairs,  apologizing  as  they  went  for  conducting  him  into 
the  kitchen,  which  apartment,  however,  she  was  induced  to 
proffer  for  his  accommodation  in  preference  to  her  own  little 
room,  the  rather  as  it  afforded  greater  facilities  for  smoking, 
and  was  immediately  adjoining  the  ale-cellar.     The  prepara- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  209 

tions  which  were  already  made  sufficiently  proved  that  these 
were  not  mere  words  of  course,  for  on  the  deal  table  were  a 
sturdy  ale  jug  and  glasses,  flanked  with  clean  pipes  and  a 
plentiful  supply  of  tobacco  for  the  old  gentleman  and  his 
son,  while  on  a  dresser  hard  by  was  goodly  store  of  cold 
meat  and  other  eatables.  At  sight  of  these  arrangements 
Mr.  Wellerwas  at  first  distracted  between  his  love  of  jovial- 
ity and  his  doubts  whether  they  were  not  to  be  considered 
as  so  many  evidences  of  captivation  having  already  taken 
place  ;  but  he  soon  yielded  to  his  natural  impulse,  and  took 
his  seat  at  the  table  'with  a  very  jolly  countenance. 

"  As  to  imbibin'  any  o'  this  here  flagrant  veed,  mum,  in 
the  presence  of  a  lady,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  taking  up  a  pipe 
and  laying  it  down  again,  "  it  couldn't  be.  Samivel,  total 
abstinence,  if  you  please." 

"  But  I  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"No,"  rejoined  Mr.  Weller,  shaking  his  head, — "no." 

"  Upon  my  word  I  do,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "  Mr. 
Slithers  knows  I  do." 

Mr.  Weller  coughed,  and,  notwithstanding  the  barber's 
confirmation  of  the  statement,  said  "  No  "  again,  but  more 
feebly  than  before.  The  housekeeper  lighted  a  piece  of 
paper,  and  insjsted  on  applying  it  to  the  bowl  of  the  pipe 
with  her  own  fair  hands  ;  Mr.  Weller  resisted  ;  the  house- 
keeper cried  that  her  fingers  would  be  burned  ;  Mr.  Weller 
gave  way.  The  pipe  was  ignited,  Mr.  Weller  drew  a  long 
puff  of  smoke,  and  detecting  himself  in  the  very  act  of 
smiling  on  the  housekeeper,  put  a  sudden  constraint  upon 
his  countenance  and  looked  sternly  at  the  candle,  with  a  de- 
termination not  to  captivate,  himself,  or  encourage  thoughts 
of  captivation  in  others.  From  this  iron  frame  of  mind  he 
was  roused  by  the  voice  of  his  son. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Sam,  who  was  smoking  with  great 
composure  and  enjoyment,  "  that  if  the  lady  was  agreeable 
it  'ud  be  wery  far  out  o'  the  vay  for  us  four  to  make  up  a 
club  of  our  own  like  the  governors  does  up  stairs,  and  let 
him,"  Sam  pointed  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe  toward  his 
parent,  "  be  the  president." 

The  housekeeper  affably  declared  that  it  was  the  very 
thing  she  had  been  thinking  of.  The  barber  said  the  same. 
Mr.  Weller  said  nothing,  but  he  laid  down  his  pipe  as  if  in  a 
fit  of  inspiration,  and  performed  the  following  maneuvers. 

Unbuttoning  the  three  lower  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
pausing  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  easy  flow  of  breath  con* 


2to  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

sequent  upon  this  process,  he  laid  violent  hands  upon  his 
watch-chain  and  slowly  and  with  extreme  difficulty  drew 
from  his  fob  an  immense  double-cased  silver  watch,  which 
brought  the  lining  of  the  pocket  with  it,  and  was  not  to  be 
disentangled  but  by  great  exertions  and  an  amazing  redness 
of  face.  Having  fairly  got  it  out  at  last,  he  detached  the 
outer  case  and  wound  it  up  with  a  key  of  corresponding 
magnitude  ;  then  put  the  case  on  again,  and  having  applied 
the  watch  to  his  ear  to  ascertain  that  it  was  still  going,  gave 
it  some  half-dozen  hard  knocks  on  the  table  to  improve  its 
performance. 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  laying  it  on  the  table  with  its 
face  upward,  "  is  the  title  and  emblem  o'  this  here  society. 
Sammy,  reach  them  two  stools  this  vay  for  the  wacant  cheers. 
Ladies  and  gen'lmen,  Mr.  Weller's  Watch  is  vound  up  and 
now  a-goin'.     Order  !  " 

By  way  of  enforcing  this  proclamation,  Mr.  Weller,  using 
the  watch  after  the  manner  of  a  president's  hammer,  and 
remarking  with  great  pride  that  nothing  hurt  it,  and  that 
falls  and  concussions  of  all  kinds  materially  enhanced  the 
excellence  of  the  works  and  assisted  the  regulator,  knocked 
the  table  a  great  many  times,  and  declared  the  association 
formally  constituted. 

"  And  don't  let's  have  no  grinnin'  at  the  cheer,  Samiv.el," 
said  Mr.  Weller  to  his  son,  "  or  I  shall  be  committin'  you  to 
the  cellar,  and  then  p'r'aps  we  may  get  into  wot  the  'Mer- 
rikins  call  a  fix,  and  the  English  a  qvestion  o'  privileges." 

Having  uttered  this  friendly  caution,  the  president  settled 
himself  in  his  chair  with  great  dignity,  and  requested  that 
Mr.  Samuel  would  relate  an  anecdote. 

"  I've  told  one,"  said  Sam. 

"  Wery  good,  sir  ;  tell  another,"  returned  the  chair. 

"  We  wos  a  talking  jist  now,  sir,"  said  Sam,  turning  to 
Slithers,  "  about  barbers.  Pursuing  that  'ere  fruitful  theme, 
sir,  I'll  tell  you  in  a  wery  few  words  a  romantic  little  story 
about  another  barber  as  p'r'aps  you  may  never  have  heerd." 

"  Samivel  !  "  said  Mr.  Weller,  again  bringing  his  watch 
and  the  table  into  smart  collision,  "  address  your  obser- 
wations  to  the  cheer,  sir,  and  not  to  priwate  indiwiduals  !  " 

"  And  if  I  might  rise  to  order,"  said  the  barber,  in  a  soft 
voice,  and  looking  round  him  with  a  conciliatory  smile  as  he 
leaned  over  the  table,  with  the  knuckles  of  his  left  hand  rest- 
ing upon  it, — "  if  I  might  rise  to  order,  I  would  suggest  that 
'barbers'    is    not  exactly    the    kind    of   language  which   is 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  211 

agreeable  and  soothing  to  our  feelings.  You,  sir,  will  cor- 
rect me  if  I'm  wrong,  but  I  believe  there  is  such  a  word  in 
the  dictionary  as  hair-dressers." 

"  Well,  but  suppose  he  wasn't  a  hair-dresser,"  suggested 
Sam. 

"  Wy  then,  sir,  be  parliamentary,  and  call  him  wun  all  the 
more,"  returned  his  father.  "  In  the  same  way  as  ev'ry 
gen'lman  in  another  place  is  a  honorable,  ev'ry  barber  in  this 
place  is  a  hair-dresser.  Ven  you  read  the  speeches  in  the 
papers,  and  see  as  vun  gen'lman  says  of  another,  "  the  hon- 
orable member,  if  he  vill  allow  me  to  call  him  so,'  you  will 
understand,  sir,  that  that  means,  '  if  he  will  allow  me  to  keep 
up  that  'ere  pleasant  and  uniwersal  fiction.'  " 

It  is  a  common  remark,  confirmed  by  history  and  experi- 
ence, that  great  men  rise  with  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  are  placed.  Mr.  Weller  came  out  so  strong  in  his  ca- 
pacity of  chairman,  that  Sam  was  for  some  time  prevented 
from  speaking  by  a  grin  of  surprise,  which  held  his  faculties 
enchained,  and  at  last  subsided  in  a  long  whistle  of  a  single 
note.  Nay,  the  old  gentleman  appeared  even  to  have  as- 
tonished himself,  and  that  to  no  small  extent,  as  was  demon- 
strated by  the  vast  amount  of  chuckling  in  which  he  in- 
dulged after  the  utterance  of  these  lucid  remarks. 

"  Here's  the  story,"  said  Sam.  "  Vunce  upon  a  time  there 
wos  a  young  hair-dresser  as  opened  a  wery  smart  little  shop 
with  four  wax  dummies  in  the  winder,  two  gen'lmen  and  two 
ladies — the  gen'lmen  vith  blue  dots  for  their  beards,  wery 
large  viskers,  ou-dacious  heads  of  hair,  uncommon  clear 
eyes,  and  nostrels  of  amazin'  pinkness — the  ladies  with  their 
heads  o'  one  side,  their  right  forefingers  on  their  lips,  and 
their  forms  deweloped  beautiful,  in  vich  last  respect  they  had 
the  advantage  over  the  gen'lmen,  as  vasn't  allowed  but  very 
little  Shoulder,  and  terminated  rayther  abrupt,  in  fancy 
drapery.  He  had  also  a  many  hair-brushes  and  tooth- 
brushes bottled  up  in  the  winder,  neat  glass  cases  on  the 
counter,  a  floor-clothed  cuttm'-room  up  stairs,  and  a  weighin'- 
macheen  in  the  shop,  right  opposite  the  door  ;  but  the  great 
attraction  and  ornament  wos  the  dummies,  which  this  here 
young  hair-dresser  wos  constantly  a-runnin'  out  in  the  road 
to  look  at,  and  constantly  a-runnin'  in  agin  to  touch  up  and 
polish,  in  short,  he  was  so  proud  on  'em  that  ven  Sunday 
come,  he  wos  always  wretched  and  mis'rable  to  think  they 
wos  behind  the  shutters,  and  looked  anxiously  for  Monday 
on  that  account.     Vun  o'  these  dummies  was  a  fav'rite  vith 


2i2  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

him  beyond  the  others,  and  ven  any  of  his  acquaintances 
asked  him  vy  he  didn't  get  married — as  the  young  ladies  he 
know'd,  in  partickler,  often  did — he  used  to  say,  '  Never ! 
I  never  will  enter  into  the  bonds  of  vedlock,'  he  says,  '  until 
I  meet  with  a  young  'ooman  as  realizes  my  idea  o'  that  'ere 
fairest  dummy  vith  the  light  hair.  Then  and  not  till  then,' 
he  says, '  I  vill  approach  the  altar  ! '  All  the  young  ladies 
he  know'd  as  had  got  dark  hair  told  him  this  wos  very  sinful, 
and  that  he  wos  vorshippin'  a  idle,  but  them  as  vos  at  all 
near  the  same  shade  as  the  dummy  colored  up  wery  much, 
and  wos  observed  to  think  him  a  wery  nice  young  man." 

"  Samivel,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  gravely,  "a  member  o'  this 
assosiashun  bein'  one  o'  that  'ere  tender  sex  which  is  now 
immediately  referred  to,  I  have  to  rekvest  that  you  will  make 
no  reflexions." 

"  I  ain't  a  makin'  any,  am  I  ? "  inquired  Sam. 

"  Order,  sir  !  "  rejoined  Mr.  Weller,  with  severe  dignity  ; 
then,  sinking  the  chairman  in  the  father,  he  added  in  his 
usual  tone  o'  voice, '  Samivel,  drive  on  !  " 

Sam  interchanged  a  smile  with  the  housekeeper,  and  pro- 
ceeded : — 

"  The  young  hair-dresser  hadn't  been  in  the  habit  o' 
makin'  this  awovval  above  six  months,  ven  he  en-countered  a 
young  lady  as  wos  the  wery  picter  o'  the  fairest  dummy. 
1  Now,'  he  says,  '  it's  all  up.  I  am  a  slave  !  '  The  young 
lady  wos  not  only  the  picter  o'  the  fairest  dummy,  but  she 
wos  wery  romantic,  as  the  young  hair-dresser  wos,  too,  and 
he  says,  '  Oh  ! '  he  says,  '  here's  a  community  o'  feelin', 
here's  a  flow  o'  soul  ! '  he  says,  '  here's  a  interchange  o'  senti- 
ment ! '  The  young  lady  didn't  say  much,  o'  course,  but  she 
expressed  herself  agreeable,  and  shortly  afterward  vent  to 
see  him  vith  a  mutual  friend.  The  hair-dresser  rushes  out 
to  meet  her,  but  d'rectly  she  sees  the  dummies  she  changes 
color  and  falls  a-tremblin'  wiolently.  '  Look  up,  my  love,' 
says  the  hair-dresser,  '  behold  your  image  in  my  winder,  but 
not  corrector  than  in  my  'eart  ! '  '  My  image  ! '  she  says. 
'  Yourn  ! '  replies  the  hair-dresser.  '  But  whose  image  is 
that !  '  she  says,  a-pinting  at  vun  o'  the  gen'lmen.  '  No 
vun's,  my  love,'  he  says,  '  it  is  but  a  idea.'  '  A  idea  !  '  she 
cries  ;  ■  it  is  a  portrait,  I  feel  it  is  a  portrait,  and  that  'ere 
noble  face  must  be  in  themillingtary  !  '  '  Wot  do  I  hear  !  ' 
says  he,  a-crumplin'  his  curls.  '  Villiam  Gibbs,'  she  says, 
quite  firm,  'never  renoo  the  subject.  I  respect  you  as  a 
friend,'  she  says,  '  but  my  affections  is   set  upon  that  manly 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  213 

brow.'  *  This,'  says  the  hair-dresser,  *  is  a  reg'lar  blight,  and 
in  it  I  perceive  the  hand  of  fate.  Farevell  ! '  Vith  these 
voids  he  rushes  into  the  shop,  breaks  the  dummy's  nose  vith 
a  blow  of  his  curlin'-irons,  melts  him  down  at  the  parlor  fire, 
and  never  smiles  arterverds." 

"  The  young  lady,  Mr.  Weller  ?  "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  Sam,  "  finding  that  fate  had  a  spite 
agin  her,  and  every  body  she  come  into  contact  with,  she 
never  smiled  neither,  but  read  a  deal  o'  poetry  and  pined 
avay — by  rayther  slow  degrees,  for  she  an't  dead  yet.  It 
took  a  deal  o'  poetry  to  kill  the  hair-dresser,  and  some 
people  say  arter  all,  that  it  was  more  the  gin-and-water  as 
caused  him  to  be  run  over,  p'r'aps  it  wos  a  little  o'  both, 
and  came  o'  mixing  the  two." 

The  barber  declared  that  Mr.  Weller  had  related  one  of 
the  most  interesting  stories  that  had  ever  come  within  his 
knowledge,  in  which  opinion  the  housekeeper  entirely  con- 
curred. 

"  Are  you  a  married  man,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Sam. 

The  barber  replied  that  he  had  not  that  honor. 

"  I  s'pose  you  mean  to  be  ? "  said  Sam. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  barber,  rubbing  his  hands  smirkingly, 
"  I  don't  know,  1  don't  think  it's  very  likely." 

"  That's  a  bad  sign,"  said  Sam  ;  "  if  you'd  said  you  meant 
to  be  vim  o'  these  days,  I  should  ha'  looked  upon  you  as 
bein'  safe.     You're  in  a  wery  precarious  state." 

"  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  danger,  at  all  events,"  returned 
the  barber. 

"  No  more  wos  I,  sir,"  said  the  elder  Mr.  Weller,  inter- 
posing ;  "  those  vere  my  symptoms,  exactly.  I've  been  took 
that  vay  twice.  Keep  your  vether  eye  open,  my  friend,  or 
you're  gone." 

There  was  something  so  very  solemn  about  this  admon- 
ition, both  in  its  matter  and  manner,  and  also  in  the  way  in 
which  Mr.  Weller  still  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  unsuspect- 
ing victim,  that  nobody  cared  to  speak  for  some  little  time, 
and  might  not  have  cared  to  do  so  for  some  time  longer,  if 
the  housekeeper  had  not  happened  to  sigh,  which  called  off 
the  old  gentleman's  attention  and  gave  rise  to  a  gallant 
inquiry  whether  "  there  wos  any  thing  wery  piercin'  in  that 
'ere  little  heart." 

"Dear  me,  Mr.  Weller!"  said  the  housekeeper,  laugh- 
ing- 

'  No,  but  is  there  any  thin'  as  agitates  it  ? "  pursued  the 


214  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

old  gentleman.  "  Has  it  always  been  obderrate,  always 
opposed  to  the  happiness  o'  human  creeturs  ?  Eh  ?  Has 
it?" 

At  this  critical  juncture  for  her  blushes  and  confusion, 
the  housekeeper  discovered  that  more  ale  was  wanted,  and 
hastily  withdrew  into  the  cellar  to  draw  the  same,  followed 
by  the  barber,  who  insisted  on  carrying  the  candle.  Having 
looked  after  her  with  a  very  complacent  expression  of  the 
face,  and  after  him  with  some  disdain,  Mr.  Weller  caused 
his  glance  to  travel  slowly  round  the  kitchen  until  at  length 
it  rested  on  his  son. 

"  Sammy,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  I  mistrust  that  barber." 

"  Wot  for  ?  "  returned  Sam,  "  wot's  he  got  to  do  with  you  ? 
You're  a  nice  man,  you  are,  arter  pretendin'  all  kinds  o* 
terror,  to  go  to  paying  compliments  and  talkin'  about  hearts 
and  piercers." 

The  imputation  of  gallantry  appeared  to  afford  Mr.  Weller 
the  utmost  delight,  for  he  replied  in  a  voice  choked  by  sup- 
pressed laughter,  and  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes, — 

M  Wos  I  a-talkin'  about  hearts  and  piercers — wos  I  though, 
Sammy,  eh  ? " 

"  Wos  you  ?  of  course  you  wos." 

"  She  don't  know  no  better,  Sammy  ;  there  an't  no  harm 
in  it — no  danger,  Sammy  ;  she's  only  a  punster.  She 
seemed  pleased,  though,  didn't  she  ?  O'  course,  she  wos 
pleased,  it's  nat'ral  she  should  be,  wery  nat'ral." 

"  He's  wain  of  it  !  "  exclaimed  Sam,  joining  in  his  father's 
mirth.     4<  He's  actually  wain  !  " 

"  Hush  ! "  replied  Mr.  Weller,  composing  his  features, 
"  they're  a-comin'  back — the  little  heart's  a  comin'  back. 
But  mark  these  wurds  o'  mine  once  more,  and  remember 
'em  ven  your  father  says  he  said  'em.  Samivel,  I  mistrust 
that  'ere  deceitful  barber."* 


*01d  Curiosity  Shop  is  continued  to  the  end  of  the  number. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

VI. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCK-SIDE  IN 
THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

Two  or  three  evenings  after  the  institution  of  Mr.  Weller's 
Watch,  I  thought  I  h'eard,  as  I  walked  in  the  garden,  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Weller  himself  at  no  great  distance;  and 
stopping  once  or  twice  to  listen  more  attentively,  I  found 
that  the  sounds  proceeded  from  my  housekeeper's  little  sit- 
ting-room, which  is  at  the  back  of  the  house.  I  took  no 
further  notice  of  the  circumstance  at  the  time,  but  it  formed 
the  subject  for  a  conversation  between  me  and  Jack  Red- 
burn  next  morning,  when  I  found  I  had  not  been  deceived 
in  my  impression.  Jack  furnished  me  with  the  following 
particulars,  and  as  he  appeared  to  take  extraordinary  pleas- 
ure in  relating  them,  I  have  begged  him  in  future  to  jot  down 
any  such  domestic  scenes  or  occurrences  that  may  please 
his  humor,  in  order  that  they  may  be  told  in  his  own  way. 
I  must  confess,  that  as  Mr.  Pickwick  and  he  are  constantly 
together,  I  have  been  influenced  in  making  this  request,  by  a 
secret  desire  to  know  something  of  their  proceedings. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  the  housekeeper's  room  was 
arranged  with  particular  care,  and  the  housekeeper  herself 
was  very  smartly  dressed.  The  preparations,  however,  were 
not  confined  to  mere  showy  demonstrations,  as  tea  was  pre- 
pared for  three  persons,  with  a  small  display  of  preserves 
and  jams  and  sweetcakes,  which  heralded  some  uncommon 
occasion.  Miss  Benton  (my  housekeeper  bears  that  name) 
was  in  a  state  of  great  expectation,  too,  frequently  going  to 
the  front  door,  and  looking  anxiously  down  the  lane,  and 
more  than  once  observing  to  the  servant  girl  that  she  expected 


2i6  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

company,   and  hoped  no  accident  had  happened   to  delay 
them. 

A  modest  ring  at  the  bell  at  length  allayed  her  fears,  and 
Miss  Benton,  hurrying  into  her  own  room  and  shutting  her- 
self up  in  order  that  she  might  preserve  that  appearance  of 
being  taken  by  surprise  which  is  so  essential  to  the  polite 
reception  of  visitors,  awaited  their  coming  with  a  smiling 
countenance. 

"  Good  ev'nin',  mum,"  said  the  older  Mr.  Weller,  looking 
in  at  the  door  after  a  prefatory  tap.  "  I  am  afeered  we've 
come  in  rayther  arter  the  time,  mam,  but  the  young  colt 
being  full  o'  wice,  has  been  a-boltin'  and  shyin'  and  gettin* 
his  leg  over  the  traces  to  sich  a  extent  that  if  he  ain't  wery 
soon  broke  in,  he'll  wex  me  into  a  broken  heart,  and  then 
he'll  never  be  brought  out  no  more  except  to  learn  his  let- 
ters from  the  writin'  on  his  grandfather's  tombstone." 

With  these  pathetic  words,  which  were  addressed  to  some- 
thing outside  the  door  about  two  feet  six  from  the  ground, 
Mr.  Weller  introduced  a  very  small  boy  firmly  set  upon  a 
couple  of  very  sturdy  legs,  who  looked  as  if  nothing  could 
ever  knock  him  down.  Besides  having  a  very  round  face 
strongly  resembling  Mr.  Weller's,  and  a  stout  little  body  of 
exactly  his  build,  this  young  gentleman,  standing  with  his 
little  legs  very  wide  apart  as  if  the  top-boots  were  familiar 
to  them,  actually  winked  upon  the  housekeeper  with  his  in- 
fant eye,  in  imitation  of  his  grandfather. 

"  There's  a  naughty  boy,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  bursting 
with  delight  ;  "  there's  a  immoral  Tony.  Wos  there  ever  a 
little  chap  o'  four  year  and  eight  months  old  as  vinked  his 
eye  at  a  strange  lady  afore  ? " 

As  little  affected  by  this  observation  as  by  the  former  ap- 
peal to  his  feelings,  Master  Weller  elevated  in  the  air  a  small 
model  of  a  coach  whip  which  he  carried  in  his  hand,  and 
addressing  the  housekeeper  with  a  shrill  "ya — hip!"  in- 
quired if  she  was  "going  down  the  road  ;"  at  which  happy 
adaptation  of  a  lesson  he  had  been  taught  from  infancy,  Mr. 
Weller  could  restrain  his  feelings  no  longer,  but  gave  him 
twopence  on  the  spot. 

"  It's  in  wain  to  deny  it,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  this 
here  is  a  boy  arter  his  grandfather's  own  heart,  and  beats 
out  all  the  boys  as  ever  wos  or  will  be.  Though  at  the  same 
time,  mum,"  added  Mr.  Weller,  trying  to  look  gravely  down 
upon  his  favorite,  "  it  was  wery  wrong  on  him  to  want  to — 
over  all  the  posts  as  we  come  along,  and  wery  cruel  on  him  to 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  217 

force  poor  grandfather  to  lift  him  cross-legged  over  every 
vun  of  'em.  He  wouldn't  pass  one  single  vun  of  'em.  He 
wouldn't  pass  vun  single  blessed  post,  mum,  and  at  the  top 
o'  the  lane  there's  seven-and-forty  on  'em  all  in  a  row,  and 
wery  close  together." 

Here  Mr.  Weller,  whose  feelings  were  in  a  perpetual  con- 
flict between  pride  in  his  grandson's  achievements,  and  a 
sense  of  his  own  responsibility  and  the  importance  of  im- 
pressing him  with  moral  truths,  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter, 
and  suddenly  checking  himself,  remarked  in  a  severe  tone 
that  little  boys  as  made  their  grandfathers  put  'em  over  posts 
never  went  to  heaven  at  any  price. 

By  this  time  the  housekeeper  had  made  tea,  and  little 
Tony,  placed  on  a  chair  beside  her,  with  his  eyes  nearly  on 
a  level  with  the  top  of  the  table,  was  provided  with  various 
delicacies  which  yielded  him  extreme  contentment.  The 
housekeeper  (who  seemed  rather  afraid  of  the  child,  not- 
withstanding her  caresses)  then  patted  him  on  the  head  and 
declared  that  he  was  the  finest  boy  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  Wy,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  I  don't  think  you'll  see  a 
many  sich,  and  that's  the  truth.  But  if  my  son  Samivel 
would  give  me  my  vay,  mum,  and  only  dispense  vith  his — 
might  I  wenter  to  say  the  vurd  ? " 

"  What  word,  Mr.  Weller  ?  "  said  the  housekeeper,  blush- 
ing slightly. 

"  Petticuts,  mum,"  returned  that  gentleman,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  garments  of  his  grandson.  "  If  my  son 
Samivel,  mum,  vould  only  dis-pense'  vith  these  here,  you'd 
see  such  a  alteration  in  his  appearance,  as  the  imagination 
can't  depicter." 

"  But  what  would  you  have  the  child  wear  instead,  Mr. 
Weller  ?  "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"  I've  offered  my  son  Samivel,  agen  and  agen,"  returned 
the  old  gentleman,  "  to  purwide  him  at  my  own  cost  vith  a 
suit  o'  clothes  as  'ud  be  thefmakin'  on  him,  and  form  his 
mind  in  infancy  for  those  pursuits  as  I  hope  the  family  o' 
the  Vellers  vill  alvays  dewote  themselves  to.  Tony,  my  boy, 
tell  the  lady  wot  them  clothes  are,  as  grandfather  says,  father 
ought  to  let  you  vear." 

"A  little  white  "hat  and  a  little  sprig  weskut  and  little 
knee  cords  and  little  top-boots  and  a  little  green  coat  with 
little  bright  buttons  and  a  little  welwet  collar,"  replied 
Tony,  with  great  readiness  and  no  stops. 

"  That's   the   cos-toom,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  looking 


2i3  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

proudly  at  the  housekeeper.  "  Once  make  sich  a  model  on 
him  as  that,  and  you'd  say  he  was  a  angel  !  " 

Perhaps  the  housekeeper  thought  that  in  such  a  guise 
young  Tony  would  look  more  like  the  angel- at  Islington  than 
any  thing  else  of  that  name,  or  perhaps  she  was  disconcerted 
to  find  her  previously  conceived  ideas  disturbed,  as  angels 
are  not  commonly  represented  in  top-boots  and  sprig  waist- 
coats.    She  coughed,  doubtfully,  but  said  nothing. 

"  How  many  brothers  and  sisters  have  you,  my  dear  r"  she 
asked,  after  a  short  silence. 

"  One  brother  and  no  sister  at  all,"  replied  Tony.  "  Sam 
his  name  is,  and  so's  my  father's.     Do  you  know  my  father  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  1  know  him,"  said  the  housekeeper,  graciously. 

"Is  my  father  fond  of  you  ?  "  pursued  Tony. 

"  1  hope  so,"  rejoined  the  smiling  housekeeper. 

Tony  considered  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Is  my  grand- 
father fond  of  you  ?  " 

This  would  seem  a  very  easy  question  to  answer,  but  in- 
stead of  replying  to  it,  the  housekeeper  smiled  in  great  con- 
fusion, and  said  that  really  children  did  ask  such  extraor- 
dinary questions  that  it  was  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the 
world  to  talk  to  them.  Mr.  Weller  took  upon  himself  to 
reply  that  he  was  very  fond  of  the  lady  ;  but  the  housekeeper 
entreating  that  he  would  not  put  such  things  into  the  child's 
head,  Mr.  Weller  shook  his  own  while  she  looked  another 
way,  and  seemed  to  be  troubled  with  a  misgiving  that  cap- 
tivation  was  in  progress.  It  was,  perhaps,  on  this  account 
that  he  changed  the  subject  precipitately. 

"  It's  wery  wrong  in  little  boys  to  make  game  o'  their 
grandfathers,  an't  it,  mum  ?  "  said  Mr.  Weller,  shaking  his 
head  waggishly,  until  Tony  looked  at  him,  when  he  counter- 
feited the  deepest  dejection  and  sorrow. 

"  Oh,  very  sad  !  "  assented  the  housekeeper.  "  But  I  hope 
no  little  boys  do  that?  " 

"  There  is  vim  young  Turl?,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  as 
havin'  seen  his  grandfather  a  little  overcome  vith  drink  on 
the  occasion  of  a  friend's  birthday,  goes  a-reelin'  and  stag- 
germ'  about  the  house,  and  makin'  believe  that  he's  the  old 
genTm'n." 

"  Oh,  quite  shocking  !  "  cried  the  housekeeper. 

u  Yes,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  and  previously  to  so  doin', 
this  here  young  traitor  that  I'm  a-speakin'  of,  pinches  his 
little  nose  to  make  it  red,  and  then  he  gives  a  hiccup  and 
says,  '  I'm  all  right,'  he  says,  '  give  us  another  song  ! '  Ha, 
ha  !     '  Give  us  another  son/* '  *^  «»*«      Ha.  ha,  ha  I  " 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  *         219 

In  his  excessive  delight,  Mr.  Weller  was  quite  unmindful 
of  his  moral  responsibility,  until  little  Tony  kicked  up  his 
legs,  and  laughing  immoderately,  cried,  "  That  was  me,  that 
was  ;  "  whereupon  the  grandfather,  by  a  great-effort,  became 
extremely  solemn. 

"  No,  Tony,  not  you,"  said  Mr.  Weller.  "  I  hope  it  warn't 
you,  Tony.  It  must  ha'  been  that  'ere  naughty  little  chap  as 
comes  sometimes  out  o'  the  empty  watch-box  round  the  cor- 
ner— that  same  little  chap  as  wos  found  standing  on  the  table 
afore  the  looking-glass,  pretending  to  shave  himself  with  an 
oyster-knife." 

"He  didn't  hurt  himself,  I  hope?"  observed  the  house- 
keeper. 

"Not  he,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  proudly  ;  " bless  your 
heart,  you  might  trust  that  'ere  boy  vith  a  steam-engine 
a  most,  he's  such  a  knowin'  young — "  But  suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself,  and  observing  that  Tony  perfectly  under- 
stood and  appreciated  the  compliment,  the  old  gentleman 
groaned  and  observed  that  "  it  wos  all  wery  shockin' — 
wery." 

"  Oh,  he's  a  bad  'un,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  is  that  'ere  watch- 
box  boy,  makin'  such  a  noise  and  litter  in  the  back  yard,  he 
does,  waterin'  wooden  horses  and  feedin'  of  'em  vith  grass, 
and  perpetivally  spillin'  his  little  brother  out  of  a  veelbarrow 
and  frightenin'  his  mother  out  of  her  wits,  at  the  wery  mo- 
ment wen  she's  expectin'  to  increase  his  stock  of  happiness 
vith  another  playfeller — Oh,  he's  a  bad  'un  !  He's  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  put  on  a  pair  o'  paper  spectacles  as  he  got  his 
father  to  make  for  him,  and  walk  up  and  down  the  garden 
vith  his  hands  behind  him  in  imitation  of  Mr.  Pickwick — 
but  Tony  don't  do  sich  things,  oh  no  !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  echoed  Tony. 

"  He  knows  better,  he  does,"  said  Mr.  Weller.  "  He  knows 
that  if  he  was  to  come  sich  games  as  these  nobody  wouldn't 
love  him,  and  that  his  grandfather  in  partickler  couldn't 
abear  the  sight  on  him  ;  for  vhich  reasons  Tony's  always 
good." 

"Always  good,"  echoed  Tony;  and  his  grandfather  im- 
mediately took  him  on  his  knee  and  kissed  him,  at  the  same 
time,  with  many  nods  and  winks,  slyly  pointing  at  the  child's 
head  with  his  thumb,  in  order  that  the  housekeeper,  other- 
wise deceived  by  the  admirable  manner  in  which  he  (Mr. 
Weller)  had  sustained  his  character,  might  not  suppose  that 
any   other  young   gentleman  was    referred    to,   and   might 


220  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

clearly  understand  that  the  boy  of  the  watch-box  was  but  an 
imaginary  creation,  and  a  fetch  of  Tony  himself,  invented 
for  his  improvement  and  reformation. 

Not  confining  himself  to  a  mere  verbal  description  of  his 
grandson's  abilities,  Mr.  Weller,  when  tea  was  finished,  in- 
cited him  by  various  gifts  of  pence  and  halfpence  to  smoke 
imaginary  pipes,  drink  visionary  beer  from  real  pots,  imitate 
his  grandfather  without  reserve,  and  in  particular  to  go 
through  the  drunken  scene,  which  threw  the  old  gentleman 
into  ecstasies  and  filled  the  housekeeper  with  wonder.  Nor 
was  Mr.  Weller's  pride  satisfied  with  even  this  display,  for 
when  he  took  his  leave  he  carried  the  child,  like  some  rare 
and  astonishing  curiosity,  first  to  the  barber's  house  and 
afterward  to  the  tobacconist's,  at  each  of  which  places  he 
repeated  his  performances  with  the  utmost  effect  to  applaud- 
ing and  delighted  audiences.  It  was  half  past  nine  o'clock 
when  Mr.  Weller  was  last  seen  carrying  him  home  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  it  has  been  whispered  abroad  that  at  that  time 
the  infant  Tony  was  rather  intoxicated.* 

[Master  Humphrey  is  revived  thus  at  the  close  of  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  merely 
to  introduce  Barnaby  Rudge.] 

I  was  musing  the  other  evening  upon  the  characters  and 
incidents  with  which  I  had  been  so  long  engaged  ;  wonder- 
ing how  I  could  ever  have  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to 
the  completion  of  my  tale,  and  reproaching  myself  for  having 
done  so,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  cruelty  to  those  companions 
of  my  solitude  whom  I  had  now  dismissed,  and  could  never 
again  recall  ;  when  my  clock  struck  ten.  Punctual  to  the 
hour,  my  friends  appeared. 

On  our  last  night  of  meeting  we  had  finished  the  story 
which  the  reader  has  just  concluded.  Our  conversation  took 
the  same  current  as  the  meditations  which  the  entrance  of 
my  friends  had  interrupted,  and  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop 
was  the  staple  of  our  discourse. 

I  may  confide  to  the  reader  now,  that  in  connection  with 
this  little  history  I  had  something  upon  my  mind  ;  some- 
thing to  communicate  which  I  had  all  along  with  difficulty 
repressed  ;  something  1  had  deemed  it,  during  the  progress 
of  the  story,  necessary  to  its  interest  to  disguise,  and  which, 
now  that  it  was  over,  I  wished,  and  was  yet  reluctant  to  dis- 
close. 

To  conceal  any  thing  from  those  to  whom  I  am  attached, 

*  Old  Curiosity  Shop  is  continued  from  here  to  the  end  without  interruption. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  221 

is  not  in  my  nature.  I  can  never  close  my  lips  where  I  have 
opened  my  heart.  This  temper,  and  the  consciousness  of 
having  done  some  violence  to  it  in  my  narrative,  laid  me 
under  a  "restraint  which  I  should  have  had  great  difficulty 
in  overcoming,  but  for  a  timely  remark  from  Sir.  Miles,  who, 
as  I  hinted  in  a  former  paper,  is  a  gentleman  of  business 
habits,  and  of  great  exactness  and  propriety  in  all  his  trans- 
actions. 

"  I  could  have  wished,"  my  friend  objected,  "that  we  had 
been  made  acquainted  with  the  single  gentleman's  name.  I 
don't  like  his  withholding  his  name.  It  made  me  look  upon 
him  at  first  with  suspicion,  and  caused  me  to  doubt  his 
moral  character,  I  assure  you.  I  am  fully  satisfied  by  this 
time  of  his  being  a  worthy  creature,  but  in  this  respect  he 
certainly  would  not  appear  to  have  acted  at  all  like  a  man 
of  business." 

"  My  friends,"  said  I,  drawing  to  the  table,  at  which  they 
were  by  this  time  seated  in  their  usual  chairs,  "  do  you  re- 
member that  this  story  bore  another  title  besides  that  one 
we  have  so  often  heard  of  late  ? " 

Mr.  Miles  had  his  pocket-book  out  in  an  instant,  and  re- 
ferring to  an  entry  therein,  rejoined,  "  Certainly.  Personal 
Adventures  of  Master  Humphrey.  Here  it  is.  I  made  a 
note  of  it  at  the  time." 

I  was  about  to  resume  what  I  had  to  tell  them,  when  the 
same  Mr.  Miles  again  interrupted  me,  observing  that  the 
narrative  originated  in  a  personal  adventure  of  my  own,  and 
that  was  no  doubt  the  reason  for  its  being  thus  designated. 

This  led  me  to  the  point  at  once. 

"  You  will  one  and  all  forgive  me,"  I  returned,  "  if,  for 
the  greater  convenience  of  the  stcry,  and  for  its  better  intro- 
duction, that  adventure  was  fictitious.  I  had  my  share,  in- 
deed—no light  or  trivial  one — in  the  pages  we  have  read, 
but  it  was  not  the  share  I  feigned  to  have  at  first.  The 
younger  brother,  the  single  gentleman,  the  nameless  actor 
in  this  little  drama,  stands  before  you  now." 

It  was  easy  to  see  they  had  not  expected  this  disclosure. 

"  Yes,"  I  pursued.  "  I  can  look  back  upon  my  part  in  it 
with  a  calm,  half-smiling  pity  for  myself  as  for  some  other 
man.  But  I  am  he,  indeed  ;  and  now  the  chief  sorrows  of 
my  life  are  yours." 

I  need  not  say  what  tiue  gratification  I  derived  from  the 
sympathy  and  kindness  with  which  this  acknowledgment 
was  received ;  nor  how  often  it  had  risen  to  my  lips  before  ; 


222  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

nor  how  difficult  I  had  found  it — how  impossible,  when  1 
came  to  those  passages  which  touched  me  most,  and  most 
nearly  concerned  me — to  sustain  the  character  1  had  as- 
sumed. It  is  enough  to  say  that  I  replaced  in  the  clock- 
case  the  record  of  so  many  trials — sorrowfully,  it  is  true, 
but  with  a  softened  sorrow  which  was  almost  pleasure  ;  and 
felt  that  in  living  through  the  past  again,  and  communica- 
ting to  others  the  lessen  it  had  helped  to  teach  me,  I  had 
been  a  happier  man. 

We  lingered  so  long  over  the  leaves  from  which  I  had 
read,  that  as  I  consigned  them  to  their  former  resting-place, 
the  hand  of  my  trusty  clock  pointed  to  twelve,  and  there 
came  toward  us  upon  the  wind  the  voice  cf  the  deep  and 
distant  bell  of  St.  Paul's  as  it  struck  the  hour  of  midnight. 

"  This,"  said  I,  returning  with  a  manuscript  I  had  taken, 
at  the  moment,  from  the  same  repository,  "  to  be  opened  to 
such  music,  should  be  a  tale  where  London's  face  by  night 
is  darkly  seen,  and  where  some  deed  of  such  a  time  as  this 
is  dimly  shadowed  out.  Which  of  us  here  has  seen  the 
working  of  that  great  machine  whose  voice  has  just  now 
ceased  ? " 

Mr.  Pickwick  had,  of  course,  and  so  had  Mr.  Miles.  Jack 
and  my  deaf  friend  were  in  the  minority. 

I  had  seen  it  but  a  few  days  before,  and  could  not  help 
telling  them  of  the  fancy  I  had  had  about  it. 

I  paid  my  fee  of  twopence  upon  entering,  to  one  of  the 
money-changers  who  sit  within  the  Temple  ;  and  falling, 
after  a  few  turns  up  and  down,  into  the  quiet  train  of  thought 
which  such  a  place  awakens,  paced  the  echoing  stones  like 
some  old  monk  whose  present  world  lay  all  within  its  walls. 
As  I  looked  afar  up  into  the  lofty  dome,  1  could  not  help 
wondering  what  were  his  reflections  whose  genius  reared 
that  mighty  pile,  when,  the  last  small  wedge  of  timber  fixed, 
the  last  nail  driven  into  its  home  for  many  centuries,  the 
clang  of  hammers,  and  the  hum  of  busy  voices  gone,  and 
the  great  silence  whole  years  of  noise  had  helped  to  make, 
reigning  undisturbed  around,  he  mused  as  I  did  now,  upon 
his  work,  and  lost  himself  amid  its  vast  extent.  I  could  not 
quite  determine  whether  the  contemplation  of  it  would  im- 
press him  with  a  sense  of  greatness  or  of  insignificance  ;  but 
when  I  remembered  how  long  a  time  it  had  taken  to  erect, 
in  how  short  a  space  it  might  be  traversed  even  to  its  re- 
motest parts,  for  how  brief  a  term  he  or  any  of  those  who 
cared  to  bear  his  name,  would  live  to  see  it  or  know  of  its 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  223 

existence,  I  imagined  him  far  more  melancholy  than  proud, 
and  looking  with  regret  upon  his  labor  done.  With  these 
thoughts  in  my  mind,  I  began  to  ascend,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  several  wonders  of 
the  building,  and  found  myself  before  a  barrier  where  an- 
other money-taker  sat,  who  demanded  which  among  them  I 
would  choose  to  see.  There  were  the  stone-gallery,  he  said, 
and  the  whispering  gallery,  the  geometrical  staircase,  the 
room  of  models,  the  clock — the  clock  being  quite  in  my 
way,  I  stopped  him  there,  and  chose  that  sight  from  all  the 
rest. 

I  groped  my  way  into  the  turret  which  it  occupies,  and  saw 
before  me,  in  a  kind  of  loft,  what  seemed  to  be  a  great,  old 
oaken  press  with  folding  doors.  These  being  thrown  back  by 
the  attendant  (who  was  sleeping  when  I  came  upon  him), 
and  looked  a  drowsy  fellow,  as  though  his  close  companion- 
ship with  time  had  made  him  quite  indifferent  to  it),  dis- 
closed a  complicated  crowd  of  wheels  and  chains  in  iron 
and  brass — great,  sturdy,  rattling  engines — suggestive  of 
breaking  a  finger  put  in  here  or  there,  and  grinding  the 
bone  to  powder — and  these  were  the  clock  !  Its  very  pulse, 
if  I  may  use  the  word,  was  like  no  other  clock.  It  did  not 
mark  the  flight  of  every  moment  with  a  gentle  second  stroke, 
as  though  it  would  check  old  Time,  and  have  him  stay  his 
pace  in  pity,  but  measured  it  with  one  sledge-hammer  beat, 
as  if  its  business  were  to  crush  the  seconds  as  they  came 
trooping  on,  and  remorselessly  to  clear  a  path  before  the 
Day  of  Judgment. 

I  sat  down  opposite  to  it,  and  hearing  its  regular  and 
never-changing  voice,  that  one  deep  constant  note,  upper- 
most among  all  the  noise  and  clatter  in  the  streets  below — 
marking  that,  let  that  tumult  rise  or  fall,  go  on  or  stop — let 
it  be  night  or  noon,  to-morrow  or  to-day,  this  year  or  next 
— it  still  performed  its  functions  with  the  same  dull  con- 
stancy, and  regulated  the  progress  of  the  life  around,  the 
fancy  came  upon  me  that  this  was  London's  heart,  and 
that  when  it  should  cease  to  beat,  the  city  would  bt  no 
more. 

It  is  night.  Calm  and  unmoved  amidst  the  scenes  that 
darkness  favors,  the  great  heart  of  London  throbs  in  its 
giant  breast.  Wealth  and  beggary,  vice  and  virtue,  guilt  and 
innocence,  repletion  and  the  direst  hunger,  all  treading  on 
each  other  and  crowding  together,  are  gathered  around  it. 
Draw  but  a  little  circle  above  the  clustering  house-tops,  and 


£24  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

you  shall  have  within  its  spaces  every  thing,  with  its  opposite 
extreme  and  contradiction,  close  beside.  Where  yonder 
feeble  light  is  shining,  a  man  is  but  this  moment  dead.  The 
taper  at  a  few  yards'  distance  is  seen  by  eyes  that  have  this 
instant  opened  on  the  world.  There  are  two  houses  separated 
by  but  an  inch  or  two  of  wall  In  one,  there  are  quiet 
minds  at  rest  ;  in  the  other,  a  waking  conscience  that  one 
might  think  would  trouble  the  very  air.  In  that  close  corner 
where  the  roofs  shrink  down  and  cower  together  as  if  to 
hide  their  secrets  from  the  handsome  street  hard  by,  there 
are  such  dark  crimes,  such  miseries  and  horrors,  as  could 
be  hardly  told  in  whispers.  In  the  handsome  street,  there 
are  folks  asleep  who  have  dwelt  there  all  their  lives,  and 
have  no  more  knowledge  of  these  things  than  if  they  had 
never  been,  or  were  transacted  at  the  remotest  limits  of  the 
world — who,  if  they  were  hinted  at,  would  shake  their 
heads,  look  wise,  and  frown,  and  say  they  were  impossible 
and  out  of  nature — as  if  all  great  towns  were  not.  Does 
not  this  heart  of  London,  that  nothing  moves,  nor  stops,  nor 
quickens — that  goes  on  the  same  let  what  will  be  done- 
does  it  not  express  the  city's  character  well ! 

The  day  begins  to  break,  and  soon  there  is  the  hum  and 
noise  of  life.  Those  who  have  spent  the  night  on  door-steps 
and  cold  stones  crawl  off  to  beg ;  they  who  have  slept  in 
beds  come  forth  to  their  occupation,  too,  and  business  is 
astir.  The  fog  of  sleep  rolls  slowly  off,  and  London  shines 
awake.  The  streets  are  filled  with  carriages,  and  people 
gayly  clad.  The  jails  are  full,  too,  to  the  throat,  nor  have  the 
work-houses  or  hospitals  much  room  to  spare.  The  courts  of 
law  are  crowded.  Taverns  have  their  regular  frequenters  by 
this  time,  and  every  mart  of  traffic  has  its  throng.  Each  of 
these  places  is  a  world,  and  has  its  own  inhabitants  ;  each  is 
distinct  from,  and  almost  unconscious  of  the  existence 
of  any  other.  There  are  some  few  people  well  to  do,  who 
remember  to  have  heard  it  said,  that  numbers  of  men  and 
women — thousands,  they  think  it  was — get  up  in  London 
every  day,  unknowing  where  to  lay  their  heads  at  night  : 
and  there  are  quarters  of  the  town  where  misery  and  famine 
always  are.  They  don't  believe  it  quite— there  may  be 
some  truth  in  it,  but  it  is  exaggerated,  of  course^  So,  each 
of  these  thousand  worlds  goes  on,  intent  upon  itself,  until 
night  comes  again — first  with  its  lights  and  pleasures,  and 
cheerful  streets  ;   then  with  its  guilt  and  darkness. 

Heart  of  London,  there  is  a  moral  in  thy  every  stroke !  as 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  225 

I  look  on  at  thy  indomitable  working,  which  neither  death,  nor 
press  of  life,  nor  grief,  nor  gladness  out  of  doors  will  in- 
fluence one  jot.  I  seem  to  hear  a  voice  within  thee  which 
sinks  into  my  heart,  bidding  me,  as  I  elbow  my  way  among 
the  crowd,  have  some  thought  for  the  meanest  wretch  that 
passes,  and,  being  a  man,  to  turn  away  with  scorn  and  pride 
from  none  that  bear  the  human  shape. 

I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  I  might  not  have  been  tempted 
to  enlarge  upon  the  subject,  had  not  the  papers  that  lay  be- 
fore me  on  the  table  been  a  silent  reproach  for  even  this 
digression.  I  took  them  up  again  when  I  had  got  thus  far, 
and  seriously  prepared  to  read. 

The  handwriting  was  strange  to  me,  for  the  manuscript  had 
been  fairly  copied.  As  it  is  against  our  rules,  in  such  a  case, 
to  inquire  into  the  authorship  until  the  reading  is  concluded,  I 
could  only  glance  at  the  different  faces  round  me,  in  search  of 
some  expression  which  should  betray  the  writer.  Whoever  he 
might  be,  he  was  prepared  for  this,  and  gave  no  sign  for  my 
enlightenment. 

I  had  the  papers  in  my  hand,  when  my  deaf  friend  inter- 
posed with  a  suggestion. 

"  It  has  occurred  to  me,"  he  said,  "bearing  in  mind  your 
sequel  to  the  tale  we  have  finished,  that  if  such  of  us  as  have 
any  thing  to  relate  of  our  own  lives  could  interweave  it  with 
our  contribution  to  the  clock,  it  would  be  well  to  do  so. 
This  need  be  no  restraint  upon  us,  either  as  to  time,  or  place, 
or  incident,  since  any  real  passage  of  this  kind  may  be  sur- 
rounded by  fictitious  circumstances,  and  represented  by  fic- 
titious characters.  What  if  we  make  this  an  article  of  agree- 
ment among  ourselves  ? " 

The  proposition  was  cordially  received,  but  the  difficulty 
appeared  to  be  that  here  was  a  long  story  written  before  we 
had  thought  of  it. 

"  Unless,"  said  I,  "  it  should  have  happened  that  the 
writer  of  this  tale — which  is  not  impossible,  for  men  are  apt 
to  do  so  when  they  .write— has  actually  mingled  with  it 
something  of  his  own  endurance  and  experience." 

Nobody  spoke,  but  I  thought  I  detected  in  one  quarter 
that  this  was  really  the  case. 

"  If  I  have  no  assurance  to  the  contrary,"  I  added,  there- 
fore, "  I  shall  take  it  for  granted  that  he  has  done  so,  and  that 
even  these  papers  come  within  our  new  agreement.  Every 
body  being  mute,  we  hold  that  understanding,  if  you  please.'' 


226  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

And  there  I  was  about  to  begin  again,  when  Jack  informed 
us  softly,  that  during  the  progress  of  our  late  narative,  Mr. 
Weller's  Watch  had  adjourned  its  sittings  from  the  kitchen, 
and  regularly  met  outside  our  door,  where  he  had  no  doubt 
that  august  body  would  be  found  at  the  present  moment. 
As  this  was  for  the  convenience  of  listening  to  our  stories, 
he  submitted  that  they  might  be  suffered  to  come  in,  and 
hear  them  more  pleasantly. 

To  this  we  one  and  all  yielded  a  ready  assent,  and  the 
party  being  discovered,  as  Jack  had  supposed,  and  invited 
to  walk  in,  entered  (though  not  without  great  confusion  at 
having  been  detected),  and  were  accommodated  with  chairs  at 
a  little  distance. 

Then,  the  lamp  being  trimmed,  the  fire  well  stirred  and 
burning  brightly,  the  hearth  clean  swept,  the  curtains  closely 
drawn,  the  clock  wound  up,  we  entered  on  our  new  story, — 
Barnaby  Rudge. 


[This  is,  as  indicated,  the  last  appearance  of  Master  Humphrey's  Clock.  It  forms  the 
conclusion  of  Barnaby  Rudge.] 

It  is  again  midnight.  My  fire  burns  cheerfully  ;  the  room 
is  filled  with  my  old  friend's  sobered  voice  ;  and  I  am  left 
to  muse  upon  the  story  we  have  just  now  finished. 

It  makes  me  smile,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  to  think  if  there 
were  any  one  to  see  me  sitting  in  my  easy-chair,  my  gray 
head  hanging  down,  my  eyes  bent  thoughtfully  upon  the 
glowing  embers,  and  my  crutch — emblem  of  my  helplessness 
— lying  upon  the  hearth  at  my  feet,  how  solitary  I  should  seem. 
Yet  though  I  am  the  sole  tenant  of  this  chimney-corner, 
though  I  am  childless  and  old,  I  have  no  sense  of  loneliness 
at  this  hour  ;  but  am  the  center  of  a  silent  group  whose 
company  I  love. 

Thus  even  age  and  weakness  have  their  consolations.  If 
I  were  a  young  man,  if  I  were  more  active,  more  strongly 
bound  and  tied  to  life,  these  visionary  friends  would  shun 
me,  or  I  should  desire  to  fly  from  them.  Being  what  I  am, 
I  can  court  their  society,  and  delight  in  it  ;  and  pass  whole 
hours  in  picturing  to  myself  the  shadows  that  perchance 
flocked  every  night  into  this  chamber,  and  in  imagining  with 
pleasure  what  kind  of  interest  they  have  in  the  frail,  feeble 
mortal  who  is  its  sole  inhabitant. 

All  the  friends  I  have  ever  lost  I  find  again  among  these 
visitors.     I  love  to  fancy  their  spirits  hovering  about  me, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  227 

feeling  still  some  earthly  kindness  for  their  old  companion, 
and  watching  his  decay.  "  He  is  weaker,  he  declines  apace, 
he  draws  nearer  and  nearer  to  us,  and  will  soon  be  conscious 
of  our  existence."  What  is  there  to  alarm  me  in  this  ?  It 
is  encouragement  and  hope. 

These  thoughts  have  never  crowded  on  me  half  so  fast  as 
they  have  done  to-night.  Faces  I  had  long  forgotten  have 
become  familiar  to  me  once  again  ;  traits  I  had  endeavored 
to  recall  for  years,  have  come  before  me  in  an  instant  ; 
nothing  is  changed  but  me  ;  and  even  I  can  be  my  former 
self  at  will. 

Raising  my  eyes  but  now  to  the  face  of  my  old  clock,  I 
remember,  quite  involuntarily,  the  veneration,  not  unmixed 
with  a  sort  of  childish  awe,  with  which  I  used  to  sit 
and  watch  it  as  it  ticked  unheeded  in  a  dark  staircase 
corner.  I  recollect  looking  more  grave  and  steady  when 
I  met  its  dusty  face,  as  if,  having  that  strange  kind  of 
life  within  it,  and  being  free  from  all  excess  of  vulgar 
appetite,  and  warning  all  the  house  by  night  and  day,  it  were 
a  sage.  How  often  have  I  listened  to  it  as  it  told  the 
beads  of  time,  and  wondered  at  its  constancy  !  How  often 
watched  it  slowly  pointing  round  the  dial,  and,  while  I  panted 
for  the  eagerly  expected  hour  to  come,  admired,  despite  my- 
self, its  steadiness  of  purpose  and  lofty  freedom  from  all 
human  strife,  impatience  and  desire  ! 

I  thought  it  cruel  once.  It  was  very  hard  of  heart,  to  my 
mind,  I  remember.  It  was  an  old  servant,  even  then  ;  and  I 
felt  as  though  it  ought  to  show  some  sorrow  ;  as  though  it 
wanted  sympathy  with  us  in  our  distress,  and  were  a  dull, 
heartless,  mercenary  creature.  Ah  !  how  soon  I  learned  to 
know  that  in  its  ceaseless  going  on,  and  in  its  being  checked 
or  staid  by  nothing,  lay  its  greatest  kindness,  and  the  only 
balm  for  grief  and  wounded  peace  of  mind  ! 

To-night,  to-night,  when  this  tranquillity  and  calm  are  on 
my  spirits,  and  memory  presents  so  many  shifting  scenes  be- 
fore me,  I  take  my  quiet  stand  at  will  by  many  a  fire  that 
has  been  long  extinguished,  and  mingle  with  the  cheerful 
group  that  cluster  round  it.  If  I  could  be  sorrowful  in  such 
a  mood,  I  should  grow  sad  to  think  what  a  poor  blot  I  was 
upon  their  youth  and  beauty  once,  and  now  how  few  remain 
to  put  me  to  the  blush  ;  I  should  grow  sad  to  think  that  such 
among  them  as  I  sometimes  meet  with  in  my  daily  walks  are 
scarcely  less  infirm  than  I  ;  that  time  has  brought  us  to  a 
level  ;  and  that  all  distinctions  fade  and  vanish  as  we  take 
our  trembling  steps  toward  the  grave. 


228  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

But  memory  was  given  us  for  better  purposes  than  this, 
and  mine  is  not  a  torment,  but  a  source  of  pleasure.  To 
muse  upon  the  gayety  and  youth  I  have  known,  suggest  to 
me  glad  scenes  of  harmless  mirth  that  may  be  passing  now. 
From  contemplating  them  apart,  I  soon  become  an  actor  in 
these  little  dramas  ;  and,  humoring  my  fancy,  lose  myself 
among  the  beings  it  invokes. 

When  my  fire  is  bright  and  high,  and  a  warm  blush  man- 
tles in  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  this  ancient  room  ;  when  my 
clock  makes  cheerful  music,  like  one  of  those  chirping  in- 
sects who  delight  in  the  warm  hearth,  and  are  sometimes,  by 
a  good  superstition,  looked  upon  as  the  harbingers  of  for- 
tune and  plenty  to  that  household  in  whose  mercies  they  put 
their  humble  trust  ;  when  every  thing  is  in  a  ruddy,  genial 
glow,  and  there  are  voices  in  the  crackling  flame,  and  smiles 
in  its  flashing  light ;  other  smiles  and  other  voices  congre- 
gate around  me,  invading,  with  their  pleasant  harmony,  the 
silence  of  the  time. 

For  then  a  knot  of  youthful  creatures  gather  round  my 
fireside,  and  the  room  re-echoes  to  their  merry  voices.  My 
solitary  chair  no  longer  holds  its  ample  place  before  the  fire, 
but  it  is  wheeled  into  a  smaller  corner  to  leave  more  room 
for  the  broad  circle  formed  about  the  cheerful  hearth.  I 
have  sons,  and  daughters,  and  grandchildren  ;  and  we  are  as- 
sembled on  some  occasion  of  rejoicing  common  to  us  all.  It 
is  a  birthday,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  it  may  be  Christmas-time  ; 
but  be  it  what  it  may,  there  is  rare  holiday  among  us  ;  we 
are  full  of  glee. 

In  the  chimney-corner,  opposite  myself,  sits  one  who  has 
grown  old  beside  me.  She  is  changed,  of  course  ;  much 
changed  ;  and  yet  I  recognize  the  girl  even  in  that  gray  hair 
and  wrinkled  brow.  Glancing  from  the  laughing  child  who 
half  hides  in  her  ample  skirts,  and  half  peeps  out — and  from 
her  to  the  little  matron  of  twelve  years  old,  who  sits  so  wo- 
manly and  so  demure  at  no  great  distance  from  me — and 
from  her  again,  to  a  fair  girl  in  the  full  bloom  of  early  wo- 
manhood, the  center  of  the  group,  who  has  glanced  more 
than  once  toward  the  opening  door,  and  by  whom  the  chil- 
dren, whispering  and  tittering  among  themselves,  will  leave 
a  vacant  chair,  although  she  bids  them  not — I  see  her  image 
thrice  repeated,  and  feel  how  long  it  is  before  one  form  and 
set  of  features  wholly  pass  away,  if  ever,  from  among  the  liv- 
ing. While  I  am  dwelling  upon  this,  and  tracing  out  the 
gradual  change  from  infancy  to  youth,  from  youth  to  per- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  229 

feet  growth,  from  that  to  age  ;  and  thinking,  with  an  old 
man's  pride,  that  she  is  comely  yet ;  I  feel  a  slight,  thin  hand 
upon  my  arm,  and,  looking  down,  see  seated  at  my  feet  a 
crippled  boy — a  gentle,  patient  child — whose  aspect  I  know 
well.  He  rests  upon  a  little  crutch — I  know  it  too — and 
leaning  on  it  as  he  climbs  my  footstool,  whispers  in  my  ear, 
"  I  am  hardly  one  of  these,  dear  grandfather,  although  I 
love  them  dearly.  They  are  very  kind  to  me,  but  you  will 
be  kinder  still,  1  know." 

I  have  my  hand  upon  his  neck,  and  stoop  to  kiss  him, 
when  my  clock  strikes,  my  chair  is  in  its  old  spot,  and  I  am 
alone. 

What  if  I  be  ?  What  if  this  fireside  be  tenantless,  save  for 
the  presence  of  one  weak  old  man  ?  From  my  house-top  I  can 
look  upon  a  hundred  homes,  in  every  one  of  which  these  social 
companions  are  matters  of  reality.  In  my  daily  walks  I  pass  a 
thousand  men  whose  cares  are  all  forgotten,  whose  labors  aie 
made  light,  whose  dull  routine  of  work  from  day  to  day  is 
cheered  and  brightened  by  their  glimpses  of  domestic  joy  at 
home.  Amid  the  struggles  of  this  struggling  townwhat  cheerful 
sacrifices  arc  made  ;  what  toil  endured  with  readiness  ;  what 
patience  shown  and  fortitude  displayed  for  the  mere  sake  of 
home  and  its  affections  !  Let  me  thank  heaven  that  I  can  peo~ 
pie  my  fireside  with  shadows  such  as  these  ;  with  shadows  of 
bright  objects  that  exist  in  crowds  about  me  ;  and  let  me 
say,  "  I  am  alone  no  more." 

I  never  was  less  so — I  write  it  with  a  grateful  heart — than 
I  am  to-night.  Recollections  of  the  past  and  visions  of  the 
present  come  to  bear  me  company  ;  the  meanest  man  to 
whom  I  have  ever  given  alms  appears  to  add  his  mite  of 
peace  and  comfort  to  my  stock  ;  and  whenever  the  fire 
within  me  shall  grow  cold,  to  light  my  path  upon  this  earth 
no  more,  I  pray  that  it  may  be  at  such  an  hour  as  this,  and 
when  I  love  the  world  as  well  as  I  do  now. 

THE    DEAF   GENTLEMAN    FROM    HIS   OWN    APARTMENT. 

Our  dear  friend  laid  down  his  pen  at  the  end  of  the  fore- 
going  paragraph,  to  take  it  up  no  more.  I  little  thought  ever 
to  employ  mine  upon  so  sorrowful  a  task  as  that  which  he 
has  left  me,  and  to  which  I  now  devote  it. 

As  he  did  not  appear  among  us  at  his  usual  hour  next 
morning,  we  knocked  gently  at  his  door.  No  answer  being 
given,   it  was  softly  opened  ;  and  then,  to  our  surprise,  we 


230  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

saw  him  seated  before  the  ashes  of  his  fire,  with  a  little 
table  I  was  accustomed  to  set  at  his  elbow  when  I  left  him 
for  the  night,  at  a  short  distance  from  him,  as  though  he  had 
pushed  it  away  with  the  idea  of  rising  and  retiring  to  his 
bed.  His  crutch  and  footstool  lay  at  his  feet  as  usual,  and 
he  was  dressed  in  his  chamber-gown,  which  he  had  put  on 
before  I  left  him.  He  was  reclining  in  his  chair,  in  his  ac- 
customed posture,  with  his  face  toward  the  fire,  and  seemed 
absorbed  in  meditation — indeed,  at  first,  we  almost  hoped 
he  was. 

Going  up  to  him,  we  found  him  dead.  I  have  often,  very 
often,  seen  him  sleeping,  and  always  peacefully,  but  I  never 
saw  him  look  so  calm  and  tranquil.  His  face  wore  a  se- 
rene, benign  expression,  which  had  impressed  me  very 
strongly  when  we  last  shook  hands  ;  not  that  he  had  ever 
any  other  look,  God  knows  ;  but  there  was  something  in 
this  so  very  spiritual,  so  strangely  and  indefinably  allied  to 
youth,  although  his  head  was  gray  and  venerable,  that  it 
was  new,  even  in  him.  It  came  upon  me  all  at  once,  when, 
on  some  slight  pretense,  he  called  me  back  upon  the  pre- 
vious night  to  take  me  by  the  hand  again,  and  once  more 
say,  *'  God  bless  you  !  " 

A  bell-rope  hung  within  his  reach,  but  he  had  not  moved 
toward  it,  nor  had  he  stirred,  we  all  agreed,  except,  as  I 
have  said,  to  push  away  his  table,  which  he  could  have 
done,  and  no  doubt  did,  with  a  very  slight  motion  of  his 
hand.  He  had  relapsed  for  a  moment  into  his  late  train  of 
meditation,  and,  with  a  thoughtful  smile  upon  his  face,  had 
died. 

I  had  long  known  it  to  be  his  wish  that  whenever  this 
event  should  come  to  pass  we  might  be  all  assembled  in  the 
house.  I  therefore  lost  no  time  in  sending  for  Mr.  Pickwick 
and  for  Mr.  Miles,  both  of  whom  arrived  before  the  messen- 
ger's return. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dilate  upon  the  sorrow  and  affec- 
tionate emotions  of  which  I  was  at  once  the  witness  and  the 
sharer.  But  I  may  say,  of  the  humbler'  mourners,  that  his 
faithful  housekeeper  was  fairly  heart-broken  ;  that  the  poor 
barber  would  not  be  comforted  ;  and  that  I  shall  respect  the 
homely  truth  and  warmth  of  heart  of  Mr.  Weller  and  his  son 
to  the  last  moment  of  my  life. 

"And  the  sweet  old  creetur,  sir,"  said  the  elder  Mr.  Wel- 
ler to  me  in  the  afternoon,  "  has  bolted.  Him  as  had  no  wice, 
and  was  so  free  from  temper  that  a  infant  might  ha'  drove 


.MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  231 

him,  has  been  took  at  last  with  that  'ere  unawoidable  fit  o' 
staggers  as  we  all  must  come  to,  and  gone  off  his  feed  for- 
ever !  I  see  him,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  moisture 
in  his  eye,  which  could  not  be  mistaken, — "  I  see  him  gettin', 
every  journey,  more  and  more  groggy  ;  I  says  to  Samivel, 
1  My  boy  !  the  Gray's  a-goin'  at  the  knees  ; '  and  now  my 
predictions  is  fatally  werified,  and  him  as  I  could  never  do 
enough  to  serve  or  show  my  likin'  for,  is  up  the  great  uni- 
wersal  spout  o'  natur'." 

I  was  not  the  less  sensible  of  the  old  man's  attachment 
because  he  expressed  it  in  his  peculiar  manner.  Indeed,  I 
can  truly  assert,  of  both  him  and  his  son,  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  extraordinary  dialogues  they  held  together,  and  the 
strange  commentaries  and  corrections  with  which  each  of 
them  illustrated  the  other's  speech,  I  do  not  think  it  possible 
to  exceed  the  sincerity  of  their  regret  ;  and  that  I  am  sure 
their  thoughtfulness  and  anxiety  in  anticipating  the  discharge 
of  many  little  offices  of  sympathy,  would  have  done  honor 
to  the  most  delicate-minded  persons. 

Our  friend  had  frequently  told  us  that  his  will  would  be 
found  in  a  box  in  the  clock-case,  the  key  of  which  was  in 
his  writing-desk.  As  he  had  told  us  also  that  he  desired  it 
to  be  opened  immediately  after  his  death,  whenever  that 
should  happen,  we  met  together  that  night  for  the  fulfillment 
of  his  request. 

We  found  it  where  he  had  told  us,  wrapped  in  a  sealed 
paper,  and  with  it  a  codicil  of  recent  date,  in  which  he  named 
Mr.  Miles  and  Mr.  Pickwick  his  executors — as  having  no  need 
of  any  greater  benefit  from  his  estate,  than  a  generous  token 
(which  he  bequeathed  to  them)  of  his  friendship  and  re- 
membrance. 

After  pointing  out  the  spot  in  which  he  wished  his  ashes 
to  repose,  he  gave  to  "  his  dear  old  friends,"  Jack  Redburn 
and  myself,  his  house,  his  books,  his  furniture — in  short, 
all  that  his  house  contained  ;  and  with  this  legacy  more 
ample  means  of  maintaining  it  in  its  present  state  than  we 
with  our  habits  and  at  our  terms  of  life,  can  ever  exhaust. 
Besides  these  gifts,  he  left  us,  in  trust,  an  annual  sum  of  no 
insignificant  amount,  to  be  distributed  in  charity  among  his 
accustomed  pensionors — they  are  a  long  list — and  such 
other  claimants  on  his  bounty  as  might  from  time  to  time 
present  themselves.  And  as  true  charity  not  only  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins,  but  includes  a  multitude  of  virtues,  such 
as  forgiveness,  liberal  construction,  gentleness  and  mercy  to 


232  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

the  faults  of  others,  and  the  remembrance  of  our  own  im- 
perfections and  advantages,  he  bade  us  not  inquire  too  closely 
into  the  venial  errors  of  the  poor,  but  finding  that  they  were 
poor,  first  to  relieve  and  then  endeavor — at  an  advantage — 
to  reclaim  them. 

To  the  housekeeper  he  left  an  annuity,  sufficient  for  her 
comfortable  maintenance  and  support  through  bfe.  For  the 
barber,  who  had  attended  him  many  years,  he  made  a  simi- 
lar provision.  And  I  may  make  two  remarks  in  this  place  : 
first,  that  I  think  this  pair  are  very  likely  to  club  their  means 
together  and  make  a  match  of  it ;  and  secondly,  that  I  think 
my  friend  had  this  result  in  his  mind,  for  I  have  heard  him 
say,  more  than  once,  that  he  could  not  concur  with  the  gen- 
erality of  mankind  in  censuring  equal  marriages  made  in 
later  life,  since  there  were  many  cases  in  which  such  unions 
could  not  fail  to  be  a  wise  and  rational  source  of  happiness 
to  both  parties. 

The  elder  Mr.  Weller  is  so  far  from  viewing  this  prospect 
with  any  feelings  of  jealousy,  that  he  appears  to  be  very 
much  relieved  by  its  contemplation  ;  and  his  son,  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  participates  in  this  feeling.  We  are  all  of 
opinion,  however,  that  the  old  gentleman's  danger,  even  at 
its  crisis,  was  very  slight,  and  that  he  merely  labored  under 
one  of  those  transitory  weaknesses  to  which  persons- of  his 
temperament  are  now  and  then  liable,  and  which  become 
less  and  less  alarming  at  every  return,  until  they  wholly  sub- 
side. I  have  no  doubt  he  will  remain  a  jolly  old  widower 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  as  he  has  already  inquired  of  me, 
with  much  gravity,  whether  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  would 
enable  him  to  settle  his  property  upon  Tony  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  recall  ;  and  has,  in  my  presence,  conjured  his  son, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  in  the  event  of  his  ever  becoming 
amorous  again,  he  will  put  him  in  a  strait-waistcoat  until  the 
fit  is  passed,  and  distinctly  inform  that  lady  that  his  property 
is  "  made  over." 

Although  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  Sam  would  duti- 
fully comply  with  these  injunctions  in  a  case  of  extreme 
necessity,  and  that  he  would  do  so  with  perfect  composure 
and  coolness,  I  do  not  apprehend  things  will  ever  come  to 
that  pass,  as  the  old  gentleman  seems  perfectly  happy  in  the 
society  of  his  son,  his  pretty  daughter-in-law,  and  his  grand- 
children, and  has  solemnly  announced  his  determination  to 
'take  arter  the  old  'un  in  all  respects  ;  "  from  which  I  infer 
that  it  is  his  intention  to  regulate  his  conduct  by  the  model 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  233 

of  Mr.  Pickwick,  who  will  certainly  set  him  the  example  of 
a  single  life. 

I  have  diverged  for  a  moment  from  the  subject  with  which 
I  set  out,  for  I  know  that  my  friend  was  interested  in  these 
little  matters,  and  I  have  a  natural  tendency  to  linger  upon 
any  topic  that  occupied  his  thoughts  or  gave  him^  pleasure 
and  amusement.  His  remaining  wishes  are  very  briefly  told. 
He  desired  that  we  would  make  him  the  frequent  subject  of 
our  conversation  ;  at  the  same  time,  that  we  would  never 
speak  of  him  with  an  air  of  gloom  or  restraint,  but  frankly, 
and  as  one  whom  we  still  loved  and  hoped  to  meet  again. 
He  trusted  that  the  old  house  would  wear  no  aspect  of 
mourning,  but  that  it  would  be  lively  and  cheerful ;  and  that 
we  would  not  remove  or  cover  up  his  picture,  which  hangs 
in  our  dining-room,  but  make  it  our  companion  as  he  had 
been.  His  own  room,  or  place  of  meeting,  remains,  at  his 
desire,  in  its  accustomed  state  ;  our  seats  are  placed  about 
the  table  as  of  old  ;  his  easy-chair,  his  desk,  his  crutch,  his 
footstool,  hold  their  accustomed  places,  and  the  clock  stands 
in  its  familiar  corner.  We  go  into  the  chamber  at  stated 
times  to  see  that  all  is  as  it  should  be,  and  to  take  care  that 
the  light  and  air  are  not  shut  out,  for  on  that  point  he  ex- 
pressed a  strong  solicitude.  But  it  was  his  fancy  that  the 
apartment  should  not  be  inhabited  ;  that  it  should  be  relig- 
iously preserved  in  this  condition,  and  that  the  voice  of  his 
old  companion  should  be  heard  no  more. 

My  own  history  may  be  summed  up  in  a  very  few  words;  and 
even  those  I  should  have  spared  the  reader  but  for  my  friend's 
allusion  to  me  some  time  since.  I  have  no  deeper  sorrow  than 
the  loss  of  a  child — an  only  daughter,  who  is  living,  and  who 
fled  from  her  father's  house  but  a  few  weeks  before  our  friend 
and  I  first  met.  I  had  never  spoken  of  this  even  to  him,  be- 
cause I  have  always  loved  her,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  tell  him 
of  her  error  until  I  could  tell  him  also  of  her  sorrow  and  re- 
gret. Happily  I  was  enabled  to  do  so  some  time  ago.  And 
it  will  not  be  long,  with  heaven's  leave,  before  she  is  restored 
to  me  ;  before  I  find  in  her  and  her  husband  the  support  of 
my  declining  years. 

For  my  pipe,  it  is  an  old  relic  of  home,  a  thing  of  no  great 
worth,  a  poor  trifle,  but  sacred  to  me  for  her  sake. 

Thus,  since  the  death  of  our  venerable  friend,  Jack  Red- 
burn  and  I  have  been  the  sole  tenants  of  the  old  house  ;  and 
day  by  day  have  lounged  together  in  his  favorite  walks. 
Mindful  of  his  injunctions,  we  have  long  been  able  to  speak 


234  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

of  him  with  ease  and  cheerfulness,  and  to  remember  him  as 
he  would  be  remembered.  From  certain  allusions  which 
Jack  has  dropped,  to  his  having  been  deserted  and  cast  off 
in  early  life,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  some  passages  of 
his  youth  may  possibly  be  shadowed  out  in  the  history  of 
Mr.  Chester  and  his  son,  but  seeing  that  he  avoids  the  sub- 
ject, I  have  not  pursued  it. 

My  task  is  done.  The  chamber  in  which  we  have  whiled 
away  so  many  hours,  not,  I  hope,  without  some  pleasure  and 
some  profit,  is  deserted  ;  our  happy  hour  of  meeting  strikes 
no  more;  the  chimney-corner  has  grown  cold  ;  and  Master 
Humphrey's  Clock  has  stopped  forever. 


FULL   REPORT 

OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING  OF  THE  MUDFOG 
ASSOCIATION  FOR  THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF 
EVERY  THING. 

We  have  made  the  most  unparalleled  and  extraordinary 
exertions  to  place  before  our  readers  a  complete  and  accu- 
rate account  of  the  proceedings  at  the  late  grand  meeting  of 
the  Mudfog  Association,  holden  in  the  town  of  Mudfog  ;  it 
affords  us  great  happiness  to  lay  the  result  before  them,  in 
the  shape  of  various  communications  received  from  our  able, 
talented,  and  graphic  correspondent,  expressly  sent  down 
for  the  purpose,  who  has  immortalized  us,  himself,  Mudfog, 
and  the  association,  all  at  one  and  the  same  time.  We  have 
been,  indeed,  for  some  days  unable  to  determine  who  will 
transmit  the  greatest  name  to  posterity — ourselves,  who  sent 
our  correspondent  down  ;  our  correspondent,  who  wrote  an 
account  of  the  matter  ;  or  the  association,  who  gave  our 
correspondent  something  to  write  about.  We  rather'incline 
to  the  opinion  that  we  are  the  greatest  man  of  the  party,  in- 
asmuch, as  the  notion  of  an  exclusive  and  authentic  report 
originated  with  us  ;  this  may  be  prejudice  ;  it  may  arise 
from  a  prepossession  on  our  part  in  our  own  favor.  Be  it  so. 
We  have  no  doubt  that  every  gentleman  concerned  in  this 
mighty  assemblage  is  troubled  with  the  same  complaint  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree  ;  and  it  is  a  consolation  to  us  to  know 
that  we  have  at  least  this  feeling  in  common  with  the  great 
scientific  stars,  the  brilliant  and  extraordinary  luminaries, 
whose  speculations  we  record. 

We  give  our  correspondent's  letters  in  the  order  in  which 
they  reached  us.  Any  attempt  at  amalgamating  them  into 
one  beautiful  whole  would  only  destroy  that  glowing  tone, 
that  dash  of  wildness,  and  rich  vein  of  picturesque  interest, 
which  pervade  them  throughout. 

"  Mudfog,  Monday  night,  seven  o'clock.  _ 

"  We  are  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  here,     Nothing  is 


236  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

spoken  of  but  the  approaching  meeting  of  the  association. 
The  inn-doors  are  thronged  with  waiters  anxiously  looking 
for  the  expected  arrivals  ;  and  the  numerous  bills  which  are 
wafered  up  in  the  windows  of  private  houses,  intimating  that 
there  are  beds  to  let  within,  give  the  streets  a  very  animated 
and  cheerful  appearance,  the  wafers  being  of  a  great  variety 
of  colors,  and  the  monotony  of  printed  inscriptions  being 
relieved  by  every  possible  size  and  style  of  handwriting.  It 
is  confidently  rumored  that  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and 
Wheezy  have  engaged  three  beds  and  a  sitting-room  at  the 
Pig  and  Tinder-Box.  I  give  you  the  rumor  as  it  has  reached 
me  ;  but  I  can  not,  as  yet,  vouch  for  its  accuracy.  The 
moment  I  have  been  enabled  to  obtain  any  certain  infor- 
mation upon  this  interesting  point,  you  may  depend  upon 
receiving  it." 

"  Half-past  seven. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  a  personal  interview  with  the 
landlord  of  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box.  He  speaks  confidently 
of  the  probability  of  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy 
taking  up  their  residence  at  his  house  during  the  sitting  of 
the  association,  but  denies  that  the  beds  have  been  yet 
engaged  ;  in  which  representation  he  is  confirmed  by  the 
chambermaid — a  girl  of  artless  manners,  and  interesting 
appearance.  The  boots  denies  that  it  is  at  all  likely  that 
Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  will  put  up  here  ;  but 
I  have  reason  to  believe  that  this  man  has  been  suborned  by 
the  proprietor  of  the  Original  Pig,  which  is  the  opposition 
hotel.  Amidst  such  conflicting  testimony  it  is  difficult  to 
arrive  at  the  real  truth  ;  but  you  may  depend  upon  receiving 
authentic  information  upon  this  point  the  moment  the  fact 
is  ascertained.  The  excitement  still  continues.  A  boy  fell 
through  the  window  of  the  pastry-cook's  shop  at  the  corner 
of  the  high  street  about  an  hour  ago,  which  has  occasioned 
much  confusion.  The  general  impression  is  that  it  was  an 
accident.     Pray  heaven  it  may  prove  so  !  " 

"  Tuesday,  noon. 

"  At  an  early  hour  this  morning  the  bells  of  all  the 
churches  struck  seven  o'clock ;  the  effect  of  which,  in  the 
present  lively  state  of  the  town,  was  extremely  singular. 
While  I  was  at  breakfast,  a  yellow  gig,  drawn  by  a  dark  gray 
horse,  with  a  patch  of  white  over  his  right  eyelid,  proceeded 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  237 

at  a  rapid  pace  in  the  direction  of  the  Original  Pig  stables  ; 
it  is  currently  reported  that  this  gentleman  has  arrived  here 
for  the  purpose  of  attending  the  association,  and,  from  what 
I  have  heard,  I  consider  it  extremely  probable,  although 
nothing  decisive  is  yet  known  regarding  him.  You  may  con- 
ceive the  anxiety  with  which  we  are  all  looking  forward  to 
the  arrival  of  the  four  o'clock  coach  this  afternoon. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  excited  state  of  the  populace,  no 
outrage  has  yet  been  committed,  owing  to  the  admirable 
discipline  and  discretion  of  the  police,  who  are  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  A  barrel-organ  is  playing  opposite  my  window,  and 
groups  of  people,  offering  fish  and  vegetables  for  sale,  parade 
the  streets.  With  these  exceptions  every  thing  is  quiet  and 
I  trust  will  continue  so." 

"  Five  o'clock. 

"  It  is  now  ascertained  beyond  all  doubt  that  Professors 
Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  will  not  repair  to  the  Pig  and 
Tinder-Box  but  have  actually  engaged  apartments  at  the 
Original  Pig.  This  intelligence  is  exclusive;  and  I  leave 
you  and  your  readers  to  draw  their  own  inferences  from  it. 
Why  Professor  Wheezy,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  should 
repair  to  the  Original  Pig  in  preference  to  the  Pig  and 
Tinder-Box,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive.  The  professor  is  a 
man  who  should  be  above  all  such  petty  feelings.  Some 
people  here  openly  impute  treachery  and  a  distinct  breach  of 
faith  to  Professors  Snore,  and  Doze  ;  while  others,  again,  are 
disposed  to  acquit  them  of  any  culpability  in  the  transaction, 
and  to  insinuate  that  the  blame  rests  solely  with  Professor 
Wheezy.  I  own  that  I  incline  to  the  latter  opinion  ;  and, 
although  it  gives  me  great  pain  to  speak  in  terms  of  censure 
or  disapprobation  of  a  man  of  such  transcendent  genius  and 
acquirements,  still  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  if  my  suspicions 
be  well  founded,  and  if  all  the  reports  which  have  reached 
my  ears  be  true,  I  really  do  not  well  know  what  to  make  of 
the  matter. 

"  Mr.  Slug,  so  celebrated  for  his  statistical  researches, 
arrived  this  afternoon  by  the  four  o'clock  stage.  His  com- 
plexion is  a  dark  purple,  and  he  has  a  habit  of  sighing  con- 
stantly. He  looked  extremely  well,  and  appeared  in  high 
health  and  spirits.  Mr.  Woodensconse  also  came  down  in 
the  same  conveyance.  The  distinguished  gentleman  was 
fast  asleep  on  his  arrival,  and  I  am  informed  by  the  guard 
that  he  had  been  so,  the  whole  way.     He  was,  no  doubt, 


23%  THE  IflUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

preparing  for  his  approaching  fatigues  ;  but  what  gigantic 
visions  must  those  be  that  flit  through  the  brain  of  such  a 
man  when  his  body  is  in  a  state  of  torpidity  ! 

"  The  influx  of  visitors  increases  every  moment.  I  am  told 
(I  know  not  how  truly)  that  two  post-chaises  have  arrived  at 
the  Original  Pig  within  the  last  half-hour  ;  and  I  myself  ob- 
served a  wheelbarrow,  containing  three  carpet-bags  and  a 
bundle,  entering  the  yard  of  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box  no 
longer  ago  than  rive  minutes  since.  The  people  are  still  qui- 
etly pursuing  their  ordinary  occupations  ;  but  there  is  a  wild- 
ness  m  their  eyes,  and  an  unwonted  rigidity  in  the  muscles 
of  their  countenances,  which  shows  to  the  observant  spec- 
tator that  their  expectations  are  strained  to  the  very  utmost 
pitch.  I  fear,  unless  some  very  extraordinary  arrivals  take 
place  to-night,  that  consequences  may  arise  from  this  pop- 
ular ferment,  which  every  man  of  sense  and  feeling  would 
deplore." 

a  Twenty  minutes  past  six. 

"  I  have  just  heard  that  the  boy  who  fell  through  the  pastry- 
cook's window  last  night  has  died  of  the  fright.  He  was 
suddenly  called  upon  to  pay  three-and-sixpence  for  the 
damage  done,  and  his  constitution,  it  seems,  was  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  up  under  the  shock.  The  inquest,  it  is  said, 
will  be  held  to-morrow." 

"  Three-quarters  past  seven. 

"  Professors  Muff  and  Xogo  have  just  driven  up  to  the 
hotel  door  ;  they  at  once  ordered  dinner  with  great  conde- 
scension. We  are  all  very  much  delighted  with  the  urban- 
ity of  their  manners,  and  the  ease  with  which  they  adapt 
themselves  to  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of  ordinary  life. 
Immediately  on  their  arrival  they  sent  for  the  head-waiter, 
and  privately  requested  him  to  purchase  a  live  dog — as 
cheap  a  one  as  he  could  meet  with — and  to  send  him  up 
after  dinner,  with  a  pie-board,  a  knife  and  fork,  and  a  clean 
plate.  It  is  conjectured  that  some  experiments  will  be  tried 
upon  the  dog  to-night ;  if  any  particulars  should  transpire  I 
will  forward  them  by  express." 

"  Half-past  eight. 

"  The  animal  has  been  procured.  He  is  a  pug-dog,  of 
rather  intelligent  appearance,  in  good   condition,  and  with 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  239 

very  short  legs.     He  has  been  tied  to  a   curtain-peg  in  a 
dark  room,  and  is  howling  dreadfully." 

"Ten  minutes  to  nine. 

"  The  dog  has  just  been  rung  for.  With  an  instinct 
which  would  appear  almost  the  result  of  reason,  the  saga- 
cious animal  seized  the  waiter  by  the  calf  of  the  leg  when 
he  approached  to  take  him,  and  made  a  desperate,  though 
ineffectual,  resistance.  I  have  not  been  able  to  procure  ad- 
mission to  the  apartment  occupied  by  the  scientific  gentle- 
men ;  but,  judging  from  the  sounds  which  reached  my  ears 
when  I  stood  upon  the  landing-place  just  now,  outside  the 
door,  I  should  be  disposed  to  say  that  the  dog  had  retreated 
growling  beneath  some  article  of  furniture,  and  was  keeping 
the  professors  at  bay.  This  conjecture  is  confirmed  by  the 
testimony  of  the  hostler,  who,  after  peeping  through  the  key- 
hole, assures  me  that  he  distinctly  saw  Professor  Nogo  on 
his  knees,  holding  forth  a  small  bottle  of  prussic  acid, 
which  the  animal,  who  was  crouched  beneath  an  arm-chair, 
obstinately  declined  to  smell.  You  can  not  imagine  the 
feverish  state  of  irritation  we  are  in,  lest  the  interests  of  sci- 
ence should  be  sacrificed  to  the  prejudices  of  a  brute  creat- 
ure, who  is  not  endowed  with  sufficient  sense  to  foresee 
the  incalculable  benefits  which  the  whole  human  race  may 
derive  from  so  very  slight  a  concession  on  his  part." 

"  Nine  o'clock. 

"  The  dog's  tail  and  ears  have  been  sent  down  stairs  to  be 
washed  ;  from  which  circumstance  we  infer  that  the  animal 
is  no  more.  His  forelegs  have  been  delivered  to  the  boots 
to  be  brushed,  which  strengthens  the  supposition." 

"  Half  after  ten. 

"  My  feelings  are  so  overpowered  by  what  has  taken  place 
in  the  course  of  the  last  hour  and  a  half,  that  I  have  scarcely 
strength  to  detail  the  rapid  succession  of  events  which  have 
quite  bewildered  all  those  who  are  cognizant  of  their  occur- 
rence. It  appears  that  the  pug-dog  mentioned  in  my  last  was 
surreptitiously  obtained — stolen,  in  fact — by  some  person  at- 
tached to  the  stable  department,  from  an  unmarried  lady  resi- 
dent in  this  town.  Frantic  on  discovering  the  loss  of  her  fa- 
vorite, the  lady  rushed  distractedly  into  the  street,  calling  in 
the  most  heart-rending  and  pathetic  manner  upon  the  pas- 


240  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

sengers  to  restore  her  her  Augustus — for  so  the  deceased  was 
named,  in  affectionate  remembrance  of  a  former  lover  of  his 
mistress,  to  whom  he  bore  a  striking  personal  resemblance, 
which  renders  the  circumstance  additionally  affecting.  I  am 
not  yet  in  a  condition  to  inform  you  what  circumstances  in- 
duced the  bereaved  lady  to  direct  her  steps  to  the  hotel  which 
had  witnessed  the  last  struggles  of  her  prot'ege.  I  can  only 
state  that  she  arrived  there,  at  the  very  instant  when  his  de- 
tached members  were  passing  through  the  passage  on  a  small 
tray.  Her  shrieks  still  reverberate  in  my  ears  !  I  grieve  to 
say  that  the  expressive  features  of  Professor  Muff  were 
much  scratched  and  lacerated  by  the  injured  lady  ;  and  that 
Professor  Nogo,  besides  sustaining  several  severe  bites,  has 
lost  some  handfuls  of  hair  from  the  same  cause.  It  must  be 
some  consolation  to  these  gentlemen  to  know  that  their 
ardent  attachment  to  scientific  pursuits  has  alone  occasioned 
these  unpleasant  consequences  ;  for  which  the  sympathy  of 
a  grateful  country  will  sufficiently  reward  them.  The  unfor- 
tunate lady  remains  at  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box,  and  up  to 
this  time  is  reported  in  a  very  precarious  state. 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  that  this  unlooked-for  catas- 
trophe has  cast  a  damp  and  gloom  upon  us  in  the  midst  of 
our  exhilaration  ;  natural  in  any  case,  but  greatly  enhanced 
in  this,  by  the  amiable  qualities  of  the  deceased  animal,  who 
appears  to  have  been  much  and  deservedly  respected  by  the 
whole  of  his  acquaintance." 

"  Twelve  o'clock. 

"  I  take  the  last  opportunity  before  sealing  my  parcel  to 
inform  you  that  the  boy  who  fell  through  the  pastry-cook's 
window  is  not  dead,  as  was  universally  believed,  but  alive 
and  well.  The  report  appears  to  have  had  its  origin  in  his 
mysterious  disappearance.  He  was  found  half  an  hour  since 
on  the  premises  of  a  sweet-stuff  maker,  where  a  raffle  had 
been  announced  for  a  second-hand  seal-skin  cap  and  a  tam- 
bourine :  and  where — a  sufficient  number  of  members  not 
having  been  obtained  at  first — he  had  patiently  waited  until 
the  list  was  completed.  This  fortunate  discovery  has  in 
some  degree  restored  our  gayety  and  cheerfulness.  It  is 
proposed  to  get  up  a  subscription  for  him  without  delay. 

"  Every  body  is  nervously  anxious  to  see  what  to-morrow 
will  bring  forth.  If  any  one  should  arrive  in  the  course  of 
the  night,  I  have  left  strict  directions  to  be  called  imme* 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  244 

diately.     I  should    have  sat   up,   indeed,  but  the    agitating 
events  of  this  day  have  been  too  much  for  me. 

"  No  news,  yet,  of  either  of  the  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  or 
Wheezy.     It  is  very  strange  !  " 

"Wednesday  afternoon. 

"  All  is  now  over  :  and  upon  one  point,  at  least,  I  am  at 
length  enabled  to  set  the  minds  of  your  readers  at  rest.  The 
three  professors  arrived  at  ten  minutes  after  two  o'clock,  and, 
instead  of  taking  up  their  quarters  at  the  Original  Pig,  as  it 
was  universally  understood  in  the  course  of  yesterday  that 
they  would  assuredly  have  done,  drove  straight  to  the  Pig 
and  Tinder-Box,  where  they  threw  off  the  mask  at  once,  and 
openly  announced  their  intention  of  remaining.  Professor 
Wheezy  may  reconcile  this  very  extraordinary  conduct  with 
his  notions  of  fair  and  equitable  dealing,  but  I  would  recom- 
mend Professor  Wheezy  to  be  cautious  how  he  presumes  too 
far  upon  his  well-earned  reputation.  How  such  a  man  as 
Professor  Snore,  or,  which  is  still  more  extraordinary,  such 
an  individual  as  Professor  Doze,  can  quietly  allow  himself  to 
be  mixed  up  with  such  proceedings  as  these,  you  will  natur- 
ally inquire.  Upon  this  head  rumor  is  silent ;  I  have  my 
speculations,  but  forbear  to  give  utterance  to  them  just 
now." 

"  Four  o'clock. 

"  The  town  is  filling  fast  ;  eighteen  pence  has  been  offered 
for  a  bed  and  refused.  Several  gentlemen  were  under  the 
necessity  last  night  of  sleeping  in  the  brick-fields,  and  on 
the  steps  of  doors,  for  which  they  were  taken  before  the 
magistrates  in  a  body  this  morning,  and  committed  to  prison 
as  vagrants  for  various  terms.  One  of  these  persons  I  un- 
derstand to  be  a  highly  respected  tinker,  of  great  prac- 
tical skill,  who  had  forwarded  a  paper  to  the  president 
of  Section  D.,  Mechanical  Science,  on  the  construction  of 
pipkins  with  copr.er  bottoms  and  safety-valves,  of  which  re- 
port speaks  highly.  The  incarceration  of  this  gentleman  is 
greatly  to  be  regretted,  as  his  absence  will  preclude  any  dis^ 
cussion  on  the  subject. 

"  The  bills  are  being  taken  down  in  all  directions,  and 
lodgings  are  being  secured  on  almost  any  terms.  I  have 
heard  of  fifteen  shillings  a  week  for  two  rooms,  exclusive 
of  coals  and  attendance,  but  I  can  scarcely  believe  it.     The 


$42  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

excitement  is  dreadful.  I  was  informed  this  morning  that' 
the  civil  authorities,  apprehensive  of  some  outbreak  of  pop- 
ular feeling,  had  commanded  a  recruiting  sergeant  and  two 
corporals  to  be  under  arms  ;  and  that,  with  the  view  of  not 
irritating  the  people  unnecessarily  by  their  presence,  they 
had  been  requested  to  take  up  their  positions  before  day- 
break in  a  turnpike,  distant  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  town.  The  vigor  and  promptness  of  these  measures  can 
not  be  too  highly  extolled. 

"  Intelligence  has  just  been  brought  me,  that  an  elderly 
female,  in  a  state  of  inebriety,  has  declared  in  the  open  street 
her  intention  to  *  do  '  for  Mr.  Slug.  Some  statistical  returns 
compiled  by  that  gentleman,  relative  to  the  consumption  of  raw 
spiritous  liquors  in  this  place,  are  supposed  to  be  the  cause  of 
the  wretch's  animosity.  It  is  added,  that  this  declaration  was 
loudly  cheered  by  a  crowd  of  persons  who  had  assembled  on 
the  spot  ;  and  that  one  man  had  the  boldness  to  designate 
Mr.  Slug  aloud  by  the  opprobrious  epithet  of  '  Stick-in-the- 
mud  ! '  It  is  earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  now,  when  the 
moment  has  arrived  for  their  interference,  the  magistrates 
will  not  shrink  from  the  exercise  of  that  power  which  is 
vested  in  them  by  the  constitution  of  their  common 
country." 

"  Half-past  ten. 

"  The  disturbance,  I  am  happy  to  inform  you,  has  been 
completely  quelled,  and  the  ringleader  taken  into  custody. 
She  had  a  pail  of  cold  water  thrown  over  her,  previous  to 
being  locked  up,  and  expresses  great  contrition  and  uneasi- 
ness. We  are  all  in  a  fever  of  anticipation  about  to-morrow  ; 
but  now  that  we  are  within  a  few  hours  of  the  associ- 
ation, and  at  last  enjoy  the  proud  consciousness  of  having 
its  illustrious  members  among  us,  I  trust  and  hope  every 
thing  may  go  off  peaceably.  I  shall  send  you  a  full  report 
of  to-morrow's  proceedings  by  the  night  coach." 

"  Eleven  o'clock. 

"  I  opened  my  letter  to  say  nothing  whatever  has  occurred 
since  I  folded  it  up." 

"  Thursday. 

"  The  sun  rose  this  morning  at  the  usual  hour.  I  did  not 
observe  any  thing  particular  in  the  aspect  of  the  glorious 
planet,  except  that  he  appeared  to  me  (it  might  have  been  a 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  243 

delusion  of  my  heightened  fancy)  to  shine  with  more  than 
common  brilliancy,  and  to  shed  a  refulgent  luster  upon  the 
town,  such  as  I  had  never  observed  before.  This  is  the 
more  extraordinary,  as  the  sky  was  perfectly  cloudless,  and 
the  atmosphere  peculiarly  fine.  At  half  past  nine  o'clock 
the  general  committee  assembled,  with  the  last  year's  presi- 
dent in  the  chair.  The  report  of  the  council  was  read  ;  and 
one  passage,  which  stated  that  the  council  had  corresponded 
with  no  less  than  three  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy- 
one  persons  (all  of  whom  paid  their  own  postage),  on  no 
fewer  than  seven  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-three 
topics,  was  received  with  a  degree  of  enthusiasm  which  no 
effort  could  suppress.  The  various  committees  and  sections 
having  been  appointed,  and  the  mere  formal  business  trans- 
acted, the  great  proceedings  of  the  meeting  commenced  at 
eleven  o'clock  precisely.  I  had  the  happiness  of  occupy- 
ing a  most  eligible  position  at  that  time,  in 

11  SECTION   A. — ZOOLOGY  AND  BOTANY. 
"  GREAT  ROOM,  PIG  AND  TINDER-BOX. 
"  PRESIDENT — PROFESSOR  SNORE.      VICE-PRESIDENTS — 
"  PROFESSORS  DOZE  AND  WHEEZY. 

"The  scene  at  this  moment  was  particularly  striking. 
The  sun  streamed  through  the  windows  of  the  apartments, 
and  tinted  the  whole  scene  with  its  brilliant  rays,  bringing 
out  in  strong  relief  the  noble  visages  of  the  professors  and 
scientific  gentlemen,  who,  some  with  bald  heads,  some  with 
red  heads,  some  with  brown  heads,  some  with  gray  heads, 
some  with  black  heads,  some  with  block  heads,  presented  a 
coup-d'ceil  which  no  eye-witness  will  readily  forget.  In  front 
of  these  gentlemen  were  papers  and  inkstands  ;  and  round 
the  room,  on  elevated  benches  extending  as  far  as  the  forms 
could  reach,  were  assembled  a  brilliant  concourse  of  those  . 
lovely  and  elegant  women  for  which  Mudfog  is  justly 
acknowledged  to  be  without  a  rival  in  the  whole  world. 
The  contrast  between  their  fair  faces  and  the  dark  coats 
and  trowsers  of  the  scientific  gentlemen  I  shall  never  cease 
to  remember  while  memory  holds  her  seat. 

"  Time  having  been  allowed  for  a  slight  confusion,  occa- 
sioned by  the  falling  down  of  the  greater  part  of  the  plat- 
forms, to  subside,  the  president  called  on  one  of  the  secre- 
taries to  read  a  communication  entitled, '  Some  remarks  on 
the  industrious  fleas,  with  considerations  on  the  importance 
of  establishing  infant  schools  among  that  numerous  class  of 
society  ;  of  directing  their  industry  to  useful  and  practical 


i>44  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

ends  ;  and  of  applying  the  surplus  fruits  thereof,  toward  pro- 
viding for  them  a  comfortable  and  respectable  mainte- 
ance  in  their  old  age.' 

"  The  author  stated,  that,  having  long  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  these  interesting 
animals,  he  had  been  induced  to  visit  an  exhibition  in 
Regent  Street,  London,  commonly  known  by  the  designation 
of  '  The  Industrious  Fleas.'  He  had  there  seen  many  fleas, 
occupied  certainly  in  various  pursuits  and  avocations, 
but  occupied,  he  was  bound  to  add,  in  a  manner  which  no 
man  of  well-regulated  mind  could  fail  to  regard  with  sorrow 
and  regret.  One  flea,  reduced  to  the  level  of  a  beast  of 
burden,  was  drawing  about  a  miniature  gig,  containing  a 
particularly  small  effigy  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington  ; 
while  another  was  staggering  beneath  the  weight  of  a  golden 
model  of  his  great  adversary  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Some, 
brought  up  as  mountebanks  and  ballet-dancers,  were  per- 
forming a  figure-dance  (he  regretted  to  observe  that,  of  the 
fleas  so  employed,  several  were  females)  ;  others  were  in 
training,  in  a  small  card-board  box,  for  pedestrians — mere 
sporting  characters — and  two  were  actually  engaged  in  the 
cold-blooded  and  barbarous  occupation  of  dueling  ;  a  pur- 
suit from  which  humanity  recoiled  with  horror  and  disgust. 
He  suggested  that  measures  should  be  immediately  taken  to 
employ  the  labor  of  these  fleas  as  part  and  parcel  of  the 
productive  power  of  the  country,  which  might  easily  be 
done  by  tne  establishment  among  them  of  infant  schools 
and  houses  of  industry,  in  which  a  system  of  virtuous 
education,  based  upon  sound  principles,  should  be  observed, 
and  moral  precepts  strictly  inculcated.  He  proposed  that 
every  flea  who  presumed  to  exhibit,  for  hire,  music  or 
dancing,  or  any  species  of  theatrical  entertainment,  without 
a  license,  should  be  considered  a  vagabond,  and  treated 
accordingly  ;  in  which  respect  he  only  placed  him  upon  a 
level  with  the  rest  of  mankind.  He  would  further  suggest 
that  their  labor  should  be  placed  under  the  control  and 
regulation  of  the  state,  who  should  set  apart  from  the  profits 
a  fund  for  the  support  of  superannuated  or  disabled  fleas, 
their  widows  and  orphans.  With  this  view,  he  proposed 
that  liberal  premiums  should  be  offered  for  the  three  best 
designs  for  a  general  alms-house  ;  from  which — as  insect 
architecture  was  well  known  to  be  in  a  very  advanced 
and  perfect  state — we  might  possibly  derive  many  valuable 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  245 

hints  for  the  improvement  of  our  metropolitan  universities, 
national  galleries,  and  other  public  edifices. 

'*  The  president  wished  to  be  informed  how  the  ingenious 
gentleman  proposed  to  open  a  communication  with  fleas 
generally,  in  the  first  instance,  so  that  they  might  be 
thoroughly  imbued  with  a  sense  of  the  advantages  they  must 
necessarily  derive  from  changing  their  mode  of  life,  and 
apply  themselves  to  honest  labor.  This  appeared  to  him 
the  only  difficulty. 

"The  author  submitted  that  this  difficulty  was  easily 
overcome,  or  rather  that  there  was  no  difficulty  at  all  in  the 
case.  Obviously  the  course  to  be  pursued,  if  her  majesty's 
government  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  up  the  plan, 
would  be  to  secure,  at  a  remunerative  salary,  the  individual 
to  whom  he  had  alluded  as  presiding  over  the  exhibition  in 
Regent  Street  at  the  period  of  his  visit.  That  gentleman 
would  at  once  be  able  to  put  himself  in  communication 
with  the  mass  of  the  fleas,  and  to  instruct  them  in  pursuance 
of  some  general  plan  of  education,  to  be  sanctioned  by 
parliament,  until  such  time  as  the  more  intelligent  among 
them  were  advanced  enough  to  officiate  as  teachers  to  the 
rest. 

"  The  president  and  several  members  of  the  section 
highly  complimented  the  author  of  the  paper  last  read,  on 
his  most  ingenious  and  important  treatise.  It  was  deter- 
mined that  the  subject  should  be  recommended  to  the 
immediate  consideration  of  the  council. 

"  Mr.  Wigsby  produced  a  cauliflower  somewhat  larger  than 
a  chaise-umbrella,  which  had  been  raised  by  no  other  arti- 
ficial means  than  the  simple  application  of  highly  carbon- 
ated soda  water  as  manure.  He  explained  that  by  scooping 
out  the  head,  which  would  afford  a  new  and  delicious 
species  of  nourishment  for  the  poor,  a  parachute,  in  princi- 
ple somewhat  similar  to  that  constructed  by  M.  Garnerin, 
was  at  once  obtained  ;  the  stalk  of  course  being  kept  down- 
ward. He  added  that  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  make  a 
descent  from  a  height  of  not  less  than  three  miles  and  a 
quarter  ;  and  had,  in  fact,  already  proposed  the  same  to  the 
proprietors  of  the  Vauxhall  Gardens,  who,  in  the  handsomest 
manner,  at  once  consented  to  his  wishes,  and  appointed  an 
early  day  next  summer  for  the  -undertaking  ;  merely  stipu- 
lating that  the  rim  of  the  cauliflower  should  be  previously 
broken  in  three  or  four  places  to  insure  the  safety  of  the 
descent. 


246  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

"  The  president  congratulated  the  public  on  the  grand  gala 
in  store  for  them,  and  warmly  eulogized  the  proprietors  of 
the  establishment  alluded  to,  for  their  love  of  science,  and 
regard  for  the  safety  of  human  life,  both  of  which  did  them 
the  highest  honor. 

"  A  member  wished  to  know  how  many  thousand  addi- 
tional lamps  the  royal  property  would  be  illuminated  with, 
on  the  night  after  the  descent. 

"  Mr.  Wigsby  replied  that  the  point  was  not  yet  finally 
decided  ;  but  he  believed  it  was  proposed,  over  and  above 
the  ordinary  illuminations,  to  exhibit  in  various  devices 
eight  millions  and  a  half  of  additional  lamps. 

"  The  member  expressed  himself  much  gratified  with  this 
announcement. 

"  Mr.  Blunderum  delighted  the  section  with  a  most  inter- 
esting and  valuable  paper  '  on  the  last  moments  of  the 
learned  pig,'  which  produced  a  very  strong  impression 
upon  the  assembly,  the  account  being  compiled  from  the 
personal  recollections  of  his  favorite  attendant.  The 
account  stated  in  the  most  emphatic  terms  that  the 
animal's  name  was  not  Toby,  but  Solomon  ;  and  distinctly 
proved  that  he  could  have  no  near  relatives  in  the  profes- 
sion, as  many  designing  persons  had  falsely  stated,  inasmuch 
as  his  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  had  all  fallen  vic- 
tims to  the  butcher  at  different  times.  An  uncle  of  his,  indeed, 
had  with  very  great  labor  been  traced  to  a  sty  in  Somers  Town; 
but  as  he  was  in  a  very  infirm  state  at  the  time,  being  afflicted 
with  measles,  and  shortly  afterward  disappeared,  there  ap- 
peared too  much  reason  to  conjecture  that  he  had  been  con- 
verted into  sausages.  The  disorder  of  the  learned  pig  was 
originally  a  severe  cold,  which,  being  aggravated  by  exces- 
sive trough  indulgence,  finally  settled  upon  the  lungs,  and 
terminated  in  a  general  decay  of  the  constitution.  A  melan- 
choly instance  of  a  presentiment  entertained  by  the  animal 
of  his  approaching  dissolution  was  recorded.  After  gratify- 
ing a  numerous  and  fashionable  company  with  his  perform- 
ances, in  which  no  falling  off  whatever  was  visible,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  biographer,  and,  turning  to  the  watch, 
which  lay  on  the  floor,  and  on  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
point  out  the  hour,  deliberately  passed  his  snout  twice 
around  the. dial.  In  precisely  four-and-twenty  hours  from 
that  time  he  had  ceased  to  exist  ! 

"  Professor  Wheezy  inquired,  whether,  previous  to  his 
demise,   the     animal     had    expressed,    by   signs    or  other- 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  247 

wise,  any  wishes  regarding  the    disposal  of  his   little  prop- 
erty. 

"  Mr.  Blunderum  replied,  that,  when  the  biographer  took 
up  the  pack  of  cards  at  the  conclusion  of  the  performance, 
the  animal  grunted  several  times  in  a  significant  manner, 
and  nodded  his  head  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do  when 
gratified.  From  these  gestures,  it  was  understood  he  wished 
the  attendant  to  keep  the  cards,  which  he  had  ever  since 
done.  He  had  not  expressed  any  wish  relative  to  his  watch, 
which  had  accordingly  been  pawned  by  the  same  individual 

"  The  president  wished  to  know  whether  any  member  of 
the  section  had  ever  seen  or  conversed  with  the  pig -faced 
lady,  who  was  reported  to  have  worn  a  black  velvet  mask, 
and  to  have  taken  her  meals  from  a  golden  trough. 

"  After  some  hesitation  a  member  replied  that  the  pig-faced 
lady  was  his  mother-in-law,  and  that  he  trusted  the  president 
would  not  violate  the  sanctity  of  private  life. 

"  The  president  begged  pardon.  He  had  considered  the 
pig-faced  lady  a  public  character.  Would  the  honorable 
member  object  to  state,  with  a  view  to  the  advancement  of 
science,  whether  she  was  in  any  way  connected  with  the 
learned  pig  ? 

"  The  member  replied  in  the  same  low  tone,  that,  as  the 
question  appeared  to  involve  a  suspicion  that  the  learned 
pig  might  be  his  half-brother,  he   must  decline  answering  it. 

"  SECTION  B. — ANATOMY  AND  MEDICINE. 

"  COACH-HOUSE,   PIG  AND  TINDER-BOX. 

"  PRESIDENT— DR.  TOORELL.      VICE-PRESIDENTS— PROFESSORS  MUFF  AND  NOGO. 

"  Dr.  Kutankumagen  (of  Moscow)  read  to  the  section  a 
report  of  a  case  which  had  occurred  within  his  own  practice, 
strikingly  illustrative  of  the  power  of  medicine,  as  exempli- 
fied in  his  successful  treatment  of  a  virulent  disorder.  He 
had  been  called  in  to  visit  the  patient  on  the  1st  of  April, 
1837.  He  was  then  laboring  under  symptoms  peculiarly 
alarming  to  any  medical  man.  His  frame  was  stout  and 
muscular,  his  step  firm  and  elastic,  his  cheeks  plump  and 
red,  his  voice  loud,  his  appetite  good,  his  pulse  full  and 
round.  He  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  eating  three  meals 
per  diem,  and  of  drinking  at  least  one  bottle  of  wine,  and 
one  glass  of  spirituous  liquors  diluted  with  water,  in  the 
course  of  four-and-twenty  hours.  He  laughed  constantly^ 
and  in  so  hearty  a  manner  that  it  was  terrible  to  hear  him. 
By  dint  of  powerful  medicine,  low  diet  and  bleeding,  the 


248  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

symptoms  in  the  course  of  three  days  perceptibly  decreased. 
A  rigid  perseverance  in  the  same  course  of  treatment  for 
only  one  week,  accompanied  with  small  doses  of  water-gruei, 
weak  broth  and  barley-water,  led  to  their  entire  disappear- 
ance. In  the  course  of  a  month  he  was  sufficiently  recovered 
to  be  carried  down  stairs  by  two  nurses,  and  to  enjoy  an 
airing  in  a  close  carriage,  supported  by  soft  pillows.  At  the 
present  moment  he  was  restored  so  far  as  to  walk  about, 
with  the  slight  assistance  of  a  crutch  and  a  boy.  It  would 
perhaps  be  gratifying  to  the  section  to  learn  that  he  ate 
little,  drank  little,  slept  little,  and  was  never  heard  to  laugh 
by  any  accident  whatever. 

"  Dr.  W.  R.  Fee,  in  complimenting  the  honorable  member 
upon  the  triumphant  cure  he  had  effected,  begged  to  ask 
whether  the  patient  still  bled  freely  ? 

"  Dr.  Kutankumagen  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
"  Dr.  W.  R.  Fee. — And   you  found   that  he  bled  freely 
during  the  whole  course  of  the  disorder  ? 

"  Dr.  Kutankumagen. — Oh  dear,  yes  ;  most  freely. 
"Dr.  Neeshawts  supposed,  that   if  the   patient   had  not 
submitted  to  be  bled  with  great  readiness  and  perseverance, 
so   extraordinary  a  cure  could   never,   in  fact,   have   been 
accomplished.     Dr.  Kutankumagen  rejoined  certainly  not. 

"  Mr.  Knight  Bell  (M.  R.  C.  S.)  exhibited  a  wax  prepara- 
tion of  the  interior  of  a  gentleman  who  in  early  life  had 
inadvertently  swallowed  a  door-key.  It  was  a  curious  fact 
that  a  medical  student  of  dissipated  habits,  being  present  at 
the  post-mortem  examination,  found  means  to  escape  unob- 
served from  the  room,  with  that  portion  of  the  coats  of  the 
stomach  upon  which  an  exact  model  of  the  instrument  was 
distinctly  impressed,  with  which  he  hastened  to  a  locksmith 
of  doubtful  character,  who  made  a  new  key  from  the  pattern 
so  shown  to  him.  With  this  key  the  medical  student 
entered  the  house  of  the  deceased  gentleman,  and  committed 
a  burglary  to  a  large  amount,  for  which  he  was  subsequently 
tried  and  executed. 

"  The  president  wished  to  know  what  became  of  the  orig- 
inal key  after  the  lapse  of  years.  Mr.  Knight  Bell  replied 
that  the  gentleman  was  always  much  accustomed  to  punch, 
and  it  was  supposed  the  acid  had  gradually  devoured  it. 

"  Dr.  Neeshawts  and  several  of  the  members  were  of  opin- 
ion that  the  key  must  have  lain  very  cold  and  heavy  upon 
the  gentleman's  stomach. 

"  Mr.  Knight  Bell  believed  it  did  at  first.     It  was  worthy 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  249 

of  remark,  perhaps,  that  for  some  years  the  gentleman  was 
troubled  with  nightmare,  under  the  influence  of  which  he 
always  imagined  himself  a  wine-cellar  door. 

"  Professor  Muff  related  a  very  extraordinary  and  con 
vincing  proof  of  the  wonderful  efficacy  of  the  system  of 
infinitesimal  doses,  which  the  section  were  doubtless  aware 
was  based  upon  the  theory  that  the  very  minutest  amount 
of  any  given  drug,  properly  dispersed  through  the  human 
frame,  would  be  productive  of  precisely  the  same  result  as 
a  very  large  dose  administered  in  the  usual  manner.  Thus, 
the  fortieth  part  of  a  grain  of  calomel  was  supposed  to  be 
equal  to  a  five-grain  calomel  pill,  and  so  on  in  proportion 
throughout  the  whole  range  of  medicine.  He  had  tried  the 
experiment  in  a  curious  manner  upon  a  publican  who  had 
been  brought  into  the  hospital  with  a  broken  head,  and  was 
cured  upon  the  infinitesimal  system  in  the  incredibly  short 
space  of  three  months.  This  man  was  a  hard  drinker.  He 
(Professor  Muff)  had  dispersed  three  drops  of  rum  through 
a  bucket  of  water,  and  requested  the  man  to  drink  the  whole. 
What  was  the  result  ?  Before  he  had  drunk  a  quarter,  he 
was  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxication  ;  and  five  other  men 
were  made  dead-drunk  with  the  remainder. 

"  The  president  wished  to  know  whether  an  infinitesimal 
dose  of  soda-water  would  have  recovered  them  ?  Professor 
Muff  replied  that  the  twenty-fifth  part  of  a  teaspoonful, 
properly  administered  to  each  patient,  would  have  sobered 
him  immediately.  The  president  remarked  that  this  was  a 
most  important  discovery,  and  he  hoped  the  lord  mayor 
and  court  of  aldermen  would  patronize  it  immediately. 

"  A  member  begged  to  be  informed  whether  it  would  be 
possible  to  administer— say,  the  twentieth  part  of  a  grain  of 
bread  and  cheese  to  all  grown-up  paupers,  and  the  fortieth 
part  to  children,  with  the  same  satisfying  effect  as  their 
present  allowance. 

"  Professor  Muff  was  willing  to  stake  his  professional  rep- 
utation on  the  perfect  adequacy  of  such  a  quantity  of  food 
to  the  support  of  human  life — in  work-houses  ;  the  addition 
of  the  fifteenth  part  of  a  grain  of  pudding  twice  a  week 
would  render  it  a  high  diet. 

"  Professor  Nogo  called  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a 
very  extraordinary  case  of  animal  magnetism.  A  private 
watchman,  being  merely  looked  at  by  the  operator  from  the 
opposite  side  of  a  wide  street,  was  at  once  observed  to  be  in 
a  very  drowsy  and  languid  state.     He  was  followed  to  his 


250  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION, 

box,  and  being  once  slightly  rubbed  on  the  paims  of  the 
hands,  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  in  which  he  continued  without 
intermission  for  ten  hours. 

"  SECTION    C. — STATISTICS. 

"  HAY-LOFT,  ORIGINAL    PIG. 

41  PRESIDENT — MR.  WOODENSCONSE.      VICE-PRESIDENTS — MR.  LEDERAIN  AND  MR. 

TIMBERED. 

"  Mr.  Slug  stated  to  the  section  the  result  of  some  calcu- 
lations he  had  made  with  great  difficulty  and  labor,  regard- 
ing the  state  of  infant  education  among  the  middle  classes 
of  London.  He  found  that,  within  a  circle  of  three  miles 
from  the  Elephant  and  Castle,  the  following  were  the  names 
and  numbers  of  children's  books  principally  in  circulation  : — 

"  Jack  the  Giant-killer         , 7,943 

Ditto  and  Bean-stalk 8,621 

Ditto  and  Eleven  Brothers 2,845 

Ditto  and  Jill 1,998 


Total 


,407 


"  He  found  that  the  proportion  of  Robinson  Crusoes  to 
Philip  Quarles  was  as  four  and  a  half  to  one  ;  and  that  the 
preponderance  of  Valentine  and  Orsons  over  Goody  Two 
Shoeses  was  as  three  and  an  eighth  of  the  former  to  half  a  one 
of  the  latter  ;  a  comparison  of  Seven  Champions  with  Simple 
Simons  gave  the  same  result.  The  ignorance  that  prevailed 
was  lamentable.  One  child,  on  being  asked  whether  he  would 
rather  be  Saint  George  of  England  or  a  respectable  tallow- 
chandler,  instantly  replied,  'Taint  George  of  Ingland.'  An- 
other, a  little  boy  of  eight  years  old,  was  found  to  be  firmly 
impressed  with  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  dragons,  and  openly 
stated  that  it  was  his  intention  when  he  grew  up,  to  rush  forth 
sword  in  hand  for  the  deliverance  of  captive  princesses,  and 
the  promiscuous  slaughter  of  giants.  Not  one  child  among  the 
number  interrogated  had  ever  heard  of  Mungo  Park — some 
inquiring  whether  he  was  at  all  connected  with  the  black  man 
that  swept  the  crossing  ;  and  others  whether  he  was  in  any 
way  related  to  the  Regent's  Park.  They  had  not  the  slightest 
conception  of  the  commonest  principles  of  mathematics,  and 
considered  Sinbad  the  Sailor  the  most  enterprising  voyager 
that  the  world  had  ever  produced. 

"A  member  strongly  deprecating  the  use  of  all  the  other 
books  mentioned,  suggested  that  Jack  and  Jill  might  per- 
haps be  exempted  from  the  general  censure,  inasmuch  as 
the  hero  and  heroine,  in  the  very  outset  of  the  tale,  were  de- 


The  mudfog  association.  2^1 

picted  as  going  up  a  hill  to  fetch  a  pail  of  water,  which  was 
a  laborious  and  useful  occupation — supposing  the  family 
linen  was  being  washed,  for  instance. 

"  Mr.  Slug  feared  that  the  moral  effect  of  this  passage  was 
more  than  counterbalanced  by  another  in  a  subsequent  part 
of  the  poem  in  which  very  gross  allusion  was  made  to  the 
node  in  which  the  heroine  was  personally  chastised  by  her 
mother. 

"  '  For  laughing  at  Jack's  disaster  '  ; 

besides,  the  whole  work  had  this  one  great  fault,  it  was  not 
true. 

"  The  president  complimented  the  honorable  member  on 
the  excellent  distinction  he  had  drawn.  Several  other  mem- 
bers, too,  dwelt  upon  the  immense  and  urgent  necessity  of 
storing  the  minds  of  children  with  nothing  but  facts  and 
figures  ;  which  process  the  president  very  forcibly  remarked, 
had  made  them  (the  section)  the  men  they  were. 

"  Mr.  Slug  then  stated  some  curious  calculations  respect- 
ing the  dogs'-meat  barrows  of  London.  He  found  that  the 
total  number  of  small  carts  and  barrows  engaged  in  dispens- 
ing provisions  to  the  cats  and  dogs  of  the  metropolis  was  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-three.  The  average 
number  of  skewers  delivered  daily  with  the  provender  by 
each  dogs'-meat  cart  or  barrow  was  thirty-six.  Now,  multi- 
plying the  number  of  skewers  so  delivered,  by  the  number  of 
barrows,  a  total  of  sixty-two  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
forty-eight  skewers  daily  would  be  obtained.  Allowing  that, 
of  these  sixty-two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty- eight 
skewers,  the  odd  two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  were  accidentally  devoured  with  the  meat,  by  the  most 
voracious  of  the  animals  supplied,  it  followed  that  sixty 
thousand  skewers  per  day,  or  the  enormous  number  of 
twenty-one  millions  nine  hundred  thousand  skewers  an- 
nually, were  wasted  in  the  kennels  and  dust-holes  of  Lon- 
don ;  which,  if  collected  and  warehoused,  would  in  ten 
years'  time  afford  a  mass  of  timber  more  than  sufficient  for 
the  construction  of  a  first-rate  vessel  of  war  for  the  use  of 
her  majesty's  navy,  to  be  called  '  The  Royal  Skewer,'  and  to 
become  under  that  name  the  terror  of  all  the  enemies  of  this 
island. 

"  Mr.-X.  Ledbrain  read  a  very  ingenious  communication, 
from  which  it  appeared  that  the  total  number  of  legs  belong- 
ing to  the  manufacturing  population  of  one  great  town  in 


252  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

Yorkshire  was,  in  round  numbers,  forty  thousand,  while  the 
total  number  of  chair  and  stool  legs  in  their  houses  was  only 
thirty  thousand,  which,  upon  the  very  favorable  average  of 
three  legs  to  a  seat,  yielded  only  ten  thousand  seats  in  all. 
From  this  calculation  it  would  appear — not  taking  wooden 
or  cork  legs  into  the  account,  but  allowing  two  legs  to  every 
person — that  ten  thousand  individuals  (one  half  of  the  whole 
population)  were  either  destitute  of  any  rest  for  their  legs  at 
all,  or  passed  the  whole  of  their  leisure  time  in  sitting  upon 
boxes. 

"  SECTION  D. — MECHANICAL   SCIENCE. 

'•  COACH-HOUSE,  ORIGINAL  PIG. 

PRESIDENT— MR.  CARTER.      VICE-PRESIDENTS— MK.  TRUCK  AND    MR.  WAGHORN. 

"  Professor  Queerspeck  exhibited  an  elegant  model  of  a 
portable  railway,  neatly  mounted  in  a  green  case,  for  the 
waistcoat  pocket.  By  attaching  this  beautiful  instrument  to 
his  boots,  any  bank  or  public  office  clerk  could  transport 
himself  from  his  place  of  residence  to  his  place  of  business, 
at  the  easy  rate  of  sixty-five  miles  an  hour,  which,  to  gentle- 
men of  sedentary  pursuits,  would  be  an  incalculable  advan- 
tage. 

"  The  president  was  desirous  of  knowing  whether  it  was 
necessary  to  have  a  level  surface  on  which  the  gentleman 
was  to  run. 

"  Professor  Queerspeck  explained  that  city  gentlemen 
would  run  in  trains,  being  handcuffed  together  to  prevent 
confusion  or  unpleasantness.  For  instance,  trains  would 
start  every  morning  at  eight,  nine,  and  ten  o'clock,  from 
Camden  Town,  Islington,  Camberwell,  Hackney,  and  various 
other  places  in  which  city  gentlemen  are  accustomed  to  re- 
side. It  would  be  necessary  to  have  a  level,  but  he  had  pro- 
vided for  this  difficulty  by  proposing  that  the  best  line  that 
the  circumstances  would  admit  of  should  be  taken  through 
the  sewers  which  undermine  the  streets  of  the  metropolis, 
and  which,  well  lighted  by  jets  from  the  gas-pipes  which 
ran  immediately  above  them,  would  form  a  pleasant  and 
commodious  arcade,  especially  in  winter-time,  when  the  in- 
convenient custom  of  carrying  umbrellas,  now  general,  could 
be  wholly  dispensed  with.  In  reply  to  another  question, 
Professor  Queerspeck  stated  that  no  substitute  for  the  pur- 
poses to  which  these  arcades  were  at  present  devoted  had 
yet  occurred  to  him,  but  that  he  hoped  no  fanciful  objection 
on  this  head  would  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  so  great  an 
undertaking. 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  253 

11  Mr.  Jobba  produced  a  forcing-machine  on  a  novel  plan, 
for  bringing  joint-stock  railway  shares  prematurely  to  a  pre- 
mium. The  instrument  was  in  the  form  of  an  elegant  gilt 
weather-glass  of  most  dazzling  appearance,  and  was  worked 
behind,  by  strings,  after  the  manner  of  a  pantomime  trick, 
the  strings  being  always  pulled  by  the  directors  of  the  com- 
pany to  which  the  machine  belonged.  The  quicksilver  was 
so  ingeniously  placed,  that  when  the  acting  directors  held  • 
shares  in  their  pockets,  figures  denoting  very  small  expenses 
and  very  large  returns  appeared  upon  the  glass  ;  but  the 
moment  the  directors  parted  with  these  pieces  of  paper, 
the  estimate  of  needful  expenditure  suddenly  increased  itself 
to  an  immense  extent,  while  the  statements  of  certain 
profits  became  reduced  in  the  same  proportion.  Mr.  Jobba 
stated  that  the  machine  had  been  in  constant  requisition  for 
some  months  past,  and  he  had  never  once  known  it  to  fail. 

"  A  member  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was  extremely 
neat  and  pretty.  He  wished  to  know  whether  it  was  not 
liable  to  accidental  derangement  ?  Mr.  Jobba  said  that  the 
whole  machine  was  undoubtedly  liable  to  be  blown  up,  but 
that  was  the  only  objection  to  it. 

"  Professor  Nogo  arrived  from  the  anatomical  section  to 
exhibit  a  model  of  a  safety  fire-escape,  which  could  be  fixed 
at  any  time,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  and  by  means  of 
which,  the  youngest  or  most  infirm  persons  (successfully  re- 
sisting the  progress  of  the  flames  until  it  was  quite  ready) 
could  be  preserved  if  they  merely  balanced  themselves  for  a 
few  minutes  on  the  sill  of  their  bedroom  window,  and  got 
into  the  escape  without  falling  into  the  street.  The  profes- 
sor stated  that  the  number  of  boys  who  had  been  rescued  in 
the  day-time  by  this  machine  from  houses  which  were  not  on 
fire  was  almost  incredible.  Not  a  conflagration  had  oc- 
curred in  the  whole  of  London  for  many  months  past  to  which 
the  escape  had  not  been  carried  on  the  very  next  day,  and 
put  in  action  before  a  concourse  of  persons. 

"The  president  inquired  whether  there  was  not  some 
difficulty  in  ascertaining  which  was  the  top  of  the  machine, 
and  which  the  bottom,  in  cases  of  pressing  emergency  ? 

"  Professor  Nogo  explained  that  of  course  it  could  not  be 
expected  to  act  quite  as  well  when  there  was  a  fire  as  when 
there  was  not  a  fire  ;  but  in  the  former  case  he  thought  it 
would  be  of  equal  service  whether  the  top  were  up  or  down." 

With  the  last  section,   our  correspondent  concludes  his 


254  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

most  able  and  faithful  report,  which  will  never  cease  to  re- 
flect credit  upon  him  for  his  scientific  attainments,  and 
upon  us  for  our  enterprising  spirit.  It  is  needless  to  take  a 
review  of  the  subjects  which  have  been  discussed  ;  of  the 
mode  in  which  they  have  been  examined  ;  of  the  great 
truths  which  they  have  elicited.  They  are  now  before 
the  world,  and  we  leave  them  to  read,  to  consider,  and  to 
profit. 

The  place  of  meeting  for  next  year  has  undergone  dis- 
cussion, and  has  at  length  been  decided  ;  regard  being  had 
to,  and  evidence  being  taken  upon,  the  goodness  of  its  wines, 
the  supply  of  its  markets,  the  hospitality  of  its  inhabitants, 
and  the  quality  of  its  hotels.  We  hope  at  this  next  meeting 
our  correspondent  may  again  be  present,  and  that  we  may 
be  once  more  the  means  of  placing  his  communications  be- 
fore the  world.  Until  that  period  we  have  been  prevailed 
upon  to  allow  this  number  of  our  Miscellany  to  be  retailed 
to  the  public,  or  wholesaled  to  the  trade,  without  any  ad- 
vance upon  our  usual  price. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  committees  are  now  broken 
up,  and  that  Mudfog  is  once  again  restored  to  its  accus- 
tomed tranquillity — that  professors  and  members  have  had 
balls,  and  soirees,  and  suppers,  and  great  mutual  cornpli- 
mentations,  and  have  at  length  dispersed  to  their  several 
homes — whither  all  good  wishes  and  joys  attend  them,  until 
next  year ! 


FULL    REPORT 

OF  THE  SECOND  MEETING    OF    THE    MUDFOG    ASSOCIATION  FOR 
THE    ADVANCEMENT    OF    EVERY    THING. 

In  October  last,  we  did  ourselves  the  immortal  credit  of  re- 
cording, at  an  enormous  expense,  and  by  dint  of  exertions 
unparalleled  in  the  history  of  periodical  publications,  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Mudfog  Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Every  Thing,  which  in  that  month  held  its  firstgreat  half-yearly 
meeting,  to  the  wonder  and  delight  of  the  whole  empire.  We 
announced,  at  the  conclusion  of  that  extraordinary  and  most 
remarkable  report,  that  when  the  second  meeting  of  the 
society  should  take  place,  we  should  be  found  again  at  our 
post  renewing  our  gigantic  and  spirited  endeavors,  and  once 
more  making  the  world  ring  with  the  accuracy,  authenticity, 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  255 

immeasurable  superiority,  and  intense  remarkability  of  our 
account  of  its  proceedings.  In  redemption  of  this  pledge, 
we  caused  to  be  dispatched,  per  steam,  to  Oldcastle,  at 
which  place  this  second  meeting  of  the  society  was  held  on 
the  20th  instant,  the  same  superhumanly  endowed  gentle- 
man who  furnished  the  former  report,  and  who — gifted  by 
nature  with  transcendent  abilities,  and  furnished  by  us  with 
a  body  of  assistants  scarcely  inferior  to  himself — has  for- 
warded a  series  of  letters,  which  for  faithfulness  of  descrip- 
tion, power  of  language,  fervor  of  thought,  happiness  of 
expression,  and  importance  of  subject-matter,  have  no  equal 
in  the  epistolary  literature  of  any  age  or  country.  We  give 
this  gentleman's  correspondence  entire,  and  in  the  order  in 
which  it  reached  our  office. 

"  Saloon  of  Steamer,  Thursday  night,  half-past  eight. 

"  When  I  left  New  Burlington  Street  this  evening  in  the 
hackney  cabriolet,  number  four  thousand  two  hundred  and 
eighty-five,  I  experienced  sensations  as  novel  as  they  were 
oppressive.  A  sense  of  importance  of  the  task  I  had  under- 
taken ;  a  consciousness  that  I  was  leaving  London,  and 
stranger  still,  going  somewhere  else  ;  a  feeling  of  loneliness, 
and  a  sensation  of  jolting  quite  bewildered  my  thoughts, 
and  for  a  time  rendered  me  even  insensible  to  the  presence 
of  my  carpet-bag  and  hat-box.  I  shall  ever  feel  grateful  to 
the  driver  of  a  Blackwall  omnibus,  who,  by  thrusting  the 
pole  of  his  vehicle  through  the  small  door  of  the  cabriolet, 
awakened  me  from  a  tumult  of  imaginings  that  are  wholly 
indescribable.  But  of  such  materials  is  our  imperfect  nature 
composed  ! 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  am  the  first  passenger  or, 
board,  and  shall  thus  be  enabled  to  give  you  an  account  oi 
all  that  happens  in  the  order  of  its  occurrence.  The  chim- 
ney is  smoking  a  good  deal,  and  so  are  the  crew  ;  and  the 
captain,  I  am  informed,  is  very  drunk  in  a  little  house  upon 
the  deck,  something  like  a  black  turnpike.  I  should  infer, 
from  all  I  hear,  that  he  has  got  the  steam  up. 

"You  will  readily  guess  with  what  feelings  I  have  just 
made  the  discovery  that  my  berth  is  in  the  same  closet  with 
those  engaged  by  Professor  Woodensconce,  Mr.  Slug,  and 
Professor  Grime".  Professor  Woodensconce  has  taken  the 
shelf  above  me,  and  Mr.  Slug  and  Professor  Grime,  the  two 
shelves  opposite.     Their  luggage  has   already   arrived.     Ofc 


256  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

Mr.  Slug's  bed  is  a  long  tin  tube  of  about  three  inches  in 
diameter,  carefully  closed  at  both  ends.  What  can  this 
contain  ?  Some  powerful  instrument  of  a  new  construction 
doubtless." 

"  Ten  minutes  past  nine. 

"  Nobody  has  yet  arrived,  nor  has  any  thing  fresh  come  in 
my  way  except  several  joints  of  beef  and  mutton,  from  which 
I  conclude  that  a  good  plain  dinner  has  been  provided  for 
to-morrow.  There  is  a  singular  smell  below,  which  gave 
me  some  uneasiness  at  first  ;  but,  as  the  steward  says  it  is 
always  there,  and  never  goes  away,  I  am  quite  comfortable 
again.  I  learn  from  this  man  that  the  different  sections  will 
be  distributed  at  the  Black  Boy  and  Stomach-Ache,  and  the 
Boot-Jack  and  Countenance.  If  this  intelligence  be  true, 
and  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  your  readers  will  draw 
such  conclusions  as  their  different  opinions  may  suggest. 

"  I  write  down  these  remarks  as  they  occur  to  me,  or  as 
the  facts  come  to  my  knowledge,  in  order  that  my  first  im- 
pressions may  lose  nothing  of  their  original  vividness.  I 
shall  dispatch  them  in  small  packets  as  opportunities 
arise." 

"  Half-past  nine. 

"  Some  dark  object  has  just  appeared  upon  the  wharf.  I 
think  it  is  a  traveling  carriage." 

"  A  quarter  to  ten. 

"  No,  it  isn't." 

"  Half-past  ten. 

11  The  passengers  are  pouring  in  every  instant.  Four 
omnibuses  full  have  just  arrived  upon  the  wharf,  and  all  is 
bustle  and  activity.  The  noise  and  confusion  are  very  great. 
Cloths  are  laid  in  the  cabins,  and  the  steward  is  placing 
blue  plates  full  of  knobs  of  cheese  at  equal  distances  down 
the  center  of  the  tables.  He  drops  a  great  many  knobs  ', 
but,  being  used  to  it,  picks  them  up  again  with  great  dex- 
terity, and,  after  wiping  them  on  his  sleeve,  throws  them 
back  into  the  plates.  He  is  a  young  man  of  exceedingly 
prepossessing  appearance — either  dirty  or  a  mulatto,  but  I 
think  the  former. 

"  An  interesting  old  gentleman  who  came  to  the  wharf  in 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  257 

an  omnibus  has  just  quarreled  violently  with  the  porters, 
and  is  staggering  toward  the  vessel  with  a  large  trunk  in 
his  arms.  I  trust  and  hope  that  he  may  reach  it  in  safety  ; 
but  the  board  he  has  to  cross  is  narrow  and  slippery.  Was 
that  a  splash  ?     Gracious  powers  ! 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  the  deck.  The  trunk  h 
standing  upon  the  extreme  brink  of  the  wharf,  but  the  old 
gentleman  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  watchman  is  not 
sure  whether  he  went  down  or  not,  but  promises  to  drag  for 
him  the  first  thing  to-morrow  morning.  May  his  humane 
efforts  prove  successful  ! 

"  Professor  Nogo  has  this  moment  arrived  with  his  night- 
cap on  under  his  hat.  He  has  ordered  a  glass  of  cold 
brandy-and-water,  with  a  hard  biscuit  and  a  basin,  and  has 
gone  straight  to  bed.     What  can  this  mean  ? 

"  The  three  other  scientific  gentlemen  to  whom  I  have 
already  alluded  have  come  on  board,  and  have  all  tried  their 
beds,  with  the  exception  of  Professor  Woodensconce,  who 
sleeps  in  one  of  the  top  ones,  and  can't  get  into  it.  Mr. 
Slug,  who  sleeps  in  the  other  top  one  is  unable  to  get  out  of 
his,  and  is  to  have  his  supper  handed  up  by  a  boy.  I  have 
had  the  honor  to  introduce  myself  to  these  gentlemen,  and 
we  have  amicably  arranged  the  order  in  which  we  shall  retire 
to  rest  ;  which  is  necessary  to  agree  upon,  because,  although 
the  cabin  is  very  comfortable,  there  is  not  room  for  more 
than  one  gentleman  to  be  out  of  bed  at  a  time,  and  even  he 
must  take  his  boots  off  in  the  passage. 

"  As  I  anticipated,  the  knobs  of  cheese  were  provided  for 
the  passengers'  supper,  and  are  now  in  course  of  consump- 
tion. Your  readers  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Professor 
Woodensconce  has  abstained  from  cheese  for  eight  years, 
although  he  takes  butter  in  considerable  quantities.  Pro- 
fessor Grime,  having  lost  several  teeth,  is  unable,  I  observe, 
to  eat  his  crusts  without  previously  soaking  them  in  his 
bottled  porter.     How  interesting  are  these  peculiarities  !  " 

"  Half-past  eleven. 

"  Professors  Woodensconce  and  Grime,  with  a  degree  of 
good  humor  that  delights  us  all,  have  just  arranged  to  toss 
for  a  bottle  of  mulled  port.  There  has  been  some  discus- 
sion whether  the  payment  should  be  decided  by  the  first 
toss  or  the  best  out  of  three.  Eventually  the  latter  course 
has  been  determined  on.  Deeply  do  I  wish  that  both  gen- 
tlemen could  win  ;  but  that  being  impossible,  I  own  that  my 


258  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

personal  aspirations  (I  speak  as  an  individual,  and  do  not 
compromise  either  you  or  your  readers  by  this  expression  of 
feeling)  are  with  Professor  Woodensconce.  I  have  backed 
that  gentleman  to  the  amount  of  eighteen  pence." 

"  Twenty  minutes  to  twelve. 

"  Professor  Grime  has  inadvertently  tossed  his  half-crown 
out  of  one  of  the  cabin  windows,  and  it  has  been  arranged 
the  steward  shall  toss  for  him.  Bets  are  offered  on  any  side 
to  any  amount,  but  there  are  no  takers. 

"  Professor  Woodensconce  has  just  called  'woman  ;  '  but 
the  coin  having  lodged  in  a  beam  is  a  long  time  coming 
down  again.  The  interest  and  suspense  of  this  one  moment 
are  beyond  any  thing  that  can  be  imagined." 

"  Twelve  o'clock. 

"  The  mulled  port  is  smoking  on  the  table  before  me,  and 
Professor  Grime  has  won.  Tossing  is  a  game  of  chance  ; 
but  on  every  ground,  whether  of  public  or  private  character, 
intellectual  endowments,  or  scientific  attainments,  I  can  not 
help  expressing  my  opinion  that  Professor  Woodensconce 
ought  to  have  come  off  victorious.  There  is  an  exultation 
about  Professor  Grime  incompatible,  I  fear,  with  greatness." 

"  A  quarter  past  twelve. 

"  Professor  Grime  continues  to  exult,  and  to  boast  of  his 
victory  in  no  very  measured  terms,  observing  that  he  always 
does  win,  and  that  he  knew  it  would  be  a  '  head  '  beforehand, 
with  many  other  remarks  of  a  similar  nature.  Surely  this 
gentleman  is  not  so  lost  to  every  feeling  of  decency  and  pro- 
priety as  not  to  feel  and  know  the  superiority  of  Professor 
Woodensconce.  Is  Professor  Grime  insane  ?  or  does  he  wish 
to  be  reminded  in  plain  language  of  his  true  position  in 
society,  and  the  precise  level  of  his  acquirements  and  abili- 
ties ?     Professor  Grime  will  do  well  to  look  to  this." 

"  One  o'clock. 

"  I  am  writing  in  bed.  The  small  cabin  is  illuminated  by 
the  feeble  light  of  a  flickering  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceil- 
ing ;  Professor  Grime  is  lying  on  the  opposite  shelf,  on  the 
broad  of  his  back,  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  The  scene 
is  indescribably  solemn.  The  ripple  of  the  tide,  the  noise  of 
the  sailors'  feet  overhead,  the  gruff  voices  on  the  river,  the 
dogs  on  the  shore,  the  snoring  of  the  passengers,  and  a  con- 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  259 

stant  creaking  of  every  plank  in  the  vessel,  are  the  only 
sounds  that  meet  the  ear.  With  these  exceptions,  all  is  pro- 
found silence. 

"  My  curiosity  has  been  within  the  last  moment  very  much 
excited.  Mr.  Slug,  who  lies  above  Professor  Grime,  has  cau- 
tiously withdrawn  the  curtains  of  his  berth,  and  after  looking 
anxiously  out,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  his  companions 
are  asleep,  has  taken  up  the  tin  tube  of  which  I  have  before 
spoken,  and  is  regarding  it  with  great  interest.  What  rare 
mechanical  combinations  can  be  obtained  in  that  mysterious 
case  ?     It  is  evidently  a  profound  secret  to  all." 

"  A  quarter  past  one." 

"  The  behavior  of  Mr.  Slug  grows  more  and  more  mys- 
terious. He  has  unscrewed  the  top  of  the  tube,  and  now 
renews  his  observation  upon  his  companion  ;  evidently  to 
make  sure  that  he  is  wholly  unobserved.  He  is  clearly  on 
the  eve  of  some  great  experiment.  Pray  heaven  that  it  be 
not  a  dangerous  one  ;  but  the  interests  of  science  must  be 
promoted,  and  I  am  prepared  for  the  worst." 

"  Five  minutes  later. 

"  He  has  produced  a  large  pair  of  scissors,  and  drawn  a 
roll  of  some  substance,  not  unlike  parchment  in  appearance, 
from  the  tin  case.  The  experiment  is  about  to  begin.  I 
must  strain  my  eyes  to  the  utmost,  in  the  attempt  to  follow 
its  minutest  operation." 

"  Twenty  minutes  before  two. 

"  I  have  at  length  been  enabled  to  ascertain  that  the  tin 
tube  contains  a  few  yards  of  some  celebrated  plaster  recom- 
mended— as  I  discover  on  regarding  the  label  attentively 
through  my  eye-glass — as  a  preservative  against  sea-sickness. 
Mr.  Slug  has  cut  it  up  into  small  portions,  and  is  now  stick- 
ing it  over  himself  in  every  direction." 

"  Three  o'clock. 

"  Precisely  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  we  weighed  anchor, 
and  the  machinery  was  suddenly  put  in  motion  with  a  noise 
so  appalling,  that  Professor  Woodensconce,  who  had 
ascended  to  his  berth  by  means  of  a  platform  of  carpet-bags 
arranged  by  himself  on  geometrical  principles,  darted  from 
his  shelf  headforemost,  and  gaining  his  feet  with  all  the 
rapidity  of  extreme  terror,  ran  wildly  into  the  ladies'  cabin, 


26o  TPIE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

under  the  impression  that  we  were  sinking,  and  uttering 
loud  cries  for  aid.  I  am  assured  that  the  scene  which 
ensued  baffles  all  description.  There  were  one  hundred 
and  forty-seven  ladies  in  their  respective  berths  at  the 
time. 

"  Mr.  Slug  has  remarked,  as  an  additional  instance  of 
the  extreme  ingenuity  of  the  steam-engine  as  applied  to 
purposes  of  navigation,  that,  in  whatever  part  of  the  vessel 
a  passenger's  berth  may  be  situated,  the  machinery  always 
appears  to  be  exactly  under  his  pillow.  He  intends  stating 
this  very  beautiful,  though  simple,  discovery  to  the  associa- 
tion." 

"  Half-past  three. 

"  We  are  still  in  smooth  water  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  as  smooth 
water  as  a  steam-vessel  ever  can  be,  for,  as  Professor  Wood- 
ensconce,  who  has  just  woke  up,  learnedly  remarks,  another 
great  point  of  ingenuity  about  a  steamer  is  that  it  always 
carries  a  little  storm  with  it.  You  can  scarcely  conceive 
how  exciting  the  jerking  pulsation  of  the  ship  becomes.  It 
is  a  matter  of  positive  difficulty  to  get  to  sleep." 

"  Friday  afternoon,  six  o'clock. 

"  I  regret  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Slug's  plaster  has 
proved  of  no  avail.  He  is  in  great  agony,  but  has  applied 
several  large  additional  pieces,  notwithstanding.  How  affect- 
ing is  this  extreme  devotion  to  science  and  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge under  the  most  trying  circumstances  ! 

"  We  were  extremely  happy  this  morning  and  the  break- 
fast was  one  of  the  most  animated  description.  Nothing 
unpleasant  occurred  until  noon,  with  the  exception  of  Dr. 
Foxey's  brown  silk  umbrella  and  white  hat  becoming  entan- 
gled in  the  machinery  while  he  was"  explaining  to  a  knot  of 
ladies  the  construction  of  the  steam-engine.  I  fear  the 
gravy-soup  for  lunch  was  injudicious.  We  lost  a  great  many 
passengers  almost  immediately  afterward." 

"  Half-past  six. 

"  I  am  again  in  bed.  Any  thing  so  heart-rending  as  Mr. 
Slug's  sufferings  it  has  never  yet  been  my  lot  to  witness." 

**  Seven  o'clock. 

"  A  messenger  has  just  come  down  for  a  clean  pocket- 
handkerchief  from    Professor    Woodensconce's    bag,    that 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  261 

unfortunate  gentleman  being  quite  unable  to  leave  the  deck, 
and  imploring  constantly  to  be  thrown  overboard.  From 
this  man  I  understand  that  Professor  Nogo,  though  in  a  state 
of  utter  exhaustion,  clings  feebly  to  the  hard  biscuit  and 
cold  brandy-and-water,  under  the  impression  that  they 
will  yet  restore  him.  Such  is  the  triumph  of  mind  over 
matter. 

"  Professor  Grime  is  in  bed,  to  all  appearance  quite  well  ; 
but  he  will  eat,  and  it  is  disagreeable  to  see  him.  Has  this 
gentleman  no  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  ?  If  he  has,  on  what  principle  can  he  call  for 
mutton-chops, — and  smile  ?  " 

"  Black  Boy  and  Stomach-Ache,  Oldcastle,  ) 

Saturday  noon.      ) 

"  You  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  I  have  at  length  arrived 
here  in  safety.  The  town  is  excessively  crowded,  and  all  the 
private  lodgings  and  hotels  are  filled  with  savans  of  both 
sexes.  The  tremendous  assemblage  of  intellect  that  one 
encounters  in  every  street  is  in  the  last  degree  overwhelm- 
ing. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  throng  of  people  here,  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  very  comfortable  accommoda- 
tion on  very  reasonable  terms,  having  secured  a  sofa  in  the 
first-floor  passage  at  one  guinea  per  night,  which  includes 
permission  to  take  my  meals  in  the  bar,  on  condition  that  I 
walk  about  the  streets  at  other  times,  to  make  room  for 
other  gentlemen  similarly  situated.  I  have  been  over  the 
outhouses  intended  to  be  devoted  to  the  reception  of  the 
various  sections,  both  here  and  at  the  Boot-Jack  and  Coun- 
tenance, and  am  much  delighted  with  the  arrangements. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  fresh  appearance  of  the  sawdust 
with  which  the  floors  are  sprinkled.  The  forms  are  en- 
planed deal,  and  the  general  effect,  as  you  can  well  imagine, 
is  extremely  beautiful." 

"  Half-past  nine. 

"  The  number  and  rapidity  of  the  arrivals  are  quite  bewil- 
dering. Within  the  last  ten  minutes  a  stage  coach  has  driven 
up  to  the  door,  filled,  inside  and  out,  with  distinguished 
characters,  comprising  Mr.  Muddlebrains,  Mr.  Drawley, 
Professor  Muff,  Mr.  X.  Misty,  Mr.  X.  X.  Misty,  Mr.  Purblind, 
Professor  Rummin,  The  Honorable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long 
'  Ears,  Professor  John  Ketch,  Sir  William  Joltered,  Dr.  Buffer, 


262  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

Mr.  Smith,  of  London,  Mr.  Brown,  of  Edinburgh,  Sir  Hook- 
ham  Snivey,  and  Professor  Pumpkinskull.  The  last  ten  named 
gentlemen  were  wet  through,  and  looked  extremely  intelli- 
gent." 

"  Sunday,  two  o'clock,  p.  m. 

"  The  Honorable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long  Ears,  accom- 
panied by  Sir  William  Joltered,  walked  and  drove  this  morn- 
ing. They  accomplished  the  former  feat  in  boots,  and  the 
latter  in  a  hired  fly.  This  has  naturally  given  rise  to  much 
discussion. 

"  I  have  just  learned  that  an  interview  has  taken  place  at 
the  Boot-Jack  and  Countenance  between  Sowster,  the  active 
and  intelligent  beadle  of  this  place,  and  Professor  Pumpkin- 
skull,  who,  as  your  readers  are  doubtless  aware,  is  an  influ- 
ential member  of  the  council.  I  forbear  to  communicate 
any  of  the  rumors  to  which  this  very  extraordinary  proceed- 
ing has  given  rise  until  I  have  seen  Sowster,  and  endeavor 
to  ascertain  the  truth  from  him." 

"  Half-past  six. 

"I  engaged  a  donkey- chaise  shortly  after  writing  the 
above,  and  proceeded  at  a  brisk  trot  in  the  direction  of 
Sowster's  residence,  passing  through  a  beautiful  expanse  of 
country,  with  red  brick  buildings  on  either  side,  and  stop- 
ping  in  the  market-place  to  observe  the  spot  where  Mr. 
Kwakley's  hat  was  blown  off  yesterday.  It  is  an  uneven 
piece  of  paving,  but  has  certainly  no  appearance  which  would 
lead  one  to  suppose  that  any  such  event  had  recently  oc- 
curred there.  From  this  point  I  proceeded — passing  the 
gas-works  and  tallow-melter's — to  a  lane  which  had  been 
pointed  out  to  me  as  the  beadle's  place  of  residence  ;  and 
before  I  had  driven  a  dozen  yards  further,  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  meet  Sowster  himself,  advancing  toward  me. 

"  Sowster  is  a  fat  man,  with  a  more  enlarged  development 
of  that  peculiar  formation  of  countenance  which  is  vulgarly 
termed  a  double  chin  than  I  remember  to  have  ever  seen 
before.  He  has  also  a  very  red  nose,  which  he  attributes  to 
a  habit  of  early  rising — so  red,  indeed,  that  but  for  this  ex- 
planation I  should  have  supposed  it  to  proceed  from  occa- 
sional inebriety.  He  informed  me  that  he  did  not  feel  at 
liberty  to  relate  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  Pro- 
fessor Pumpkinskull,  but  had  no   objection  to  state  that  it 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  263 

was  connected  with  a  matter  of  police  regulation,  and  added 
with  a  peculiar  significance,  '  Never  wos  sitch  times  ! ' 

"You  will  easily  believe  that  this  intelligence  gave  me  con- 
siderable surprise,  not  wholly  unmixed  with  anxiety,  and 
that  I  lost  no  time  in  waiting  on  Professor  Pumpkinskull, 
and  stating  the  object  of  my  visit.  After  a  few  moments' 
reflection,  the  professor,  who,  I  am  bound  to  say,  behaved 
with  the  utmost  politeness,  openly  avowed,  (I  marked  the 
passage  in  italics)  that  he  had  requested  Sowster  to  attend  on 
the  Monday  morning  at  the  Boot- Jack  and  Cowitenance,  to 
keep  off  the  boys ;  and  that  he  had  further  desired  that  the 
under-beadle  might  be  stationed,  with  the  same  object,  at  the 
Black-Boy  and  Stomach- Ache  ! 

"  Now  I  leave  this  unconstitutional  proceeding  to  your 
comments  and  the  consideration  of  your  readers.  I  have  yet  to 
learn  that  a  beadle,  without  the  precincts  of  a  church,  church- 
yard, or  work-house,  and  acting  otherwise  than  under  the 
express  orders  of  churchwardens  and  overseers  in  council 
assembled,  to  enforce  the  law  against  people  who  come 
upon  the  parish,  and  other  offenders,  has  any  lawful  au- 
thority whatever  over  the  rising  youth  of  this  country.  I 
have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle  can  be  called  out  by  any 
civilian  to  exercise  a  domination  and  despotism  over 
the  boys  of  Britain.  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle 
will  be  permitted  by  the  commissioners  of  poor-law  regula- 
tion to  wear  out  the  soles  and  heels  of  his  boots  in  illegal 
interference  with  the  liberties  of  people  not  proved  poor,  or 
otherwise  criminal.  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle  has 
power  to  stop  up  the  queen's  highway  at  his  will  and  pleas- 
ure, or  that  the  whole  width  of  the  street  is  not  free  and 
open  to  any  man,  boy,  or  woman  in  existence,  up  to  the 
very  walls  of  the  houses — ay,  be  they  Black  Boys  and 
Stomach-aches,  or  Boot-jacks  and  Countenances,  I  care  not." 

"  Nine  o'clock. 

"  I  have  procured  a  local  artist  to  make  a  faithful  sketch 
of  the  tyrant  Sowster,  which,  as  he  has  acquired  this  in- 
famous celebrity,  you  will  no  doubt  wish  to  have  engraved, 
for  the  purpose  of  presenting  a  copy  with  every  copy  of  your 
next  number.  The  under-beadle  has  consented  to  write  his 
life,  but  it  is  to  be  strictly  anonymous. 

"  The  likeness  is  of  course  from  the  life,  and  complete  in 
every  respect.  Even  if  I  had  been  totally  ignorant  of  the 
man's  real  character,  and  it  had  been  placed  before  me  with- 


264  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION, 

out  remark,  I  should  have  shuddered  involuntarily.  There 
is  an  intense  malignity  of  expression  in  the  features,  and  a 
baleful  ferocity  of  purpose  in  the  ruffian's  eye,  which  ap- 
palls and  sickens.  His  whole  air  is  rampant  with  cruelty, 
nor  is  the  stomach  less  characteristic  of  his  demoniac  pro- 
pensities. 

"  Monday. 

"  The  great  day  has  at  length  arrived.  I  have  neither 
eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  pens,  nor  ink,  nor  paper,  for  any  thing 
but  the  wonderful  proceedings  that  have  astounded  my 
senses.  Let  me  collect  my  energies  and  proceed  to  the  ac- 
count. 

"SECTION   A. — ZOOLOGY   AND    BOTANY. 

"  FRONT  PARLOR,    BLACK    BOY  AND   STOMACH-ACHE. 

PRESIDENT— SIR   WILLIAM   JOLTERED.      VICE    PRESIDENTS— MR. 

MUDDLEBRAINS  AND    MR.    DRAWLEY. 

"  Mr.  X.  X.  Misty  communicated  some  remarks  on  the 
disappearance  of  dancing  bears  from  the  streets  of  London, 
with  observations  on  the  exhibition  of  monkeys  as  connected 
with  barrel-organs.  The  writer  had  observed  with  feel- 
ings of  the  utmost  pain  and  regret,  that  some  years  ago  a 
sudden  and  unaccountable  change  in  the  public  taste  took 
place  with  reference  to  itinerant  bears,  who,  being  dis- 
countenanced by  the  populace,  gradually  fell  off  one  by  one 
from  the  streets  of  the  metropolis,  until  not  one  remained  to 
create  a  taste  for  natural  history  in  the  breasts  of  the  poor 
and  uninstructed.  One  bear,  indeed — a  brown  and  ragged 
animal, — had  lingered  about  the  haunts  of  his  former  tri- 
umphs, with  a  worn  and  dejected  visage  and  feeble  limbs, 
and  had  essayed  to  wield  his  quarter-staff  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  multitude  ;  but  hunger  and  an  utter  want  of 
any  due  recompense  for  his  abilities,  had  at  length  driven 
him  from  the  field,  and  it  was  only  too  probable  that  he  had 
fallen  a  sacrifice  to  the  rising  taste  for  grease.  He  regretted 
to  add  that  a  similar  and  no  less  lamentable  change  had 
taken  place  with  reference  to  monkeys.  Those  delightful 
animals  had  formerly  been  almost  as  plentiful  as  the  organs 
on  the  tops  of  which  they  were  accustomed  to  sit  ;  the  pro- 
portion in  the  year  1829,  it  appeared  by  the  parliamentary 
return,  being  as  one  monkey  to  three  organs.  Owing  how- 
ever to  an  altered  taste  in  musical  instruments  and  the  sub- 
stitution in  a  great  measure  of  narrow  boxes  of  music  for 
organs,  which  left  the  monkeys  nothing  to  sit  upon,  this 
source  of  public   amusement  was   wholly   dried  up.     Con- 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  265 

sidering  it  a  matter  of  the  deepest  importance  in  connec- 
tion with  national  education,  that  the  people  should  not  lose 
such  opportunities  of  making  themselves  acquainted  with 
the  manners  and  customs  of  two  most  interesting  species  of 
animals,  the  author  submitted  that  some  measures  should 
be  immediately  taken  for  the  restoration  of  those  pleasing 
and- truly  intellectual  amusements. 

"  The  president  inquired  by  what  means  the  honorable 
member  proposed  to  attain  this  most  desirable  end  ? 

"  The  author  submitted  that  it  could  be  most  fully  and 
satisfactorily  accomplished,  if  her  majesty's  government 
would  cause  to  be  brought  over  to  England,  and  maintained 
at  the  public  expense,  and  for  the  public  amusement,  such 
a  number  of  bears  as  would  enable  every  quarter  of  the 
town  to  be  visited — say  at  least  by  three  bears  a  week.  No 
difficulty  whatever  need  be  experienced  in  providing  a  fit- 
ting place  for  the  reception  of  those  animals,  as  a  commodi- 
ous bear-garden  could  be  erected  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  both  houses  of  parliament ;  obviously  the  most 
proper  and  eligible  spot  for  such  an  establishment. 

"  Professor  Mull  doubted  very  much  whether  any  cor- 
rect ideas  of  natural  history  were  propagated  by  the 
means  to  which  the  honorable  member  had  so  ably 
adverted.  On  the  contrary,  he  believed  that  they  had 
been  the  means  of  diffusing' very  incorrect  and  imperfect 
notions  on  the  subject.  He  spoke  from  personal  obser- 
vations and  personal  experience,  when  he  said  that  many 
children  of  great  abilities  had  been  induced  to  believe, 
from  what  they  had  observed  in  the  streets,  at  and  before 
the  period  to  which  the  honorable  gentleman  had  referred, 
that  all  monkeys  were  born  in  red  coats  and  spangles,  and 
that  their  hats  and  features  also  came  by  nature.  He  wished 
to  know  distinctly  whether  the  honorable  gentleman  attrib- 
uted the  want  of  encouragement  the  bears  had  met  with  to 
the  decline  of  public  taste  in  that  respect,  or  to  a  want  of 
ability  on  the  part  of  the  bears  themselves  ? 

"  Mr.  X.  X.  Misty  replied  that  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  believe  but  that  there  must  be  a  great  deal  of  floating 
talent  among  the  bears  and  monkeys  generally  ;  which,  in 
the  absence  of  any  proper  encouragement,  was  dispersed  in 
other  directions. 

"  Professor  Pumpkinskull  wished  to  take  that  opportunity 
of  calling  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a  most  important 
and  serious  point.     The  author  of  the  treatise  just  read  had 


266  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

alluded  to  the  prevalent  taste  for  bear's  grease  as  a  means 
of  promoting  the  growth  of  hair,  which  undoubtedly  was 
diffused  to  a  very  great  and,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  very 
alarming  extent.  No  gentleman  attending  that  section  could 
fail  to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  the  youth  of  the  present  age 
evinced,  by  their  behavior  in  the  streets  and  all  places  of 
public  resort,  a  considerable  lack  of  that  gallantry  and  gentle- 
manly feeling  which,  in  more  ignorant  times,  had  been 
thought  becoming.  He  wished  to  know  whether  it  were 
possible  that  a  constant  outward  application  of  bear's  grease 
by  the  young  gentlemen  about  town,  had  imperceptibly  in- 
fused into  those  unhappy  persons  something  of  the  nature 
and  quality  of  the  bear  ?  He  shuddered  as  he  threw  out  the 
remark  ;  but  if  this  theory,  on  inquiry,  should  prove  to  be 
well  founded,  it  would  at  once  explain  a  great  deal  of  un- 
pleasant eccentricity  of  behavior,  which,  without  some  such 
discovery,  was  wholly  unaccountable. 

"The  president  highly  complimented  the  learned  gentle- 
man on  his  most  valuable  suggestion,  which  produced  the 
greatest  effect  upon  the  assembly  ;  and  remarked  that  only 
a  week  previous  he  had  seen  some  young  gentlemen  at  a 
theater  eying  a  box  of  ladies  with  a  fierce  intensity,  which 
nothing  but  the  influence  of  some  brutish  appetite  could 
possibly  explain.  It  was  dreadful  to  reflect  that  our  youth 
were  so  rapidly  verging  into  a  generation  of  bears. 

"  After  a  scene  of  scientific  enthusiasm  it  was  resolved 
that  this  important  question  should  be  immediately  sub- 
mitted to  the  consideration  of  the  council. 

"The  president  wished  to  know  whether  any  gentleman 
could  inform  the  section  what  had  become  of  the  dancing 
dogs  ? 

"  A  member  replied,  after  some  hesitation,  that  on  the  day 
after  three  glee-singers  had  been  committed  to  prison  as 
criminals  by  a  late  most  zealous  police-magistrate  of  the 
metropolis,  the  dogs  had  abandoned  their  professional  duties, 
and  dispersed  themselves  in  different  quarters  of  the  town 
to  gain  a  livelihood  by  less  dangerous  means.  He  was  given 
to  understand  that  since  that  period  they  had  supported 
themselves  by  lying  in  wait  for  and  robbing  blind  men's 
poodles. 

"  Mr.  Flummery  exhibited  a  twig,  claiming  to  be  a  veritable 
branch  of  that  noble  tree  known  to  naturalists  as  the  Shake- 
speare, which  has  taken  root  in  every  land  and  climate,  and 
gathered  under  the  shade  of  its  broad  green  boughs  the  great 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  267 

family  of  mankind.  The  learned  gentleman  remarked  that 
the  twig  had  been  undoubtedly  called  by  other  names  in  its 
time  ;  but  that  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by  an  old  lady 
in  Warwickshire,  where  the  great  tree  had  grown,  as  a  shoot 
of  the  genuine  Shakespeare,  by  which  name  he  begged  to 
introduce  it  to  his  countrymen. 

"The  president  wished  to  know  what  botanical  definiti  n 
the  honorable  gentleman  could  afford  of  the  curiosity  ? 

"  Mr.    Flummery   expressed   his    opinion    that    it  was    a 

DECIDED    PLANT. 

"  SECTION    B.— DISPLAY    OF    MODELS    AND    MECHANICAL    SCIENCE. 

"LARGE    ROOM,    BOOT-JACK    AND    COUNTENANCE. 

'*  PRESIDENT— MR.    MALLET.      VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.    LEAVER    AND    SCROO. 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  exhibited  a  most  beautiful  and  delicate 
machine,  of  a  little  larger  size  than  an  ordinary  snuff-box, 
manufactured  entirely  by  himself,  and  composed  exclusively 
of  steel  ;  by  the  aid  of  which  more  pockets  were  picked  in 
one  hour  than  by  the  present  slow  and  tedious  process  in 
four-and-twenty.  The  inventor  remarked  that  it  had  been 
put  into  active  operation  in  Fleet  Street,  the  Strand,  and 
other  thoroughfares,  and  had  never  been  once  known  to  fail. 

"  After  seme  slight  delay,  occasioned  by  the  various  mem- 
bers of  the  section  buttoning  their  pockets,  the  president 
narrowly  inspected  the  invention,  and  declared  that  he  had 
never  seen  a  machine  of  more  beautiful  or  exquisite  con- 
struction. Would  the  inventor  be  good  enough  to  inform 
the  section  whether  he  had  taken  any  and  what  means  for 
bringing  it  into  general  operation  ? 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  stated  that  after  encountering  some  prelim- 
inary difficulties,  he  had  succeeded  in  putting  himself  in  com- 
munication with  Mr.  Fogle  Hunter,  and  other  gentlemen  con- 
nected with  the  swell  mob,  who  had  awarded  the  invention 
the  very  highest  and  most  unqualified  approbation.  He  re- 
gretted to  say,  however,  that  those  distinguished  practition- 
ers, in  common  with  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Gimlet-eyed 
Tommy,  and  other  members  of  a  secondary  grade  of  the 
profession  whom  he  was  understood  to  represent,  enter- 
tained an  insuperable  objection  to  its  being  brought  into 
general  use,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  have  the  inevitable 
effect  of  almost  entirely  superseding  manual  labor,  and 
throwing  a  great  number  of  highly  deserving  persons  out  of 
employment.  9 

"  The  president   hoped  that  no  such  fanciful  objections 


268  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION 

would  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  a  great  public 
improvement. 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  hoped  so  too  ;  but  he  feared  that  if  the 
gentlemen  of  the  swell  mob  persevered  in  their  objection, 
nothing  could  be  done. 

"  Professor  Grime  suggested  that  surely  in  that  case  her 
majesty's  government  might  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  it  up. 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  said  that  if  the  objection  were  found  to  be 
insuperable,  he  should  apply  to  parliament,  who,  he  thought, 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  the  utility  of  the  invention. 

"  The  president  observed  that  up  to  his  time  parliament 
had  certainly  got  on  very  well  without  it  ;  but  as  they  did 
their  business  on  a  very  large  scale,  he  had  no  doubt  they 
would  gladly  adopt  the  improvement.  His  only  fear  was 
that  the  machine  might  be  worn  out  by  constant  working. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  called  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a 
proposition  of  great  magnitude  and  interest,  illustrated  by  a 
vast  number  of  models,  and  stated  with  much  clearness  and 
perspicuity,  in  a  treatise  entitled  '  Practical  suggestions  on 
the  necessity  of  providing  some  harmless  and  wholesome  re- 
laxation for  the  young  noblemen  of  England.'  His  propo- 
sition was  that  a  space  of  ground  of  not  less  than  ten  miles 
in  length  and  four  in  breadth  should  be  purchased  by  a  new 
company,  to  be  incorporated  by  act  of  parliament,  and  in- 
closed by  a  brick  wall  of  not  less  than  twelve  feet  in  heigh'.. 
He  proposed  that  it  should  be  laid  out  with  highway  roads, 
turnpikes,  bridges,  miniature  villages,  and  every  object  that 
could  conduce  to  the  comfort  and  glory  of  four-in-hand 
clubs,  so  that  they  might  be  fairly  presumed  to  require  no 
drive  beyond  it.  This  delightful  retreat  would  be  fitted  up 
with  most  commodious  and  extensive  stables,  for  the  con- 
venience of  such  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  as  had  a  taste 
for  hostlering,  and  with  houses  of  entertainment  furnished 
in  the  most  expensive  and  handsome  style.  It  would  be 
further  provided  with  whole  streets  ,of  door-knockers  and 
bell-handles,  of  extra  size,  so  constructed  that  they  could 
be  easily  wrenched  off  at  night,  and  regularly  screwed  on 
again  by  attendants  provided  for  the  purpose,  every  day. 
There  would  also  be  gas-lamps  of  real  glass,  which  could  be 
broken  at  a  comparatively  small  expense  per  dozen,  and  a 
broad  and  handsome  foot-pavement  for  gentlemen  to  drive 
their  cabriolets  upon  when  they  were  humorously  disposed — 
for  the  full  enjoyment  of  which  feat,  live  pedestrians  would 
be  procured  from  the  work-house  at  a  very  small  charge  per 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  269 

head.  The  place  being  inclosed  and  carefully  screened 
from  the  intrusion  of  the  public,  there  would  be  no  objec- 
tion to  gentlemen  laying  aside  any  article  of  their  costume 
that  was  considered  to  interfere  with  a  pleasant  frolic,  or, 
indeed,  to  their  walking  about  without  any  costume  at  all, 
if  they  liked  that  better.  In  short,  every  facility  of  enjoy- 
ment would  be  afforded  that  the  most  gentlemanly  person 
could  possibly  desire.  But  as  even  these  advantages  would 
be  incomplete,  unless  there  were  some  means  provided  of 
enabling  the  nobility  and  gentry  to  display  their  prowess 
when  they  sallied  forth  after  dinner,  and  as  some  inconven- 
ience might  be  experienced  in  the  event  of  their  being  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  pummeling  each  other,  the  inventor 
had  turned  his  attention  to  the  construction  of  an  entirely 
new  police-force,  composed  exclusively  of  automaton  figures, 
which,  with  the  assistance  of  the  ingenious  Signor  Gagliardi, 
of  Windmill  Street,  in  the  Haymarket,  he  had  succeded  in 
making,  with  such  nicety  that  a  policeman,  cab-driver,  or  old 
woman,  made  upon  the  principle  of  the  models  exhibited, 
would  walk  about  until  knocked  down,  like  any  real  man  ; 
nay,  more,  if  set  upon  and  beaten  by  six  or  eight  noblemen 
or  gentlemen,  after  it  was  down  the  figure  would  utter  divers 
groans,  mingled  with  entreaties  for  mercy  ;  thus  rendering  the 
illusion  complete,  and  the  enjoyment  perfect.  But  the  inven- 
tion did  not  stop  even  here,  for  station-houses  would  be 
built,  containing  good  beds  for  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  they  would  repair  to  a 
commodious  police-office,  where  a  pantomimic  investigation 
would  take  place  before  automaton  magistrates— quite  equal 
to  life — who  would  fine  them  so  many  counters,  with  which 
they  would  be  previously  provided  for  the  purpose.  This 
office  would  be  furnished  with  an  inclined  plane  for  the  con- 
venience of  any  nobleman  or  gentleman  who  might  wish  to 
bring  in  his  horse  as  a  witness,  and  the  prisoners  would  be  at 
perfect  liberty,  as  they  were  now,  to  interrupt  the  complainants 
as  much  as  they  pleased,  and  to  make  any  remarks  that  they 
thought  proper.  The  charge  of  those  amusements  would 
amount  to  very  little  more  than  they  already  cost,  and  the 
inventor  submitted  that  the  public  would  be  much  benefited 
and  comforted  by  the  proposed  arrangement. 

"  Professor  Nogo  wished  to  be  informed  what  amount  of 
automaton  police-force  it  was  proposed  to  raise  in  the  first 
instance. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  replied  that  it  was  proposed  to  begin 


270  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

with  seven  divisions  of  police  of  a  score  each,  lettered  from 
A  to  G  inclusive.  It  was  proposed  that  not  more  than  half 
the  number  should  be  placed  on  active  duty,  and  that  the 
remainder  should  be  kept  on  shelves  in  the  police-office, 
ready  to  be  called  out  at  a  moment's  notice. 

"  The  president,  awarding  the  utmost  merit  to  the  in- 
genious gentleman  who  had  originated  the  idea,  doubted 
whether  the  automaton  police  would  quite  answer  the  pur- 
pose. He  feared  that  noblemen  and  gentlemen  would  per- 
haps require  the  excitement  of  thrashing  living  subjects. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  submitted,  that  as  the  usual  odds  in  such 
cases  were  ten  noblemen  to  one  policeman  or  cab-driver,  it 
could  make  very  little  difference,  in  point  of  excitement, 
whether  the  policeman  or  cab-driver  were  a  man  or  a  block. 
The  great  advantage  would  be  that  the  policeman's  limb 
might  be  knocked  off,  and  yet  he  would  be  in  a  condition 
to  do  duty  next  day.  He  might  even  give  his  evidence  next 
morning  with  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  give  it  equally  well. 

"  Professor  Muff. — Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,  sir,  of 
what  materials  it  is  intended  that  the  magistrates'  heads 
shall  be  composed  ? 

"  Mr.  Coppernose. — The  magistrates  will  have  wooden 
heads  of  course,  and  they  will  be  made  of  the  toughest  and 
thickest  materials  that  can  possibly  be  obtained. 

"  Professor  Muff. — I  am  quite  satisfied.  This  is  a  great 
invention. 

"  Professor  Nogo. — I  see  but  one  objection  to  it.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  that  the  magistrates  ought  to  talk. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  no  sooner  heard  this  suggestion  than  h& 
toucned  a  small  spring  in  each  of  the  two  models  of  magis- 
trates  which  were  placed  upon  the  table  ;  one  of  the  figures 
immediately  began  to  exclaim  with  great  volubility,  that  he 
was  sorry  to  see  gentlemen  in  such  a  situation,  and  the  other 
to  express  a  fear  that  the  policeman  was  intoxicated. 

"  The  section  as  with  one  accord  declared  with  a  shout  of 
applause,  that  the  invention  was  complete  ;  and  the  presi- 
dent, much  excited,  retired  with  Mr.  Coppefnose,  to  lay  it 
before  the  council.     On  his  return, — 

"  Mr.  Tickle  displayed  his  newly  invented  spectacles, 
which  enabled  the  wearer  to  discern  in  very  bright  colors 
objects  at  a  great  distance,  and  rendered  him  wholly  blind 
to  those  immediately  before  him.  It  was,  he  said,  a  most 
valuable  and  useful  invention,  based  strictly  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  human  eye 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  271 

"The  president  required  some  information  upon  this 
point.  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  human  eye  was  remark- 
able for  the  peculiarities  of  which  the  honorable  gentleman 
had  spoken. 

"  Mr.  Tickle  was  rather  astonished  to  hear  this,  when  the 
president  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  that  a  large  number  of 
most  excellent  persons  and  great  statesmen  could  see  with 
the  naked  eye  most  marvelous  horrors  on  West  India  plant- 
ations, while  they  could  discern  nothing  whatever  in  the 
interior  of  Manchester  cotton-mills.  He  must  know,  too, 
with  what  quickness  of  perception  most  people  could  dis- 
cover their  neighbor's  faults,  and  how  very  blind  they  were 
to  their  own.  If  the  president  differed  from  the  great  ma- 
jority of  men  in  this  respect,  his  eye  was  a  defective  one, 
and  it  was  to  assist  his  vision  that  these  glasses  were  made. 

"  Mr.  Blank  exhibited  a  model  of  a  fashionable  annual, 
composed  of  copper-plates,  gold  leaf,  and  silk  boards,  and 
worked  entirely  by  milk  and  water. 

"  Mr.  Prosee,  after  examining  the  machine,  declared  it  to 
be  so  ingeniously  composed,  that  he  was  whollv  unable  to 
discover  how  it  went  on  at  all. 

"  Mr.  Blank. — Nobody  can,  and  that  is  the  beauty  of  it. 

"  SECTION  C. — ANATOMY  AND  MEDICINE. 
"  BAR-ROOM,  BLACK  BOY  AND  STOMACH-ACHE. 
"  PRESIDENT — DR.  SOEMUP.      VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.  PESSEL  AND  MORTAIR. 

"  Dr.  Grummidge  stated  to  the  section  a  most  interesting 
case  of  monomania,  and  described  the  course  of  treatment  he 
had  pursued  with  perfect  success.  The  patient  was  a  mar- 
ried lady  in  the  middle  rank  of  life,  who,  having  seen  another 
lady  at  an  evening  party  in  a  full  suit  of  pearls,  was  suddenly 
seized  with  a  desire  to  possess  a  similar  equipment,  although 
her  husband's  finances  were  by  no  means  equal  to  the  neces- 
sary outlay.  Finding  her  wish  ungratified,  she  fell  sick,  and  the 
symptoms  soon  became  so  alarming,  that  he,  Dr.  Grummidge, 
was  called  in.  At  this  period  the  prominent  tokens  of  the  dis- 
order were  sullenness,  a  total  indisposition  to  perform  domestic 
duties,  great  peevishness,  and  extreme  languor,  except  when 
pearls  were  mentioned,  at  which  times  the  pulse  quickened, 
the  eyes  grew  brighter,  the  pupils  dilated,  and  the  patient, 
after  various  incoherent  exclamations,  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears  and  exclaimed  that  nobody  cared  for  her.  and  that 
she  wished  herself  dead.  Finding  that  the  patient's  appe- 
tite was  affected  in  the  presence  of  company,  he  began  by 


272  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

ordering  a  total  abstinence  from  all  stimulants,  and  forbid- 
ding any  sustenance  but  weak  gruel  ;  he  then  took  twenty 
ounces  of  blood,  applied  a  blister  under  each  ear,  one  upon 
the  chest,  and  another  on  the  back  ;  having  done  which,  and 
administered  five  grains  of  calomel,  he  left  the  patient  to 
her  repose.  The  next  day  she  was  somewhat  low,  but  decid- 
edly better  ;  and  all  appearances  of  irritation  were  removed. 
The  next  day  she  improved  still  further,  and  on  the  next 
again.  On  the  fourth  there  was  some  appearance  of  a  re- 
turn of  the  old  symptoms,  which  no  sooner  developed  them- 
selves than  he  administered  another  dose  of  calomel, 
and  left  strict  orders,  that  unless  a  decidedly  favorable 
change  occurred  within  two  hours,  the  patient's  head  should 
be  immediately  shaved  to  the  very  last  curl.  From  that  mo- 
ment she  began  to  mend,  and  in  less  than  four-and-twenty 
hours  was  perfectly  restored  ;  she  did  not  now  betray  the 
least  emotion  at  the  sight  or  mention  of  pearls  or  any  other 
ornaments.  She  was  cheerful  and  good-humored,  and  a 
most  beneficial  change  had  been  effected  in  her  whole 
temperament  and  condition, 

"  Mr.  Pipkin,  M.  R.  C.  S.,  read  a  short  but  most  interest- 
ing communication  in  which  he  sought  to  prove  the  com- 
plete belief  of  Sir  William  Courtenay,  otherwise  Thom,  re- 
cently shot  at  Canterbury,  in  the  homoeopathic  system.  The 
section  would  bear  in  mind  that  one  of  the  homoeopathic 
doctrines  was,  that  infinitesimal  doses  of  any  medicine 
which  would  occasion  the  disease  under  which  the  patient 
labored,  supposing  him  to  be  in  a  healthy  state,  would  cure 
it.  Now  it  was  a  remarkable  circumstance — proved  in  the 
evidence — that  the  diseased  Thom  employed  a  woman  to 
follow  him  about  all  day  with  a  pail  of  water,  assuring  her 
that  one  drop,  a  purely  homoeopathic  remedy,  the  section 
would  observe,  placed  upon  his  tongue  after  death,  would 
restore  him.  What  was  the  obvious  inference  ?  That  Thom, 
who  was  marching  and  countermarching  in  osier  beds,  and 
other  swampy  places,  was  impressed  with  a  presentiment 
that  he  should  be  drowned  ;  in  which  case,  had  his  instruc- 
tions been  complied  with,  he  could  not  fail  to  have  been 
brought  to  life  again  instantly  by  his  own  prescriptions.  As 
it  was,  if  this  woman,  or  any  other  person,  had  administered 
an  infinitesimal  dose  of  lead  and  gunpowder,  immediately 
after  he  fell,  he  would  have  recovered  forthwith.  But  un- 
happily the  woman  concerned  did  not  possess  the  power  of 
reasoning  by  analogy,  or  carrying  out  a  principle,  and   thus 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  ±73 

the  unfortunate  gentleman  had  been  sacrificed  to   the  igno- 
rance of  the  peasantry. 

"  SECTION  D. — STATISTICS. 

"  OUT-HOUSE,    BLACK    BOY  AND  STOMACH-ACHE. 

"  PRESIDENT — MR.  SLUG,      VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.  NOAKES  AND  STYLES. 

"  Mr.  Kwakley  stated  the  result  of  some  most  ingenious 
statistical  inquiries  relative  to  the  difference  between  the 
value  of  the  qualification  of  several  members  of  parliament, 
as  published  to  the  world,  and  its  real  nature  and  amount. 
After  reminding  the  section  that  every  member  of  parliament 
for  a  town  or  borough  was  supposed  to  possess  a  clear  free- 
hold estate  of  three  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  the  honor- 
able gentleman  excited  great  amusement  and  laughter  by 
stating  the  exact  amount  of  freehold  property  possessed  by 
a  column  of  legislators,  in  which  he  had  included  himself. 
It  appeared  from  this  table  that  the  amount  of  such  income 
possessed  by  each  was  o  pounds,  o  shillings,  and  o  pence, 
yielding  an  average  of  the  same.  (Great  laughter.)  It  was 
pretty  well  known  that  there  were  accommodating  gentlemen 
in  the  habit  of  furnishing  new  members  with  temporary 
qualifications,  to  the  ownership  of  which  they  swore 
solemnly,  of  course,  as  a  mere  matter  of  form.  He  argued 
from  these  data  that  it  was  wholly  unnecessary  for  members  of 
parliament  to  possess  any  property  at  all,  especially  as,  when 
they  had  none,  the  public  could  get  them  so  much  cheaper. 

"  SUPPLEMENTARY  SECTION  E.— UMBUGOLOGY   AND  DITCH— 
WATERISTICS. 
"  PRESIDENT — MR.    GRUB.      VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.   DULL    AND   DUMMY. 

"  A  paper  was  read  by  the  secretary,  descriptive  of  a  bay 
pony  with  one  eye, which  had  been  seen  by  the  author  standing 
in  a' butcher's  cart  at  the  corner  of  Newgate  Market.  The 
communication  described  the  author  of  the  paper  as  having 
in  the  prosecution  of  a  mercantile  pursuit,  betaken  himself  one 
Saturday  morning  last  summer  from  Somers  Town  to  Cheap- 
side;  in  the  course  of  which  expedition  he  had  beheld  the  ex- 
traordinary appearance  above  described.  The  pony  had  one 
distinct  eye  ;  it  had  been  pointed  out  by  his  friend  Captain 
Blunderbore  of  the  Horse  Marines,  who  assisted  the  author  in 
his  search,  that  whenever  he  winked  his  eye  he  whisked  his 
tail,  possibly  to  drive  the  flies  off,  but  that  he  always  winked 
and  whisked  at  the  same  time.  The  animal  was  lean,  spav- 
ined and  tottering  ;  and  the  author  proposed  to  constitute 
it  of  the  family  of  Fitfordogsmeataurious.  It  certainly  did 
occur  to  him  that  there  was  no  case  on  record  of  a  pony 


*74  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

with  one  clearly  defined  and  distinct  organ  of  vision,  wink- 
ing and  whisking  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Mr.  Q.  j.  Snuffletoffle  had  heard  of  a  pony  winking  his 
eye,  and  likewise  of  a  pony  whisking  his  tail,  but  whether 
they  were  two  ponies  or  the  same  pony  he  could  not  under- 
take positively  to  say.  At  all  events  he  was  acquainted  with 
no  authenticated  instance  of  a  simultaneous  winking  and 
whisking,  and  he  really  could  not  but  doubt  the  existence  of 
such  a  marvelous  pony  in  opposition  to  all  those  natural 
laws  by  which  ponies  were  governed.  Referring,  however, 
to  the  mere  question  of  his  one  organ  of  vision,  might  he 
suggest  the  possibility  of  this  pony  having  been  literally  half 
asleep  at  the  time  he  was  seen,  and  having  closed  only  one 
eye  ? 

"  The  president  observed  that  whether  the  pony  was  half 
asleep  or  fast  asleep,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  asso- 
ciation was  awake,  and  therefore  that  they  had  better  get 
the  business  over  and  go  to  dinner.  He  had  certainly  never 
seen  any  thing  analogous  to  this  pony  ;  but  he  was  not  pre- 
pared to  doubt  its  existence,  for  he  had  seen  many  queerer 
ponies  in  his  time,  though  he  did  not  pretend  to  have  seen 
any  more  remarkable  donkeys  than  the  other  gentlemen 
around  him. 

"  Professor  John  Ketch  was  then  called  upon  to  exhibit 
the  skull  of  the  late  Mr.  Greenacre,  which  he  produced  from 
a  blue  bag,  remarking,  on  being  invited  to  make  any  obser- 
vations that  occurred  to  him,  'that  he'd  'pound  it  as  that 
'ere  'spectable  section  had  never  seed  a  more  gamerer  cove 
nor  he  vos.' 

"  A  most  animated  discussion  upon  this  interesting  relic 
ensued  ;  and  some  difference  of  opinion  arising  respecting 
the  real  character  of  the  deceased  gentleman,  Mr.  Blubb 
delivered  a  lecture  upon  the  cranium  before  him,  clearly 
showing  that  Mr.  Greenacre  possessed  the  organ  of  destruc- 
tiveness  to  a  most  unusual  extent,  with  a  most  remarkable 
development  of  the  organ  of  carveativeness.  Sir  Hookham 
Snivey  was  proceeding  to  combat  this  opinion,  when  Pro- 
fessor Ketch  suddenly  interrupted  the  proceedings  by  ex- 
claiming, with  great  excitement  of  manner,  '  Walker  ! ' 

"  The  president  begged  to  call  the  learned  gentleman  to 
order. 

"  Professor  Ketch. — '  Order  be  blowed  !  you've  got  the 
wrong  'un,  I  tell  you.  It  ain't  no  'ed  at  all ;  it's  a  coker-nut 
as  my  brother-in-law  has  been  a-carvin'  to  hornament  his  new 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION.  2^5 

baked  'tatur-stall  vot's  a-coming  down  here  vile  the  'socia- 
tion's  in  the  town.     Hand  over,  vill  you  ? " 

u  With  these  words  Professor  Ketch  hastily  re-possessed 
himself  of  the  cocoanut,  and  drew  forth  the  skull,  in  mistake 
for  which  he  had  exhibited  it.  A  most  interesting  conversa- 
tion ensued  ;  but,  as  there  appeared  some  doubt  ultimately 
whether  the  skull  was  Mr.  Greenacres',  or  a  hospital  patient's, 
or  a  pauper's,  or  a  man's,  or  a  woman's,  or  a  monkey's,  no 
particular  result  was  attained. 

"  I  can  not,"  says  our  talented  correspondent,  in  conclu- 
sion— "  I  can  not  close  my  account  of  these  gigantic  re- 
searches, and  sublime  and  noble  triumphs,  without  repeating 
a  bon-mot  of  Professor  Woodensconce's,  which  shows  how  the 
greatest  minds  may  occasionally  unbend,  when  truth  can  be 
presented  to  listening  ears,  clothed  in  an  attractive  and  play- 
ful form.  I  was  standing  by,  when,  after  a  week  of  feasting 
and  feeding,  that  learned  gentleman,  accompanied  by  the 
whole  body  of  wonderful  men,  entered  the  hall  yesterday, 
where  a  sumptuous  dinner  was  prepared  ;  where  the  richest 
wines  sparkled  on  the  board,  and  fat  bucks — propitiatory 
sacrifices  to  learning — sent  forth  their  savory  odors.  '  Ah  ! ' 
said  Professor  Woodensconce,  rubbing  his  hands,  '  this  is 
what  we  meet  for  ;  this  is  what  inspires  us  ;  this  is  what 
keeps  us  together,  and  beckons  us  onward  ;  this  is  the  sj>*-ead 
of  science,  and  a  glorious  spread  it  is  !  " 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

IN  FOUR  PARTS. 


PART  I. 


INTRODUCTORY    ROMANCE.       FROM    THE    PEN    OF   WILLIAM 
TINKLING,    ESQUIRE.* 

This  beginning-part  is  not  made  out  of  any  body's  head, 
you  know.  It's  real.  You  must  believe  this  beginning-part 
more  than  what  comes  after,  else  you  won't  understand  how 
what  comes  after  came  to  be  written.  You  must  believe  it 
all  ;  but  you  must  believe  this  most,  please.  I  am  the 
editor  of  it.  Bob  Redforth  (he's  my  cousin,  and  shaking 
the  table  on  purpose)  wanted  to  be  the  editor  of  it  ;  but  I 
said  he  shouldn't  because  he  couldn't.  He  has  no  idea  of 
being  an  editor. 

Nettie  Ashford  is  my  bride.  We  were  married  in  the  right- 
hand  closet  in  the  corner  of  the  dancing-school  where  first 
we  met,  with  a  ring  (a  green  one)  from  Wilkingwater's  toy- 
shop. /  owed  for  it  out  of  my  pocket-money.  When  the 
rapturous  ceremony  was  over,  we  all  four  went  up  the  lane 
and  let  off  a  cannon  (brought  loaded  in  Bob  Redforth's 
waistcoat-pocket)  to  announce  our  nuptials.  It  flew  right 
up  when  it  went  off,  and  turned  over.  Next  day,  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Robin  Redforth  was  united,  with  similar 
ceremonies,  to  Alice  Rainbird.  This  time,  the  cannon 
burst  with  a  most  terrific  explosion,  and  made  a  puppy 
bark. 

My  peerless  bride  was,  at  the  period  of  which  we  now 
speak,  in  captivity  at  Miss  Gnmmer's.  Drowvey  and  Grim- 
mer is  the  partnership,  and  opinion  is  divided  which  is  the 
greatest  beast.     The  lovely  bride  of  the  colonel  was  also 

*  Aged  eight. 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  277 

immured  in  the  dungeons  of  the  same  establishment.  A  vow 
was  entered  into,  between  the  colonel  and  myself,  that  we 
would  cut  them  out  on  the  following  Wednesday  when  walk- 
ing  two  and  two. 

Under  the  desperate  circumstances  of  the  case,  the  active 
brain  of  the  colonel,  combining  with  his  lawless  pursuit  (he 
is  a  pirate),  suggested  an  attack  with  fire-works.  This, 
however,  from  motives  of  humanity,  was  abandoned  as  too 
expensive. 

Lightly  armed  with  a  paper-knife  buttoned  up  under  his 
jacket,  and  waving  the  dreaded  black  flag  at  the  end  of  a 
cane,  the  colonel  took  command  of  me  at  two  p.  m.  on  the 
eventful  and  appointed  day.  He  had  drawn  out  the  plan  of 
attack  on  a  piece  of  paper,  which  was  rolled  up  round  a 
hoop-stick.  He  showed  it  to  me.  My  position  and  my  full- 
length  portrait  (but  my  real  ears  don't  stick  out  horizontal) 
was  behind  a  corner  lamp-post,  with  written  orders  to  remain 
there  till  I  should  see  Miss  Drowvey  fall.  The  Drowvey 
who  was  to  fall  was  the  one  in  spectacles,  not  the  one  in  the 
large  lavender  bonnet.  At  that  signal,  I  was  to  rush  forth, 
seize  my  bride,  and  fight  my  way  to  the  lane.  There  a 
junction  would  be  effected  between  myself  and  the  colonel ; 
and  putting  our  brides  behind  us,  between  ourselves  and  the 
palings,  we  were  to  conquer  or  die. 

The  enemy  appeared — approached.  Waving  his  black 
flag,  the  colonel  attacked.  Confusion  ensued.  Anxiously 
I  awaited  my  signal ;  but  my  signal  came  not.  So  far  from 
falling,  the  hated  Drowvey  in  spectacles  appeared  to  me  to 
have  muffled  the  colonel's  head  in  his  outlawed  banner,  and 
to  be  pitching  into  him  with  a  parasol.  The  one  in  the 
lavender  bonnet  also  performed  prodigies  of  valor  with  her 
fists  on  his  back.  Seeing  that  all  was  for  the  moment  lost, 
I  fought  my  desperate  way,  hand-to-hand,  to  the  lane. 
Through  taking  the  back  road,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
meet  nobody,  and  arrived  there  uninterrupted. 

It  seemed  an  age  ere  the  colonel  joined  me.  He  had  been 
to  the  jobbing-tailor's  to  be  sewn  up  in  several  places,  and 
attributed  our  defeat  to  the  refusal  of  the  detested  Drowvey 
to  fall.  Finding  her  so  obstinate,  he  had  said  to  her,  "  Die, 
recreant  ! "  but  had  found  her  no  more  open  to  reason  on 
that  point  than  the  other. 

My  blooming  bride  appeared,  accompanied  by  the  colonel's 
bride,  at  the  dancing-school  next  day.  What  ?  Was  her  fac^ 
averted  from  me  ?     Hah  !     Even  so.     With  a  look  of-scorn 


278  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

she  put  into  my  hand  a  bit  of  paper,  and  took  another  partner. 
On  the  paper  was  penciled,  "  Heavens  !  Can  I  write  the 
word  ?      Is  my  husband  a  cow  ?  " 

In  the  first  bewilderment  of  my  heated  brain,  I  tried  to 
think  what  slanderer  could  have  traced  my  family  to  the 
ignoble  animal  mentioned  above.  Vain  were  my  endeavors. 
At  the  end  of  that  dance  I  whispered  the  colonel  to  come 
into  the  cloak-room,  and  I  showed  him  the  note. 

"  There  is  a  syllable  wanting,"  said  he,  with  a  gloomy 
brow. 

"  Hah  !     What  syllable  ? "  was  my  inquiry. 

"  She  asks,  can  she  write  the  word  ?  And  no  ;  you  see 
she  couldn't,"  said  the  colonel,  pointing  out  the  passage. 

"  And  the  word  was  ?"  said  I. 

"  Cow — cow — coward,"  hissed  the  pirate-colonel  in  my 
ear,  and  gave  me  back  the  note. 

Feeling  that  I  must  forever  tread  the  earth  a  branded  boy 
- — person,  I  mean — or  that  I  must  clear  up  my  honor,  I 
demanded  to  be  tried  by  a  court-martial.  The  colonel  ad- 
mitted my  right  to  be  tried.  Some  difficulty  was  found  in 
composing  the  court,  on  account  of  the  Emperor  of  France's 
aunt  refusing  to  let  him  come  out.  He  was  to  be  president. 
Ere  yet  we  had  appointed  a  substitute,  he  made  his  escape 
over  the  back  wall,  and  stood  among  us,  a  free  monarch. 

The  court  was  held  on  the  grass  by  the  pond.  I  recog- 
nized, in  a  certain  admiral  among  my  judges,  my  deadliest 
foe.  A  cocoanut  had  given  rise  to  language  that  I  could 
not  brook  ;  but  confiding  in  my  innocence,  and  also  in  the 
knowledge  that  the  President  of  the  United  States  (who  sat 
next  to  him)  owed  me  a  knife,  I  braced  myself  for  the 
ordeal. 

It  was  a  solemn  spectacle,  that  court.  Two  executioners 
with  pinafores  reversed  led  me  in.  Under  the  shade  of  an 
umbrella  I  perceived  my  bride,  supported  by  the  bride  of 
the  pirate-colonel.  The  president,  having  reproved  a  little 
female  ensign  for  tittering,  on  a  matter  of  life  or  death,  called 
upon  me  to  plead,  "  Coward  or  no  coward,  guilty  or  not 
guilty."  (The  little  female  ensign  being  again  reproved  by 
the  president  for  misconduct,  mutinied,  left  the  court,  and 
threw  stones.) 

My  implacable  enemy,  the  admiral,  conducted  the  case 
against  me.  The  colonel's  bride  was  called  to  prove  that  I 
had  remained  behind  the  corner  lamp-post  during  the  en- 
gagement.      I  might  have  been  spared  the   anguish   of  my 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  279 

own  bride's  being  also  made  a  witness  to  the  same  point, 
but  the  admiral  knew  where  to  wound  me.  Be  still,  my  soul, 
no  matter.  The  colonel  was  then  brought  forward  with  his 
evidence. 

It  was  for  this  point  that  I  had  saved  myself  up,  as  the 
turning-point  of  my  case.  Shaking  myself  free  of  my  guards, 
— who  had  no  business  to  hold  me,  the  stupids,  unless  I  was 
found  guilty — I  asked  the  colonel  what  he  considered  the 
first  duty  of  a  soldier?  Ere  he  could  reply  the  President  of 
the  United  States  rose  and  informed  the  court,  .that  my  foe 
the  admiral  suggested  "  bravery,"  and  that  prompting  a  wit- 
ness wasn't  fair.  The  president  of  the  court  immediately 
ordered  the  admiral's  mouth  to  be  filled  with  leaves,  and 
tied  up  with  string.  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
sentence  carried,  into  effect  before  the  proceedings  went  fur- 
ther. 

I  then  took  a  paper  from  my  trowsers-pocket,  and  asked, 
"  What  do  you  consider,  Colonel  Redford,  the  first  duty  of 
a  soldier  ?     Is  it  obedience  ?  " 
"  It  is,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Is  that  paper — please  to  look  at  it — in  your  hand  ?  " 
"  It  is,"  said  the  colonel. 
"  Is  it  a  military  sketch  ?  " 
"  It  is,"  said  the  colonel. 
u  Of  an  engagement  ?  " 
"  Quite  so,"  said  the  colonel, 
"  Of  the  late  engagement  ?  " 
"Of  the  late  engagement." 

"  Please  to  describe  it,  and  then  hand  it  to  the  president  of 
the  court." 

From  that  triumphant  moment  my  sufferings  and  my  dan- 
gers were  at  an  end.  The  court  rose  up  and  jumped,  on  dis- 
covering that  I  had  strictly  obeyed  orders.  My  foe  the  ad- 
miral, who  though  muzzled,  was  malignant  yet,  contrived  to 
suggest  that  I  was  dishonored  by  having  quitted  the  field. 
But  the  colonel  himself  had  done  as  much,  and  gave  his 
opinion,  upon  his  word  and  honor  as  a  pirate,  that  when  all 
was  lost  the  field  might  be  quitted  without  disgrace.  I  was 
going  to  be  found  "  No  coward  and  not  guilty,"  and  my 
blooming  bride  was  going  to  be  publicly  restored  to  my 
arms  in  a  procession  when  an  unlooked-for  event  disturbed 
the  general  rejoicing.  This  was  no  other  than  the  Emperor 
of  France's  aunt  catching  hold  of  his  hair.  The  proceedings 
abruptly  terminated,  and  the  court  tumultuously  dissolved. 


28o  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

It  was  when  the  shades  of  the  next  evening  but  one  were 
beginning  to  fall,  ere  yet  the  silver  beams  of  Luna  touched  the 
earth,that  four  forms  might  have  been  descried  slowly  advanc- 
ing toward  the  weeping  willow  on  the  borders  of  the  pond, 
the  now  deserted  scene  of  the  day-before-yesterday's  agonies 
and  triumphs.  On  a  nearer  approach,  and  by  a  practical  eye, 
these  might  have  been  identified  as  the  forms  of  the  pirate- 
colonel  with  his  bride,  and  of  the  day-before-yesterday's  gal- 
lant prisoner  with  his  bride. 

On  the  beauteous  faces  of  the  Nymphs  dejection  sat  en- 
throned. All  four  reclined  under  the  willow  for  some  min- 
utes without  speaking,  till  at  length  the  bride  of  the  colonel 
poutingly  observed,  "  It's  of  no  use  pretending  any  more, 
and  we  had  better  give  it  up." 

"  Hah  !  "  exclaimed  the  pirate.     "  Pretending  ?  " 

"  Don't  go  on  like  that  ;  you  worry  me,"  returned  the 
bride.  ■ 

The  lovely  bride  of  Tinkling  echoed  the  incredible  dec- 
laration.    The  two  warriors  exchanged  stony  glances. 

"  If,"  said  the  bride  of  the  pirate-  colonel,  "  grown-up  people 
won't  do  what  they  ought  to  do,  and  will  put  us  out,  what 
comes  of  our  pretending  ?  " 

"  We  only  get  into  scrapes,"  said  the  bride  of  Tinkling. 

"  You  know  very  well,"  pursued  the  colonel's  bride,  "  that 
Miss  Drowvey  wouldn't  fall.  You  complained  of  it  yourself. 
And  you  know  how  disgracefully  the  court-martial  ended. 
As  to  our  marriage  ;  would  my  people  acknowledge  it  at 
home  ?  " 

"  Or  would  my  people  acknowledge  ours  ?  "  said  the  bride 
of  Tinkling. 

Again  the  two  warriors  exchanged  stony  glances. 

"  If  you  knocked  at  the  door,  and  claimed  me,  after 
you  were  told  to  go  away,"  said  the  colonel's  bride,  "you 
would  only  have  your  hair  pulled,  or  your  ears,  or  your 
nose." 

"If  you  persisted  in  ringing  at  the  bell  and  claiming 
me,"  said  the  bride  of  Tinkling  to  that  gentleman,  "  you 
would  have  things  dropped  on  your  head  from  the  window 
over  the  handle,  or  you  would  be  played  upon  by  the  gai- 
den-engine." 

"  And  at  your  own  homes,"  resumed  the  bride  of  the 
colonel,  "  it  would  be  just  as  bad.  You  would  be  sent  to  bed, 
or  something  equally  undignified.  Again,  how  would  you 
support  us  ?  " 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  2S1 

The  pirate-colonel,  replied  in  a  courageous  voice,  "  By  rap- 
ine !  "  But  his  bride  retorted,  "  Suppose  the  grown-up 
people  wouldn't  be  rapined  ?"  "  Then,"  said  the  colonel, 
u  they  should  pay  the  penalty  in  blood."  "  But  suppose  they 
should  object,"  retorted  his  bride,  "  and  wouldn't  pay  the 
penalty  in  blood  or  any  thing  else  ? " 

A  mournful  silence  ensued. 

"  Then  do  you  no  longer  love  me,  Alice  ?  "  asked  the 
colonel. 

"  Redforth  !  I  am  ever  thine,"  returned  his  bride. 

"Then  do  you  no  longer  love  me,  Nettie?"  asked  the 
present  writer. 

"  Tinkling  !  I  am  ever  thine,"  returned  my  bride. 

We  all  four  embraced.  Let  me  not  be  misunderstood  by 
the  giddy.  The  colonel  embraced  his  own  bride,  and  I  em- 
braced mine.     But  two  times  two  make  four. 

"  Nettie  and  I,"  said  Alice  mournfully,  "  have  been  consid- 
ering the  position.  The  grown-up  people  are  too  strong  for 
us.  They  make  us  ridiculous.  Besides,  they  have  changed  the 
times.  William  Tinkling's  baby  brother  was  christened  yes- 
terday. What  took  place  ?  Was  any  king  present.  Answer, 
William." 

I  said  No,  unless  disguised  as  Great-uncle  Chopper. 

"  Any  queen  ?  " 

There  had  been  no  queen  that  I  know  of  at  our  house. 
There  might  have  been  in  the  kitchen  ;  but  I  didn't  think 
so,  or  the  servants  would  have  mentioned  it. 

"  Any  fairies  ?" 

None  that  were  visible. 

"  We  had  an  idea  among  us,  I  think,"  said  Alice,  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  "  we  four,  that  Miss  Grimmer  would  prove 
to  be  the  wicked  fairy,  and  would  come  in  at  the  christening 
with  her  crutch-stick,  and  give  the  child  a  bad  gift.  Was 
there  any  thing  of  that  sort  ?     Answer,  William." 

I  said  that  ma  had  said  afterward  (and  so  she  had),  that 
Great-uncle  Chopper's  gift  was  a  shabby  one  ;  but  she  hadn't 
said  a  bad  one.  She  had  called  it  shabby,  electrotyped, 
second-hand,  and  below  his  income. 

"  It  must  be  the  grown-up  people  who  have  changed  all 
this,"  said  Alice.  "  We  couldn't  have  changed  it,  if  we  had 
been  so  inclined,  and  we  never  should  have  been.  Or  per- 
haps Miss  Grimmer  is  a  wicked  fairy  after  all,  and  won't  act 
up  to  it,  because  the  grown-up  people  have  persuaded  her 
not  to.  Either  way,  they  would  make  us  ridiculous  if  we 
told  them  what  we  exoect<?.^  " 


282  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

"Tyrants  !  "  muttered  the  pirate  colonel. 

"  Nay,  my  Redforth,"  said  Alice,  "  say  not  so.  Call  not 
names,  my  Redforth,  or  they  will  apply  to  pa." 

"  Let  'em  !  "  said  the  colonel.  "  I  don't  care.  W  no's 
he?" 

Tinkling  here  undertook  the  perilous  task  of  remonstrating 
with  his  lawless  friend,  who  consented  to  withdraw  the  moody 
expressions  above  quoted. 

"  What  remains  for  us  to  do  ?  "  Alice  went  on  in  her  mild, 
wise  way.  "We  must  educate,  we  must  pretend  in  a  new 
manner,  we  must  wait." 

The  colonel  clenched  his  teeth — four  out  in  front,  and  a 
piece  of  another,  and  he  had  been  twice  dragged  to  the  door 
of  a  dentist-despot,  but  had  escaped  from  his  guards.  "  How 
educate  ?     How  pretend  in  a  new  manner  ?     How  wait  ?  " 

"  Educate  the  grown-up  people,"  replied  Alice.  "  We 
part  to-night.  Yes,  Redforth," — for  the  colonel  tucked  up 
his  cuffs — "  part  to-night  !  Let  us  in  these  next  holidays, 
now  going  to  begin,  throw  our  thoughts  into  something  edu- 
cational for  the  grown-up  people,  hinting  to  them  how  things 
ought  to  be.  Let  us  veil  our  meaning  under  a  mask  of  ro- 
mance ;  you,  I  and  Nettie.  William  Tinkling  being  the 
plainest  and  quickest  writer,  shall  copy  out.     Is  it  agreed  ?  " 

The  colonel  answered  sulkily,  "  I  don't  mind."  He  then 
asked,  "  How  about  pretending  ?  " 

"  We  will  pretend  !  "  said  Alice,  "that  we  are  children  ; 
not  that  we  are  those  grown-up  people  who  won't  help  us 
out  as  they  ought,  and  who  understand  us  so  badly." 

The  colonel,  still  much  dissatisfied,  growled,  "  How  about 
waiting  ? " 

"  We  will  wait,"  answered  little  Alice,  taking  Nettie's  hand 
in  hers,  and  looking  up  to  the  sky,  "  wre  will  wait — ever  con- 
stant and  true — till  the  times  have  got  so  changed  as  that 
every  thing  helps  us  out,  and  nothing  makes  us  ridiculous, 
and  the  fairies  have  come  back.  We  will  wait — ever  con- 
stant and  true — till  we  are  eighty,  ninety,  or  one  hundred. 
And  then  the  fairies  wall  send  us  children,  and  we  will  help 
them  out,  poor  pretty  little  creatures,  if  they  pretend  ever 
so  much." 

"  So  we  will,  dear,"  said  Nettie  Ashford,  taking  her  round 
the  waist  with  both  arms,  and  kissing  her.  "  And  now  if  my 
husband  will  go  and  buy  some  cherries  for  us,  I  have  got 
some  money." 

In  the  friendliest  manner  I  invited  the  colonel  to  go  with 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  283 

me  ;  but  he  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  acknowledge  the  in- 
vitation by  kicking  out  behind,  and  then  lying  down  on  his 
stomach  on  the  grass,  pulling  it  up  and  chewing  it.  When  I 
came  back,  however,  Alice  had  nearly  brought  him  out  of 
his  vexation,  and  was  soothing  him  by  telling  him  how  soon 
we  should  all  be  ninety. 

As  we  sat  under  the  willow-tree  and  ate  the  cherries  (fair, 
for  Alice  shared  them  out),  we  played  at  being  ninety. 
Nettie  complained  that  she  had  a  bone  in  her  old  back,  and 
it  made  her  hobble  ;  and  Alice  sang  a  song  in  an  old  woman's 
way,  but  it  was  very  pretty,  and  we  were  all  merry.  At  least, 
I  don't  know  about  merry  exactly,  but  all  comfortable. 

There  was  a  most  tremendous  lot  of  cherries  ;  and  Alice 
always  had  with  her  some  neat  little  bag  or  box  or  case,  to 
hold  things.  In  it  that  night  was  a  tiny  wine-glass.  So 
Alice  and  Nettie  said  they  would  make  some  cherry-wine  to 
drink  our  love  at  parting. 

Each  of  us  had  a  glassful,  and  it  was  delicious  ;  and  each 
of  us  drank  the  toast,  "Our  love  at  parting."  The  colonel 
drank  his  wine  last  ;  and  it  got  into  my  head  directly  that  it 
got  into  his  directly.  Anyhow,  his  eyes  rolled  immediately 
after  he  had  turned  the  glass  upside  down  ;  and  he  took  me 
on  one  side,  and  proposed,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  that  we 
should  "  Cut  'em  out  still." 

"  How  did  he  mean  ? "  I  asked  my  lawless  friend. 

"  Cut  our  brides  out,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and  then  cut  our 
way,  without  going  down  a  single  turning,  bang  to  the 
Spanish  main  !  " 

We  might  have  tried  it,  though  I  didn't  think  it  would 
answer  ;  only  we  looked  round  and  saw  that  there  was  noth- 
ing but  moonlight  under  the  willow  tree,  and  that  our  pretty, 
pretty  wives  were  gone.  We  burst  out  crying.  The  colonel 
gave  in  second,  and  came  to  first ;  but  he  gave  in  strong. 

We  were  ashamed  of  our  red  eyes,  and  hung  about  for 
half  an  hour  to  whiten  them.  Likewise  a  piece  of  chalk 
round  the  rims,  J  doing  the  colonel's,  and  he  mine,  but  after- 
ward found  in  the  bedroom  looking-glass  not  natural,  be- 
sides inflammation.  Our  conversation  turned  on  being 
ninety.  The  colonel  told  me  he  had  a  pair  of  boots  that 
wanted  soling  and  heeling  ;  but  he  thought  it  hardly  worth 
while  to  mention  it  to  his  father,  as  he  himself  should  so 
soon  be  ninety,  when  he  thought  shoes  would  be  more  con- 
venient. The  colonel  also  told  me,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
hip,  that  he  felt  himself  already  getting  on  in  life,  and  turn- 


2$4  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

ing  rheumatic.  And  I  told  him  the  same.  And  when  they 
said  at  our  house  at  supper  (they  are  always  bothering  about 
something)  that  I  stooped,  I  felt  so  glad  ! 

This  is  the  end  of  the  beginning-part  that  you  were  to 
believe  most. 


PART  II. 


There  was  once  a  king,  and  he  had  a  queen  ;  and  he  was 
the  manliest  of  his  sex,  and  she  was  the  loveliest  of  hers. 
The  king  was,  in  his  private  profession,  under  government. 
The  queen's  father  had  been  a  medical  man  out  of  town. 

They  had  nineteen  children,  and  were  always  having  more. 
Seventeen  of  these  children  took  care  of  the  baby  ;  and 
Alicia,  the  eldest,  took  care  of  them  all.  Their  ages  varied 
from  seven  years  to  seven  months. 

Let  us  now  resume  our  story. 

One  day  the  king  was  going  to  the  office,  when  he  stopped 
at  the  fishmonger's  to  buy  a  pound  and  a  half  of  salmon,  not 
too  near  the  tail,  which  the  queen  (who  was  a  careful  house- 
keeper), had  requested  him  to  send  home.  Mr.  Pickles,  the 
fishmonger,  said,  "  Certainly,  sir,  is  there  any  other  article  ? 
Good-morning." 

The  king  went  on  toward  the  office  in  a  melancholy  mood  ; 
for  quarter-day  was  such  a  long  way  off,  and  several  of  the 
dear  children  were  growing  out  of  their  clothes.  He  had  not 
proceeded  far,  when  Mr.  Pickles's  errand-boy  came  running 
after  him,  and  said,  "  Sir,  you  didn't  notice  the  old  lady  in 
our  shop." 

"  What  old  lady  ?"  inquired  the  king.     "  I  saw  none." 

Now,  the  king  had  not  seen  any  old  lady,  because  this  old 
lady  had  been  invisible  to  him,  though  visible  to  Mr.  Pickles's 
boy.  Probably  because  he  messed  and  splashed  the  water 
about  to  that  degree,  and  flapped  the  pairs  of  soles  down  in 
that  violent  manner,  that,  if  she  had  not  been  visible  to  him, 
he  would  have  spoiled  her  clothes. 

Just  then  the  old  lady  came  trotting  up.  She  was  dressed 
in  shot  silk  of  the  richest  quality,  smelling  of  dried  lavender. 

11  King  Watkins  the  First,  I  believe  ?"  said  the  old    lady. 

"  Watkins,"  replied  the  king,  "  is  my  name." 

*  Aged  seven. 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  285 

u  Papa,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  of  the  beautiful  Princess 
Alicia  ?  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"And  of  eighteen  other  darlings,"  replied  the  king. 

"Listen.     You  are  going  to  the  office,"  said  the  old  lady. 

It  instantly  flashed  upon  the  king  that  she  must  be  a  fairy, 
or  how  could  she  know  that  ? 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  old  lady,  answering  his  thoughts, 
"  I  am  the  good  Fairy  Grandmarina.  Attend  !  When  you 
return  home  to  dinner,  politely  invite  the  Princess  Alicia  to 
have  some  of  the  salmon  you  bought  just  now." 

"  It  may  disagree  with  her,"  said  the  king. 

The  old  lady  became  so  very  angry  at  this  absurd  idea, 
that  the  king  was  quite  alarmed,  and  humbly  begged  her 
pardon. 

"  We  hear  a  great  deal  too  much  about  this  thing  disagree- 
ing, and  that  thing  disagreeing,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  the 
greatest  contempt  it  was  possible  to  express.  "  Don't  be 
greedy.     I  think  you  want  it  all  yourself." 

The  king  hung  his  head  under  this  reproof,  and  said  he 
wouldn't  talk  about  things  disagreeing  any  more. 

"  Be  good,  then,"  said  the  Fairy  Grandmarina,  "  and 
don't  !  When  the  beautiful  Princess  Alicia  consents  to  par- 
take of  the  salmon — as  I  think  she  will — you  will  find  she 
will  leave  a  fish-bone  on  her  plate.  Tell  her  to  dry  it,  and  to 
rub  it,  and  to  polish  it  till  it  shines  like  mother-of-pearl,  and 
to  take  care  of  it  as  a  present  from  me." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  asked  the  king. 

"  Don't  be  impatient,  sir,"  returned  the  Fairy  Grandma- 
rina, scolding  him  severely.  "  Don't  catch  people  short  be- 
fore they  have  done  speaking.  Just  the  way  with  you  grown- 
up persons.     You  are  always  doing  it." 

The  king  again  hung  his  head,  and  said  he  wouldn't  do  so 
any  more. 

"  Be.  good,  then,"  said  the  Fairy  Grandmarina,  "  and 
don't  !  Tell  the  Princess  Alicia,  with  my  love,  that  the  fish- 
bone is  a  magic  present  which  can  only  be  used  once  ;  but 
that  it  will   bring  her,  that  once,  whatever   she  wishes  for, 

PROVIDED  SHE  WISHES  FOR  IT  AT  THE  RIGHT  TIME.       That  is 

the  message.     Take  care  of  it." 

The  king  was  beginning,  "  Might  I  ask  the  reason  ? " 
when  the  fairy  became  absolutely  furious. 

"  Will  you  be  good,  sir  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  stamping  her 
foot  on  the  ground.  "  The  reason  for  this,  and  the  reason 
for  that,  indeed  !     You  are  always  wanting  the  reason.     No 


2S6  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

reason.  There  !  Hoity  toity  me  !  I  am  sick  of  your 
grown-up  reasons." 

The  king  was  extremely  frightened  by  the  old  lady's  flying 
into  such  a  passion,  and  said  he  was  very  sorry  to  have  of- 
fended her,  and  he  wouldn't  ask  for  reasons  any  more. 

"  Be  good,  then,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  and  don't !  " 

With  those  words  Grandmarina  vanished,  and  the  king 
went  on  and  on  and  on,  till  he  came  to  the  office.  There 
he  wrote  and  wrote  and  wrote,  till  it  was  time  to  go  home 
again.  Then  he  politely  invited  the  Princess  Alicia,  as  the 
fairy  had  directed  him,  to  partake  of  the  salmon.  And  when 
she  had  enjoyed  it  very  much,  he  saw  the  fish-bone  on  her 
plate,  as  the  fairy  had  told  him  he  would,  and  he  delivered 
the  fairy's  message,  and  the  Princess  Alicia  took  care  to  dry 
the  bone,  and  to  rub  it,  and  to  polish  it  till  it  shone  like 
mother-of-pearl. 

And  so,  when  the  queen  was  going  to  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  said,  "  Oh,  dear  me,  dear  me  ;  my  head,  my  head  !  " 
and  then  she  fainted  away. 

The  Princess  Alicia,  who  happened  to  be  looking  in  at  the 
chamber-door  asking  about  breakfast,  was  very  much 
alarmed  when  she  saw  her  royal  mamma  in  this  state,  and  she 
rang  the  bell  for  Peggy,  which  was  the  name  of  the  lord 
chamberlain.  But  remembering  where  the  smelling-bottle 
was,  she  climbed  on  the  chair  and  got  it  ;  and  after  that  she 
climbed  on  another  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  held  the  smell- 
ing-bottle to  the  queen's  nose  ;  and  after  that  she  jumped 
down  and  got  some  water  ;  and  after  that  she  jumped  up 
again  and  wetted  the  queen's  forehead  ;  and  in  short,  when 
the  lord  chamberlain  came  in,  that  dear  old  woman  said  to 
the  little  princess,  "  What  a  trot  you  are  !  I  couldn't  have 
done  it  better  myself  !  " 

But  that  was  not  the  worst  of  the  good  queen's  illness. 
Oh,  no  !  She  was  very  ill  indeed  for  a  long  time.  The 
Princess  Alicia  kept  the  seventeen  young  princes  and  prin- 
cesses quiet,  and  dressed  and  undressed  and  danced  the 
baby,  and  made  the  kettle  boil,  and  heated  the  soup,  and 
swept  the  hearth,  and  poured  out  the  medicine,  and  nursed 
the  queen,  and  did  all  that  ever  she  could,  and  was  as  busy, 
busy,  busy  as  busy  could  be  ;  for  there  were  not  many  serv- 
ants at  that  place  for  three  reasons  :  because  the  king  was 
short  of  money,  because  a  rise  in  his  office  never  seemed  to 
come,  and  because  quarter  day  was  so  far  off  that  it  looked 
almost  as  far  off  and  as  little  as  one  of  the  stars. 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  287 

feut  on  the  morning  when  the  queen  fainted  away,  whert 
was  the  magic  fish-bone  ?  Why  there  it  was  in  the  Princess 
Alicia's  pocket  !  She  had  almost  taken  it  out  to  bring  the 
queen  to  life  again,  when  she  put  it  back,  and  looked  for  the 
smelling-bottle. 

After  the  queen  had  come  out  of  her  swoon  that  morning 
and  was  dozing,  the  Princess  Alicia  hurried  up  stairs  to  tell 
a  most  particular  secret  to  a  most  particular  confidential 
friend  of  hers,  who  was  a  duchess.  People  did  suppose  her 
to  be  a  doll,  but  she  was  really  a  duchess,  though  nobody 
knew  it  except  the  princess. 

This  most  particular  secret  was  the  secret  about  the  magic 
fish-bone,  the  history  of  which  was  well-known  to  the  duch- 
ess, because  the  princess  told  her  every  thing.  The  princess 
kneeled  down  by  the  bed  on  which  the  duchess  was  lying, 
full-dressed  and  wide  awake,  and  whispered  the  secret  to 
her.  The  duchess  smiled  and  nodded.  People  might  have 
supposed  that  she  never  smiled  and  nodded  ;  but  she  often 
did,  though  nobody  knew  it  except  the  princess. 

Then  the  Princess  Alicia  hurried  down  stairs  again,  to 
keep  watch  in  the  queen's  room.  She  often  kept  watch  by 
herself  in  the  queen's  room  ;  but  every  evening,  while  the 
illness  lasted,  she  sat  there  watching  with  the  king.  And 
every  evening  the  king  sat  looking  at  her  with  a  cross  look, 
wondering  why  she  never  brought  out  the  magic  fish-bone. 
As  often  as  she  noticed  this,  she  ran  up  stairs,  whispered  the 
secret  to  the  duchess  over  again,  and  said  to  the  duchess, 
"  They  think  we  children  never  have  a  reason  or  a  mean- 
ing !  "  And  the  duchess,  though  the  most  fashionable  duch- 
ess that  ever  was  heard  of,  winked  her  eye. 

"  Alicia,"  said  the  king,  one  evening  when  she  wished  him 
good-night. 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  What  is  become  of  your  magic  fish-bone  ?  " 

"  In  my  pocket,  papa  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  had  lost  it  ?  " 

"Oh  no,  papa." 

"  Or  forgotten  it?  " 

"  No.  indeed,  papa." 

And  so  another  time  the  dreadful  little  snapping  pug-dog, 
next  door,  made  a  rush  at  one  of  the  young  princes  as  he  stood 
on  the  steps  coming  home  from  school,  and  terrified  him  out 
of  his  wits  ;  and  he  put  his  hand  through  a  pane  of  glass,  and 
bled,  bled,  bled.  When  the  seventeen  other  young  princes 
and  princesses  saw  him  bleed,  bleed,  bleed,  they  were  terrified 


288  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

out  of  their  wits  too,  and  screamed  themselves  black  in  their 
seventeen  faces  all  at  once.  But  the  Princess  Alicia  put  her 
hands  over  all  their  seventeen  mouths,  one  after  another,  and 
persuaded  them  to  be  quiet  because  of  the  sick  queen.  And 
then  she  put  the  wounded  prince's  hand  in  a  basin  of  fresh 
cold  water,  while  they  stared  with  their  twice  seventeen  are 
thirty-four,  put  down  four  and  carry  three,  eyes,  and  then 
she  looked  in  the  hand  for  bits  of  glass,  and  there  were 
fortunately  no  bits  of  glass  there.  And  then  she  said  to 
two  chubby-legged  princes,  who  were  sturdy  though  small, 
"  Bring  me  in  the  royal  rag-bag  :  I  must  snip  and  stitch  and 
cut  and  contrive."  So  these  two  young  princes  tugged  at  the 
royal  rag-bag,  and  lugged  it  in  ;  and  the  Princess  Alicia  sat 
down  on  the  floor,  with  a  large  pair  of  scissors  and  a  needle 
and  thread,  and  snipped  and  stitched  and  cut  and  contrived, 
and  made  a  bandage,  and  put  it  on,  and  it  fitted  beautifully  ; 
and  so  when  it  was  all  done,  she  saw  the  king  her  papa  look- 
ing on  by  the  door. 
"  Alicia." 
"  Yes,  papa." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 
"  Snipping,  stitching,  cutting,  and  contriving,  papa." 
"  Where  is  the  magic  fish-bone  ?" 
"  In  my  pocket,  papa." 
"  I  thought  you  had  lost  it  ?  " 
"  Oh  no,  papa  !  " 
"  Or  forgotten  it  ?  " 
"  No,  indeed,  papa." 

After  that,  she  ran  up  stairs  to  the  duchess,  and  told  her 
what  had  passed,  and  told  her  the  secret  over  again  :  and 
the  duchess  shook  her  flaxen  curls,  and  laughed  with  her 
rosy  lips. 

Well  !  and  so  another  time  the  baby  fell  under  the  grate. 
The  seventeen  young  princes  and  princesses  were  used  to  it ; 
for  they  were  almost  always  falling  under  the  grate  or  down 
the  stairs  ;  but  the  baby  was  not  used  to  it  yet,  and  it  gave 
him  a  swelled  face  and  a  black  eye.  The  way  the  poor 
little  darling  came  to  tumble  was,  that  he  was  out  of  the 
Princess  Alicia's  lap  just  as  she  was  sitting,  in  a  great  coarse 
apron  that  quite  smothered  her,  in  front  of  the  kitchen  fire, 
beginning  to  peel  the  turnips  for  the  broth  for  dinner  ;  and 
the  way  she  came  to  be  doing  that  was,  that  the  king's  cook 
had  run  away  that  morning  with  her  own  true  love,  who  was 
a  very  tall  but  very  tipsy  soldier.    Then  the  seventeen  young 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  289 

princes  and  princesses,  who  cried  at  every  thing  that  hap- 
pened, cried  and  roared.  But  the  Princess  Alicia  (who 
couldn't  help  crying  a  little  herself)  quietly  called  to  them 
to  be  still,  on  account  of  not  throwing  back  the  queen  up 
stairs,  who  was  fast  getting  well,  and  said,  "  Hold  your 
tongues,  you  wicked  little  monkeys,  every  one  of  you,  while 
I  examine  baby  !  "  Then  she  examined  baby,  and  found 
that  he  hadn't  broken  any  thing  ;  and  she  held  cold  iron  to 
his  poor  dear  eye,  and  smoothed  his  poor  dear  face,  and  he 
presently  fell  asleep  in  her  arms.  Then  she  said  to  the 
seventeen  princes  and  princesses,  "  I  am  afraid  to  let  him 
down  yet,  lest  he  should  wake  and  feel  pain  ;  be  good,  and 
you  shall  all  be  cooks."  They  jumped  for  joy  when  they 
heard  that,  and  began  making  themselves  cooks'  caps  out  of 
old  newspapers.  So  to  one  she  gave  the  salt-box,  and  to 
one  she  gave  the  barley,  and  to  one  she  gave  the  herbs,  and 
to  one  she  gave  the  turnips,  and  to  one  she  gave  the  carrots, 
and  to  one  she  gave  the  onions,  and  to  one  she  gave  the 
spice-box,  till  they  were  all  cooks,  and  all  running  about  at 
work,  she  sitting  in  the  middle,  smothered  in  the  great 
coarse  apron,  nursing  baby.  By  and  by  the  broth  was  done  ; 
and  the  baby  woke  up,  smiling  like  an  angel,  and  was  trusted 
to  the  sedatest  princess  to  hold,  while  the  other  princes  and 
princesses  were  squeezed  into  a  far-off  corner  to  look  at  the 
Princess  Alicia  turning  out  the  saucepanful  of  broth,  for  fear 
(as  they  were  always  getting  into  trouble)  they  should  get 
splashed  and  scalded.  When  the  broth  came  tumbling  out, 
steaming  beautifully,  and  smelling  like  a  nosegay  good  to 
eat,  they  clapped  their  hands.  That  made  the  baby  clap 
his  hands  ;  and  that,  and  his  looking  as  if  he  had  a  comic 
toothache,  made  all  the  princes  and  princesses  laugh.  So 
the  Princess  Alicia  said,  "  Laugh  and  be  good  ;  and  after 
dinner  we  will  make  him  a  nest  on  the  floor  in  a  corner,  and 
he  shall  sit  in  his  nest  and  see  a  dance  of  eighteen  cooks." 
That  delighted  the  young  princes  and  princesses,  and  they 
ate  up  all  the  broth,  and  washed  up  all  the  plates  and  dishes, 
and  cleared  away,  and  pushed  the  table  into  a  corner  ;  and 
then  they  in  their  cooks'  caps,  and  the  Princess  Alicia  in  the 
smothering  coarse  apron  that  belonged  to  the  cook  that  had 
run  away  with  her  own  true  love  that  was  the  very  tall  but 
very  tipsy  soldier,  danced  a  dance  of  eighteen  cooks  before 
the  angelic  baby,  who  forgot  his  swelled  face  and  his  black 
eye,  and  crowed  with  joy. 

And  so  then,  once  more  the  Princess  Alicia  saw  King 


290  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

Watkins  the  First,  hsr  father,  standing  in  the  doorway  look- 
ing on,  and  he  said,  "  What  have  you  been  doing,  Alicia  ?  " 

"  Cooking  and  contriving,  papa." 

"  What  else  have  you  been  doing,  Alicia  ?  " 

"  Keeping  the  children  light-hearted,  papa." 

"  Where  is  the  magic  fish-bone,  Alicia  ? " 

'■  In  my  pocket,  papa." 

"I  thought  you  had  lost  it?" 

11  Oh  no,  papa." 

"Or  forgotten  it?" 

"  No,  indeed,  papa." 

The  king  then  sighed  so  heavily,  and  seemed  so  low- 
spirited,  and  sat  down  so  miserably,  leaning  his  head  upon 
his  hand,  and  his  elbow  upon  the  kitchen-table  pushed  away 
in  the  corner,  that  the  seventeen  princes  and  princesses 
crept  softly  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  left  him  alone  with  the 
Princess  Alicia  and  the  angelic  baby. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  papa  ?  " 

"  I  am  dreadfully  poor,  my  child. 

"  Have  you  no  money  at  all,  papa?  " 

"  None,  my  child." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  getting  any,  papa  ?  " 

"  No  way,"  said  the  king.  "  I  have  tried  very  hard,  and 
I  have  tried  all  ways." 

When  she  heard  these  last  words,  the  Princess  Alicia  began 
to  put  her  hand  into  the  pocket  where  she  kept  the  magic 
fish-bone. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  "  when  we  have  tried  very  hard,  and 
tried  all  ways,  we  must  have  done  our  very,  very  best  ?  " 

"  No  doubt,  Alicia." 

"  When  we  have  done  our  very,  very  best,  papa,  and  that 
is  not  enough,  then  I  think  the  right  time  must  have  come 
for  asking  help  of  others."  This  was  the  very  secret  con- 
nected with  the  magic  fish-bone,  which  she  had  found  out 
for  herself  from  the  good  Fairy  Grandmarina's  words,  and 
which  she  had  so  often  whispered  to  her  beautiful  and  fash- 
ionable friend,  the  duchess. 

So  she  took  out  of  her  pocket  the  magic  fish-bone  that  had 
been  dried  and  rubbed  and  polished,  till  it  shone  like 
mother-of-pearl ;  and  she  gave  it  one  little  kiss,  and  wished 
it  was  quarter  day.  And  immediately  it  was  quarter-day  ; 
and  the  king's  quarter's  salary  came  rattling  down  the  chim- 
ney, and  bounced  into  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

But  this  was  not  half  of  what  happened — no,  not  a  quar- 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  291 

ter  ;  for  immediately  afterward  the  good  Fairy  Grandmarina 
came  riding  in,  with  a  carriage  and  four  (peacocks),  with  Mr. 
Pickles's  boy  up  behind,  dressed  in  silver  and  gold,  with  a 
cocked-hat,  powdered  hair,  pink  silk  stockings,  a  jeweled 
cane,  and  a  nosegay.  Down  jumped  Mr.  Pickles's  boy,  with 
his  cocked  hat  in  his  hand,  and  wonderfully  polite  (being 
entirely  changed  by  enchantment),  and  handed  Grandma- 
rina out  ;  and  there  she  stood,  in  her  rich  shot-silk  smelling 
of  dried  lavender,  fanning  herself  with  a  sparkling  fan. 

"Alicia,  my  dear,"  said  this  charming  old  fairy,  "how  do 
you  do  ?     I  hope  I  see  you  pretty  well  ?     Give  me  a  kiss." 

The  Princess  Alicia  embraced  her  ;  and  then  Grandma- 
rina turned  to  the  king,  and  said  rather  sharply,  "  Are  you 
good  ?  " 

The  king  said  he  hoped  so. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  the  reason  now  why  my  god-daugh- 
ter here,"  kissing  the  princess  again,  "  did  not  apply  to  the 
fish-bone  sooner  ?  "  said  the  fairy. 

The  king  made  a  shy  bow. 

"  Ah  !  but  you  didn't  then  ?  "  said  the  fairy. 

The  king  made  a  shyer  bow. 

"  Any  more  reasons  to  ask  for  ?  "  said  the  fairy. 

The  king  said,  No,  and  he  was  very  sorry. 

"  Be  good,  then,"  said  the  fairy,  "  and  live  happy  ever 
afterward." 

Then  Grandmarina  waved  her  fan,  and  the  queen  came 
in  most  splendidly  dressed  ;  and  the  seventeen  young  princes 
and*princesses,  no  longer  grown  out  of  their  clothes,  came 
in,  newly  fitted  out  from  top  to  toe,  with  tucks  in  every 
thing  to  admit  of  its  being  let  out.  After  that,  the  fairy 
tapped  the  Princess  Alicia  with  her  fan  ;  and  the  smothering 
coarse  apron  flew  away,  and  she  appeared  exquisitely  dressed, 
like  a  little  bride,  with  a  wreath  of  orange  flowers  and  a  sil- 
ver veil.  After  that,  the  kitchen  dresser  changed  of  itself 
into  a  wardrobe,  made  of  beautiful  woods  and  gold  and 
looking-glass,  which  was  full  of  dresses  of  all  sorts,  all  for 
her  and  all  exactly  fitting  her.  After  that,  the  angelic  baby 
came  in,  running  alone,  with  his  face  and  eye  not  a  bit  the 
worse,  but  much  the  better.  Then  Grandmarina  begged  to 
be  introduced  to  the  duchess  ;  and,  when  the  duchess  was 
brought  down,  many  compliments  passed  between  them. 

A  little  whispering  took  place  between  the  fairy  and  the 
duchess  ;  and  then  the  fairy  said  out  loud,  "  Yes,  I  thought 


292  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

she  would  have  told  you."  Grandmarina  then  turned  to  the 
king  and  queen,  and  said,  "  We  are  going  in  search  of  Prince 
Certainpersonio.  The  pleasure  of  your  company  is  re- 
quested at  the  church  in  half  an  hour  precisely."  So  she 
and  the  Princess  Alicia  got  into  the  carriage  ;  and  Mr. 
Pickles's  boy  handed  in  the  duchess,  who  sat  by  herself  on  the 
opposite  seat  ;  and  then  Mr.  Pickles's  boy  put  up  the  steps 
and  got  up  behind,  and  the  peacocks  flew  away  with  their 
tails  behind. 

Prince  Certainpersonio  was  sitting  by  himself,  eating  bar- 
ley-sugar, and  waiting  to  be  ninety.  When  he  saw  the  pea- 
cocks, followed  by  the  carriage,  coming  in  at  the  window,  it 
immediately  occurred  to  him  that  something  uncommon 
was  going  to  happen. 

"  Prince,"  said  Grandmarina,  "  I  bring  you  your  bride." 

The  moment  the  fairy  said  those  words,  Prince  Certain- 
personio's  face  left  off  being  sticky,  and  his  jacket  and  cor- 
duroys changed  to  peach-bloom  velvet,  and  his  hair  curled, 
and  a  cap  and  feather  flew  in  like  a  bird  and  settled  on  his 
head.  He  got  into  the  carriage  by  the  fairy's  invitation  ; 
and  there  he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  the  duchess, 
whom  he  had  seen  before. 

In  the  church  were  the  prince's  relations  and  friends,  and 
the  Princess  Alicia's  relations  and  friends,  and  the  seventeen 
princes  and  princesses,  and  the  baby,  and  a  crowd  of  "the 
neighbors.  The  marriage  was  beautiful  beyond  expression. 
The  duchess  was  bridesmaid,  and  beheld  the  ceremony 
from  the  pulpit,  where  she  was  supported  by  the  cushion  of 
the  desk. 

Grandmarina  gave  a  magnificent  wedding-feast  afterward, 
in  which  there  was  every  thing  and  more  to  eat,  and  every 
thing  and  more  to  drink.  The  wedding-cake  was  delicately 
ornamented  with  white  satin  ribbons,  frosted  silver,  and 
white  lilies,  and  was  forty-two  yards  round. 

When  Grandmarina  had  drunk  her  love  to  the  young 
couple,  and  Prince  Certainpersonio  had  made  a  speech,  and 
every  body  had  cried,  hip,  hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  Grandmarina 
announced  to  the  king  and  queen  that  in  future  there  would 
be  eight  quarter-days  in  every  year,  except  leap-year,  when 
there  would  be  ten.  She  then  turned  to  Certainpersonio 
and  Alicia,  and  said,  "  My  dears,  you  will  have  thirty-five 
children,  and  they  will  be  good  and  beautiful.  Seventeen 
of  your  children  will  be  boys,  and  eighteen  girls.  The  hair 
of  the  whole  of  your  children  will  curl  naturally.     They  will 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  293 

never  have  the  measles,  and  will  have  recovered  from  the 
whooping-cough  before  being  born." 

On  hearing  such  good  news,  every  body  cried  out,  "  Hip, 
hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  "  again. 

"  It  only  remains,"  said  Grandmarina  in  conclusion,  "to 
make  an  end  of  the  fish-bone." 

So  she  took  it  from  the  hand  of  the  Princess  Alicia,  and 
it  instantly  flew  down  the  throat  of  the  dreadful  little  snap- 
ping pug-dog,  next  door,  and  choked  him,  and  he  expired  in 
convulsions. 


PART  III. 

ROMANCE.      FROM  THE    PEN    OF    LIEUTENANT-COLONEL    ROBIN 
REDFORTH.* 

The  subject  of  our  present  narrative  would  appear  to  have 
devoted  himself  to  the  pirate  profession  at  a  comparatively 
early  age.  We  find  him  in  command  of  a  splendid  schooner 
of  one  hundred  guns  loaded  to  the  muzzle,  ere  yet  he  had 
had  a  party  in  honor  of  his  tenth  birthday. 

It  seems  that  our  hero,  considering  himself  spited  by  a 
Latin  grammar  master,  demanded  the  satisfaction  due  from 
one  man  of  honor  to  another.  Not  getting  it,  he  privately 
withdrew  his  haughty  spirit  from  such  low  company,  bought 
a  second-hand  pocket-pistol,  folded  up  some  sandwiches  in 
a  paper-bag,  made  a  bottle  of  Spanish  liquorice-water,  and 
entered  on  a  career  of  valor. 

It  were  tedious  to  follow  Boldheart  (for  such  was  his 
name)  through  the  commencing  stages  of  his  story.  Suffice 
it,  that  we  find  him  bearing  the  rank  of  Captain  Boldheart, 
reclining  in  full  uniform  on  a  crimson  hearth-rug  spread  out 
upon  the  quarter-deck  of  his  schooner,  "  The  Beauty,"  in 
the  China  Seas.  It  was  a  lovely  evening  ;  and,  as  his  crew 
lay  grouped  about  him,  he  favored  them  with  the  following 
melody  : — 

Oh,  landsmen  are  folly  ! 
Oh,  pirates  are  jolly  ! 
Oh,  diddleum  Dolly, 

Di! 
Chorus. — Heave  yo  ! 

The  soothing  effect  of  these  animated  sounds  floating  over 
the  waters,  as  the  common  sailors  united  their  rough  voices 

*  Aged  nine. 


294  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

to  take  up  the  rich  tones  of  Boldheart,  may  be  more  easily 
conceived  than  described. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  the  lookout  at  the 
mast-head  gave  the  word  "  Whales  !  " 

All  was  now  activity. 

"  Where  away  ?"  cried  Captain  Boldheart,  starting  up. 

"  On  the  larboard  bow,  sir,"  replied  the  fellow  at  the  mast- 
head, touching  his  hat.  For  such  was  the  height  of  discipline 
on  board  of  "  The  Beauty,"  that  even  at  that  height,  he  was 
obliged  to  mind  it,  or  be  shot  through  the  head. 

"  This  adventure  belongs  to  me,"  said  Boldheart.  "  Boy, 
my  harpoon.  Let  no  man  follow  ;  "  and,  leaping  alone  into 
his  boat,  the  captain  rowed  with  admirable  dexterity  in  the 
direction  of  the  monster. 

All  now  was  excitement. 

"  He  nears  him  !  "  said  an  elderly  seaman,  following  the 
captain  through  his  spy-glass. 

"  He  strikes  him  !  "  said  another  seaman,  a  mere  stripling, 
but  also  with  a  spy-glass. 

"He  tows  him  toward  us  !  "  said  another  seaman,  a  man 
in  the  full  vigor  of  life,  but  also  with  a  spy-glass. 

In  fact,  the  captain  was  seen  approaching  with  the  huge 
bulk  following.  We  will  not  dwell  on  the  deafening  cries  of 
"  Boldheart  !  Boldheart  !  "  with  which  he  was  received,  when, 
carelessly  leaping  on  the  quarter-deck,  he  presented  his  prize 
to  his  men.  They  afterward  made  two  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  seventeen  pound  ten  and  sixpence  by  it. 

Ordering  the  sails  to  be  braced  up,  the  captain  now  stood 
W.  N.  W.  "  The  Beauty  "  flew  rather  than  floated  over  the 
dark  blue  waters.  Nothing  particular  occurred  for  a  fort- 
night, except  taking,  with  considerable  slaughter,  four  Span- 
ish galleons,  and  a  snow  from  South  America,  all  richly 
laden.  Inaction  began  to  tell  upon  the  spirits  of  the  men. 
Captain  Boldheart  called  all  hands  aft,  and  said,  "  My  lads, 
I  hear  there  are  discontented  ones  among  ye.  Let  any  such 
stand  forth." 

After  some  murmurings,  in  which  the  expressions,  "  Ay, 
ay,  sir  ! "  "Union  Jack,"  "Avast,"  "Starboard,"  "Port," 
"  Bowsprit,"  and  similar  indications  of  a  mutinous  under- 
current, though  subdued,  were  audible.  Bill  Boozey,  cap- 
tain of  the  foretop,  came  out  from  the  rest.  His  form  was 
that  of  a  giant,  but  he  quailed  under  the  captain's  eye. 

"  What  are  your  wrongs  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Why,  d'ye  see,  Captain  Boldheart,"  replied  the  towering 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  295 

mariner,  "  I've  sailed,  man  and  boy,  for  many  a  year,  but  I 
never  yet  know'd  the  milk  served  out  for  the  ship's  com- 
pany's teas  to  be  so  sour  as  'tis  aboard  this  craft." 

At  this  moment  the  thrilling  cry,  "  Man  overboard  !  "  an- 
nounced to  the  astonished  crew  that  Boozey,  in  stepping 
back,  as  the  captain  (in  mere  thoughtfulness)  Jaid  his  hand 
upon  the  faithful  pocket-pistol  which  he  wore  in  his  belt, 
had  lost  his  balance  and  was  struggling  with  the  foaming  tide, 

All  was  now  stupefaction. 

But  with  Captain  Boldheart,  to  throw  off  his  uniform 
coat,  regardless  of  the  various  rich  orders  with  which  it  was 
decorated,  and  to  plunge  into  the  sea  after  the  drowning 
giant,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Maddening  was  the  ex- 
citement when  boats  were  lowered  ;  intense  the  joy  when 
the  captain  was  seen  holding  up  the  drowning  man  with  his 
teeth  ;  deafening  the  cheering  when  both  were  restored  to 
the  main  deck  of  "  The  Beauty."  And,  from  the  instant  of 
his  changing  his  wet  clothes  for  dry  ones,  Captain  Bold- 
heart  had  no  such  devoted  though  humble  friend  as  William 
Boozey. 

Boldheart  now  pointed  to  the  horizon,  and  called  the  at- 
tention of  his  crew  to  the  taper  spars  of  a  ship  lying  snug  in 
harbor  under  the  guns  of  a  fort. 

"  She  shall  be  ours  at  sunrise,"  said  he.  "  Serve  out  a 
double  allowance  of  grog,  and  prepare  for  action." 

All  was  now  preparation. 

When  morning  dawned,  after  a  sleepless  night,  it  was  seen 
that  the  stranger  was  crowding  on  all  sail  to  come  out  of  the 
harbor  and  offer  battle.  As  the  two  ships  came  nearer  to 
each  other,  the  stranger  fired  a  gun  and  hoisted  Roman 
colors.  Boldheart  then  perceived  her  to  be  the  Latin  gram- 
mar master's  bark.  Such  indeed  she  was,  and  had  been 
tacking  about  the  world  in  unavailing  pursuit,  from  the  time 
of  his  first  taking  to  a  roving  life. 

Boldheart  now  addressed  his  men,  promising  to  blow  them 
up  if  he  should  feel  convinced  that  their  reputation  required 
it,  and  giving  orders  that  the  Latin  grammar  master  should 
be  taken  alive.  He  then  dismissed  them  to  their  quarters, 
and  the  fight  began  with  a  broadside  from  ■'  The  Beauty." 
She  then  veered  around,  and  poured  in  another.  "Th- 
Scorpion  "  (so  was  the  barque  of  the  Latin  grammar  mastei 
appropriately  called)  was  not  slow  to  return  her  fire  ;  and  a 
terrific  cannonading  ensued,  in  which  the  guns  of  "  The 
Beauty  "  did  tremendous  execution. 


296  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

The  Latin  grammar  master  was  seen  upon  the  poop,  in  the 
midst  of  the  smoke  and  fire,  encouraging  his  men.  To  do 
him  justice,  he  was  no  craven,  though  his  white  hat,  his  short 
gray  trowsers,  and  his  long  snuff-colored  surtout  reaching  to 
his  heels  (the  self-same  suit  in  which  he  had  spited  Bold- 
heart),  contrasted  most  unfavorably  with  the-  brilliant  uni- 
form of  the  Tatter.  At  this  moment,  Boldheart,  seizing  a 
pike  and  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men,  gave  the 
word  to  board. 

A  desperate  conflict  ensued  in  the  hammock-nettings — or 
somewhere  in  about  that  direction — until  the  Latin  grammar 
master,  having  all  his  masts  gone,  his  hull  and  rigging  shot 
through  and  through,  and  seeing  Boldheart  slashing  a  path 
toward  him,  hauled  down  his  flag  himself,  gave  up  his  sword 
to  Boldheart,  and  asked  for  quarter.  Scarce  had  he  been 
put  into  the  captain's  boat,  ere  "  The  Scorpion  "  went  down 
with  all  on  board. 

On  Captain  Boldheart's  now  assembling  his  men,  a  cir- 
cumstance occurred.  He  found  it  necessary  with  one  blow 
of  his  cutlass  to  kill  the  cook,  who,  having  lost  his  brother 
in  the  late  action,  was  making  at  the  Latin  grammar  master 
in  an  infuriated  state,  intent  on  his  destruction  with  a  carv- 
ing-knife. 

Captain  Boldheart  then  turned  to  the  Latin  grammar  mas- 
ter, severely  reproaching  him  with  his  perfidy,  and  put  it  to 
his  crew  what  they  considered  that  a  master  who  spited  a 
boy  deserved. 

They  answered,  with  one  voice,  "  Death  !  " 
"It  may  be  so,"  said  the  captain,  "but   it  shall  never  be 
said  that   Boldheart  stained   his   hour  of   triumph  with  the 
blood  of  his  enemy.     Prepare  the  cutter." 
The  cutter  was  immediately  prepared. 
"  Without   taking  your  life,"   said  the  captain,  "  I  must 
-yet  forever  deprive  you  of  the  power  of  spiting  other  boys. 
I  shall  turn  you  adrift  in  this  boat.     You  will  find  in  her  two 
oars,  a  compass,  a  bottle  of  rum,   a  small  cask   of  water,  a 
piece   of  pork,  a   bag   of  biscuit,  and  my  Latin   grammar. 
Go  !  and  spite  the  natives,  if  you  can  find  any." 

Deeply  conscious  of  this  bitter  sarcasm,  the  unhappy 
wretch  was  put  into  the  cutter,  and  was  soon  left  far  be- 
hind. He  made  »o  effort  to  row,  but  was  seen  lying  on  his 
back  with  his  legs  up,  when  last  made  out  by  the  ships  tele- 
scopes. 

A  stiff  breeze  now  beginning  to  blow,  Captain  Boldheart 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  297 

gave  orders  to  keep  her  S.  S.  W.,  easing  her  a  little 
during  the  night  by  falling  off  a  point  or  two  W.  by  W.,  or 
even  by  W.  S.,  if  she  complained  much.  He  then  retired  for 
the  night,  having  in  truth  much  need  of  repose.  In  addition 
to  the&fatigues  he  had  undergone,  this  brave  officer  had  re- 
ceived sixteen  wounds  in  the  engagement,  but  had  not  men- 
tioned it. 

In  the  morning  a  white  squall  came  on,  and  was  succeeded 
by  other  squalls  of  various  colors.  It  thundered  and  light- 
ened heavily  for  six  weeks.  Hurricanes  then  set  in  for  two 
months.  Water-spouts  and  tornadoes  followed.  The  old- 
est sailor  on  board— and  he  was  a  very  old  one — had  never 
seen  such  weather.  "  The  Beauty  "  lost  all  idea  where  she 
was,  and  the  carpenter  reported  six  feet  two  of  water  in  the 
hold.     Every  body  fell  senseless  at  the  pumps  every  day. 

Provisions  now  ran  very  low.     Our  hero  put  the  crew  on 
short  allowance,  and  put  himself  on  shorter  allowance  than 
any  man  in  the  ship.     But  his  spirit  kept  him  fat.     In  this 
extremity  the  gratitude  of  Boozey,  the  captain  of  the  foretop, 
whom  our  readers  may  remember,  was  truly  affecting.     The 
loving   though  lowly  William   repeatedly    requested    to   be 
killed  and  preserved  for  the  captain's  table. 
We  now  approach  a  change  in  affairs.  _ 
One    day,    during  a   gleam    of    sunshine,  and    when  the 
weather   had  moderated,    the   man  at  the   mast-head— too 
weak  now  to  touch  his  hat,  besides  it  having  been  blown 
away — called  out, 
"  Savages !  " 

All  was  now  expectation. 

Presently  fifteen  hundred  canoes,  each  paddled  by  twenty 
savages,  were  seen  advancing  in  excellent  order.  They 
were  of  a  light-green  color  (the  savages  were),  and  sang, 
with  great  energy,  the  following  strain  : 

Choo  a  choo  a  choo  tooth. 

Muntch,  muntch.     Nycey  I 
Choo  a  choo  a  choo  tooth. 

Muntch,  muntch.     Nyce  I 

As  the  shades  of  night  were  by  this  time  closing  in,  these 
expressions  were  supposed  to  embody  this  simple  people's 
views  of  the  evening  hymn.  But  it  too  soon  appeared  that 
the  song  was  a  translation  of  "  For  what  we  are  going  to  re- 
ceive,"  etc. 

The  chief,  imposingly  decorated  with  feathers  of  lively 
colors,  and  having  the  majestic  appearance  of   a  fighting 


298  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

parrot,  no  sooner  understood  (he  understood  English  per- 
fectly) that  the  ship  was  "The  Beauty,"  Captain  Boldheart, 
than  he  fell  upon  his  face  on  the  deck,  and  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  rise  until  the  captain  had  lifted  him  up,  and 
told  him  he  wouldn't  hurt  him.  All  the  rest  of  the  savages 
also  fell  on  their  faces  with  marks  of  terror,  and  had  also  to 
be  lifted  up  one  by  one.  Thus  the  fame  of  the  great  Bold- 
heart  had  gone  before  him,  even  among  these  children  of 
nature. 

Turtles  and  oysters  were  now  produced  in  astonishing 
numbers  ;  and  on  these  and  yams  the  people  made  a  hearty 
meal.  After  dinner  the  chief  told  Captain  Boldheart  that 
there  was  better  feeding  up  at  the  village,  and  that  he  would 
be  glad  to  take  him  and  his  officers  there.  Apprehensive  of 
treachery,  Boldheart  ordered  his  boat's  crew  to  attend  him, 
completely  armed.  And  well  were  it  for  other  commanders 
if  their  precautions — but  let  us  not  anticipate. 

When  the  canoes  arrived  at  the  beach,  the  darkness  of  the 
night  was  illuminated  by  the  light  of  an  immense  fire.  Or- 
dering his  boat's  crew  (with  the  intrepid  though  illiterate 
William  at  their  head)  to  keep  close  and  be  upon  their 
guard,  Boldheart  bravely  went  on,  arm  in  arm  with  the 
chief. 

But  how  to  depict  the  captain's  surprise  when  he  found  a 
ring  of  savages  singing  in  chorus  that  barbarous  translation 
of  "  For  what  we  are  going  to  receive,"  etc.,  which  has  been 
given  above,  and  dancing  hand  in  hand  round  the  Latin 
grammar  master,  in  a  hamper  with  his  head  shaved,  while 
two  savages  floured  him,  before  putting  him  to  the  fire  to  be 
cooked  ! 

Boldheart  now  took  counsel  with  his  officers  on  the  course 
to  be  adopted.  In  the  meantime,  the  miserable  captive  never 
ceased  begging  pardon  and  imploring  to  be  delivered.  On 
the  generous  Boldheart's  proposal,  it  was  at  length  resolved 
that  he  should  not  be  cooked,  but  should  be  allowed  to  re- 
main raw,  on  two  conditions  ;  namely  : — 

i.  That  he  should  never,  under  any  circumstances,  pre- 
sume to  teach  any  boy  any  thing  any  more. 

2.  That,  if  taken  back  to  England,  he  should  pass  his  life 
in  traveling  to  find  out  boys  who  wanted  their  exercises 
done,  and  should  do  their  exercises  for  those  boys  for  noth- 
ing, and  never  say  a  word  about  it. 

Drawing  the  sword  from  its  sheath,  Boldheart  swore  him 
to  these  conditions  on  its  shining  blade.     The  prisoner  wept 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  299 

bitterly,  and  appeared  acutely  to  feel  the  errors  of  his  past 
career. 

The  captain  then  ordered  his  boat's  crew  to  make  ready 
for  a  volley,  and  after  firing  to  re-load  quickly.  "  And  ex- 
pect a  score  or  two  on  ye  to  go  head  over  heels,"  murmured 
William  Boozey  ;  "  for  I'm  looking  at  ye."  With  those  words, 
the  derisive  though  deadly  William  took  a  good  aim. 
"  Fire  !  " 

The  ringing  voice  of  Boldheart  was  lost  in  the  report  of 
the  guns  and  the  screeching  of  the  savages.  Volley  after 
volley  awakened  the  numerous  echoes.  Hundreds  of  savages 
were  killed,  hundreds  wounded,  and  thousands  ran  howling 
in  the  woods.  The  Latin  grammar  master  had  a  spare  night- 
cap lent  him,  and  a  long-tailed  coat,  which  he  wore  hind 
side  before.  He  presented  a  ludicrous  though  pitiable  ap- 
pearance, and  serve  him  right. 

We  now  find  Captain  Boldheart,  with  this  rescued  wretch 
on  board,  standing  off  for  other  islands.  At  one  of  these, 
not  a  cannibal  island,  but  a  pork  and  vegetable  one,  he  mar- 
ried (only  in  fun  on  his  part)  the  king's  daughter.  Here  he 
rested  some  time,  receiving  from  the  natives  great  quantities 
of  precious  stones,  gold  dust,  elephants'  teeth,  and  sandal 
wood,  and  getting  very  rich.  This,  too,  though  he  almost 
every  day  made  presents  of  enormous  value  to  his  men. 

The  ship  being  at  length  as  full  as  she  could  hold  of  all 
sorts  of  valuable  things,  Boldheart  gave  orders  to  weigh  the 
anchor  and  turn  "  The  Beauty's  "  head  toward  England. 
The  orders  were  obeyed  with  three  cheers  ;  and  ere  the  sun 
went  down  full  many  a  hornpipe  had  been  danced  on  deck 
by  the  uncouth  though  agile  William. 

We  next  find  Captain  Boldheart  about  three  leagues  off 
Madeira,  surveying  through  his  spy-glass  a  stranger  of  sus- 
picious appearance  making  sail  toward  him.  On  his  firing 
a  gun  ahead  of  her  to  bring  her  to,  she  ran  up  a  flag,  which 
he  instantly  recognized  as  the  flag  from  the  mast  in  the  back- 
garden  at  home. 

Inferring  from  this,  that  his  father  had  put  to  sea  to  seek 
his  long-lost  son,  the  captain  sent  his  own  boat  on  board  the 
stranger  to  inquire  if  this  was  so,  and,  if  so,  whether  his 
father's  intentions  were  strictly  honorable.  The  boat  came 
back  with  a  present  of  greens  and  fresh  meal,  and  reported 
that  the  stranger  was  "  The  Family,"  of  twelve  hundred 
tons,  and  had  not  only  the  captain's  father  on  board,  but 
also  his  mother,  with  the  majority  of  his  aunts  and  uncles, 


3oo  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

and  all  his  cousins.  It  was  further  reported  to  Boldheart 
that  the  whole  of  these  relations  had  expressed  themselves 
in  a  becoming  manner,  and  were  anxious  to  embrace  him 
and  thank  him  for  the  glorious  credit  he  had  done  them. 
Boldheart  at  once  invited  them  to  breakfast  next  morning 
on  board  "  The  Beauty,"  and  gave  orders  for  a  brilliant  ball 
that  should  last  all  day. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  the  night  that  the  captain  discov- 
ered the  hopelessness  of  reclaiming  the  Latin  grammar  mas- 
ter. That  thankless  traitor  *was  found  out,  as  the  two  ships 
lay  near  each  other,  communicating  with  "  The  Family  "  by 
signals,  and  offering  to  give  up  Boldheart.  He  was  hanged 
at  the  yard-arm  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  after  having 
it  impressively  pointed  out  to  him  by  Boldheart  that  this  was 
what  spiters  came  to. 

The  meeting  between  the  captain  and  his  parents  was  at- 
tended with  tears.  His  uncles  and  aunts  would  have  attended 
their  meeting  with  tears  too,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  stand  that. 
His  cousins  were  very  much  astonished  by  the  size  of  his  ship 
and  the  discipline  of  his  men,  and  were  greatly  overcome  by 
the  splendor  of  his  uniform.  He  kindly  conducted  them  round 
the  vessel,  and  pointed  out  every  thing  worthy  of  notice. 
He  also  fired  his  hundred  guns,  and  found  it  amusing  to 
witness  their  alarm. 

The  entertainment  surpassed  every  thing  ever  seen  on 
board  ship,  and  lasted  from  ten  in  the  morning  until  seven 
the  next  morning.  Only  one  disagreeable  incident  occurred. 
Captain  Boldheart  found  himself  obliged  to  put  his  Cousin 
Tom  in  irons,  for  being  disrespectful.  On  the  boy's 
promising  amendment,  however,  he  was  humanely  released, 
after  a  few  hours'  close  confinement. 

Boldheart  now  took  his  mother  down  into  the  great  cabin, 
and  asked  after  the  young  lady  with  whom,  it  was  well 
known  to  the  world,  he  was  in  love.  His  mother  replied 
that  the  object  of  his  affections  was  then  at  school  at  Mar- 
gate, for  the  benefit  of  sea-bathing  (it  was  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember), but  that  she  feared  the  young  lady's  friends  were 
still  opposed  to  the  union.  Boldheart  at  once  resolved,  if 
necessary,  to  bombard  the  town. 

Taking  the  command  of  his  ship  with  this  intention,  and 
putting  all  but  fighting  men  on  board  "  The  Family,"  with 
orders  to  that  vessel  to  keep  in  company,  Boldheart  soon 
anchored  in  Margate  Roads.  Here  he  went  ashore  well 
armed,  and  attended  by  his  boat's  crew  (at  their  head  the 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  301 

faithful  though  ferocious  William),  and  demanded  to  see  the 
mayor,  who  came  out  of  his  office. 

"  Dost  know  the  name  of  yon  ship,  mayor  ?  "  asked  Bold- 
heart  fiercely. 

"  No,"  said  the  mayor,  rubbing  his  eyes,  which  he  could 
scarce  believe  when  he  saw  the  goodly  vessel  riding  at 
anchor. 

"  She  is  named  '  The  Beauty,*  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Hah  !  "  exclaimed  the  mayor  with  a  start.  "  And  you, 
then,  are  Captain  Boldheart  ? " 

"  The  same." 

A  pause  ensued.     The  mayor  trembled. 

"  Now,  mayor,"  said  the  Captain,  "  choose  !  Help  me  to 
my  bride,  or  be  bombarded." 

The  mayor  begged  for  two  hours'  grace  in  which  to  make 
inquiries  respecting  the  young  lady.  Boldheart  accorded 
him  but  one  ;  and  during  that  one  placed  William  Boozey 
sentry  over  him,  with  a  drawn  sword,  and  instructions  to 
accompany  him  wherever  he  went,  and  to  run  him  through 
the  body  if  he  showed  a  sign  of  playing  false. 

At  the  end  of  the  hour  the  mayor  re-appeared  more  dead 
than  alive,  closely  waited  on  by  Boozey  more  alive  than 
dead.  . 

"  Captain,"  said  the  mayor,  "  I  have  ascertained  that  the 
young  lady  is  going  to  bathe.  Even  now  she  waits  her  turn 
for  a  machine.  The  tide  is  low,  though  rising.  I,  in  one 
of  our  town-boats,  shall  not  be  suspected.  WThen  she  comes 
forth  in  her  bathing-dress  into  the  shallow  water  from 
behind  the  hood  of  the  machine,  my  boat  shall  intercept  her 
and  prevent  her  return.     Do  you  the  rest." 

"  Mayor,"  returned  Captain  Boldheart,  "  thou  hast  saved 
thv  town." 

The  captain  then  signaled  his  boat  to  take  him  off,  and, 
steering  her  himself,  ordered  her  crew  to  row  toward  the 
bathing-ground,  and  there  to  rest  upon  their  oars.  All 
happened  as  had  been  arranged.  His  lovely  bride  came 
.  forth,  the  mayor  glided  in  behind  her,  she  became  confused, 
and  had  floated  out  of  her  depth,  when,  with  one  skillful 
touch  of  the  rudder  and  one  quivering  stroke  from  the 
boat's  crew,  her  adoring  Boldheart  held  her  in  his  strong 
arms.  There  her  shrieks  of  terror  were  changed  to  cries  of 
joy.  .    . 

Before  "  The  Beauty  "  could  get  under  way,  the  hoisting 
of  all  the  flags  in  the  town  and  harbor,  and  the  ringing  of 


302  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

all  the  bells,  announced  to  the  brave  Boldheart  that  he  had 
nothing  to  fear.  He  therefore  determined  to  be  married  on 
the  spot,  and  signaled  for  a  clergyman  and  clerk,  who  canle 
off  promptly  in  a  sailing-boat  named  "The  Skylark." 
Another  great  entertainment  was  then  given  on  board 
"  The  Beauty,"  in  the  midst  of  which  the  mayor  was  called 
out  by  a  messenger.  He  returned  with  the  news  that  the 
government  had  sent  down  to  know  whether  Captain  Bold 
heart,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  great  services  he  had  done 
his  country  by  being  a  pirate,  would  consent  to  be  made  a 
lieutenant-colonel.  For  himself  he  would  have  spurned 
the  worthless  boon  ;  but  his  bride  wished  it,  and  he  con- 
sented. 

Only  one  thing  further  happened  before  the  good  ship 
"Family"  was  dismissed,  with  rich  presents  to  all  on  board. 
It  is  painful  to  record  (but  such  is  human  nature  in  some 
cousins)  that  Captain  Boldheart's  unmannerly  Cousin  'torn 
was  actually  tied  up  to  receive  three  dozen  with  a  rope's  end 
"  for  cheekiness  and  making  game,"  when  Captain  Bold- 
heart's  lady  begged  for  him,  and  he  was  spared.  "  The 
Beauty "  then  refitted,  and  the  captain  and  his  bride 
departed  for  the  Indian  Ocean  to  enjoy  themselves  forever- 
more. 


PART  IV. 

ROMANCE.      FROM    THE    PEN    OF   MISS   NETTIE   ASHFORD.* 

There  is  a  country,  which  I  will  show  you  when  I  get 
into  maps,  where  the  children  have  every  thing  their  own 
way.  It  is  a  most  delightful  country  to  live  in.  The  grown- 
up people  are  obliged  to  obey  the  children,  and  are  never 
allowed  to  sit  up  to  supper,  except  on  their  birthdays.  The 
children  order  them  to  make  jam,  and  jelly,  and  marmalade, 
and  tarts,  and  pies,  and  puddings,  and  all  manner  of  pastry. 
If  they  say  they  won't  they  are  put  in  the  corner  till  they  do. 
They  are  sometimes  allowed  to  have  some ;  but  when 
they  have  some,  they  generally  have  powders  given  them 
afterward. 

One  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  country,  a  truly  sweet  young 
creature  of  the  name  of  Mrs.  Orange,  had  the  misfortune  to 

Aged  half  past  six. 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  303 

be  sadly  plagued  by  her  numerous  family.  Her  parents 
required  a  great  deal  of  looking  after,  and  they  had  connec- 
tions and  companions  who  were  scarcely  ever  out  of  mis- 
chief. So  Mrs.  Orange  said  to  herself,  "  I  really  can  not  be 
troubled  with  these  torments  any  longer  ;  I  must  put  them 
all  to  school." 

Mrs.  Orange  took  off  her  pinafore,  and  dressed  herself 
very  nicely,  and  took  up  her  baby,  and  went  out  to  call  upon 
another  lady  of  the  name  of  Mrs.  Lemon,  who  kept  a  pre- 
paratory establishment.  Mrs.  Orange  stood  upon  the 
scraper  to  pull  at  the  bell,  and  gave  a  ring-ting-ting. 

Mrs.  Lemon's  neat  little  housemaid,  pulling  up  her  socks 
as  she  came  along  the  passage,  answered  the  ring-ting-ting. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  Fine  day.  How 
do  you  do  ?     Mrs.  Lemon  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Will  you  say  Mrs.  Orange  and  baby  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     Walk  in." 

Mrs.  Orange's  baby  was  a  very  fine  one,  and  real  wax  all 
over.  Mrs.  Lemon's  baby  was  leather  and  bran.  However, 
when  Mrs.  Lemon  came  into  the  drawing-room  with  her 
baby  in  her  arms,  Mrs.  Orange  said  politely,  "  Good-morn- 
ing, Fine  day.  How  do  you  do  ?  And  how  is  little 
Tootleum-boots  ? " 

"  Well,  she  is  but  poorly.  Cutting  her  teeth,  ma'am,"  said 
Mrs.  Lemon. 

11  Oh,  indeed,  ma'am  !  "  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  No  fits,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  How  many  teeth  has  she,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Five,  ma'am." 

"  My  Emilia,  ma'am,  has  eight,"  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  Shall 
we  lay  them  on  the  mantle-piece  side  by  side,  while  we  con- 
verse ?" 

"  By  all  means,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Lemon.     "  Hem  !  " 

"  The  first  question  is,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  "  I 
don't  bore  you  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Lemon.  "  Far  from 
it,  I  assure  you." 

"  Then  pray  have  you,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  "have — you 
any  vacancies  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     How  many  might  you  require  ?  " 

"  Why  the  truth  is,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  "  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  children," — Oh,  I  forgot  to 


3o4  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

say  that  they  call  the  grown-up  people  children  in  that  coun- 
try !  — "  that  my  children  are  getting  positively  too  much  for 
me.  Let  me  see.  Two  parents,  two  intimate  friends  of  theirs, 
one  godfather,  two  godmothers,  and  an  aunt.  Have  you 
as  many  as  eight  vacancies  ? " 

"  I  have  just  eight,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Lemon. 

"  Most  fortunate  !     Terms  moderate,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Very  moderate,  ma'am." 

"  Diet  good,  I  believe  ? " 

"  Excellent,  ma'am." 

"Unlimited?" 

"  Unlimited." 

"  Most  satisfactory.  Corporal  punishment  dispensed 
with  ? " 

"  Why,  we  do  occasionally  shake,"  said  Mrs.  Lemon,  "  and 
we  have  slapped.     But  only  in  extreme  cases." 

"  Could  I,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,—-"  could  I  see  the 
establishment  ? " 

"  With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Lemon. 

Mrs.  Lemon  took  Mrs.  Orange  into  the  school-room,  where 
there  was  a  number  of  pupils.  "  Stand  up,  children  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Lemon  ;  and  they  all  stood  up. 

Mrs.  Orange  whispered  to  Mrs.  Lemon  :  "  There  is  a 
pale,  bald  child,  with  red  whiskers,  in  disgrace  Might  I 
ask  what  he  has  done  ?  " 

"  Come  here,  White,"  said  Mrs.  Lemon,  "  and  tell  this  lady 
what  you  have  been  doing." 

"  Betting  on  horses,"  said  White,  sulkily. 

"  Are  you  sorry  for  it,  you  naughty  child  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Lemon. 

"  No,"  said  White.  "  Sorry  to  lose,  but  shouldn't  be  sorry 
to  win." 

"  There's  a  vicious  boy  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs,  Lemon. 
"I  Go  along  with  you,  sir.  This  is  Brown,  Mrs.  Orange.  Oh, 
a  sad  case,  Brown's  !  Never  knows  when  he  has  had  enough. 
Greedy.     How  is  your  gout,  sir  ?  " 

"  Bad,"  said  Brown. 

"  What  else  can  you  expect  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Lemon.  "  Your 
stomach  is  the  size  of  two.  Go  and  take  exercise  directly. 
Mrs.  Black,  come  here  to  me.  Now,  here  is  a  child,  Mrs. 
Orange,  ma'am,  who  is  always  at  play.  She  can't  be  kept  at 
home  a  single  day  together  ;  always  gadding  about  and  spoil- 
ing her  clothes.     Play,   play,   play,  play,   from  morning  to 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  305 

night,  and  to  morning  again.  How  can  she  expect  to 
improve  ? " 

"  Don't  expect  to  improve,"  sulked  Mrs.  Black.  "  Don't 
want  to." 

"  There  is  a  specimen  of  her  temper,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Lemon.  "  To  see  her  when  she  is  tearing  about,  neglecting 
every  thing  else,  you  would  suppose  her  to  be  at  least  good- 
humored.  But  bless  you,  ma'am,  she  is  as  pert  and  flounc- 
ing a  minx  as  ever  you  met  with  in  all  your  days  !  " 

"  You  must  have  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with  them, 
ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange. 

"  Ah,  I  have,  indeed,  ma'am  !  "  said  Mrs.  Lemon.  "  What 
with  their  tempers,  what  with  their  quarrels,  what  with  their 
never  knowing  what's  good  for  them,  and  what  with  their 
always  wanting  to  domineer,  deliver  me  from  these  unreason- 
able children  !  " 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  good-morning,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Orange. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  good-morning,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Lemon. 

So  Mrs.  Orange  took  up  her  baby  and  went  home,  and 
told  the  family  that  plagued  her  so  that  they  were  all  going 
to  be  sent  to  school.  They  said  they  didn't  want  to  go  to 
school  ;  but  she  packed  up  their  boxes,  and  packed  them  off. 

"  Oh  dear  me,  dear  me  !  Rest  and  be  thankful !  "  said  Mrs. 
Orange,  throwing  herself  back  in  her  little  arm-chair. 
"  Those  troublesome  troubles  are  got  rid  of,  please  the 
pigs  !  " 

Just  then  another  lady,  named  Mrs.  Alicumpaine,  came 
calling  at  the  street-door  with  a  ring-ting-ting. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Alicumpaine,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  "how  do 
you  do  ?  Pray  stay  to  dinner.  We  have  but  a  simple  joint 
of  sweet-stuff,  followed  by  a  plain  dish  of  bread  and  treacle, 
but,  if  you  will  take  us  as  you  find  us,  it  will  be  so  kind!  " 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine.  "  I  shall  be 
too  glad.  But  what  do  you  think  I  have  come  for,  ma'am  ? 
Guess,  ma'am." 

"  I  really  can  not  guess,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange. 

"  Why,  I  am  going  to  have  a  small  juvenile  party  to-night," 
said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  ;  "  and  if  you  and  Mr.  Orange  and 
baby  would  but  join  us,  we  should  be  complete." 

"  More  than  charmed,  I  am  sure  !  "  said  Mrs.  Orange. 

tl  So  kind  of  you  !  "  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine.  "  But  I  hope 
the  children  won't  boie  you  ?  " 


3o6  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

"  Dear  things  !  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  I  dote 
upon  them." 

Mr.  Orange  here  came  home  from  the  city  and  he  came, 
too,  with  a  ring-ting-ting. 

"  James,  love,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  fi  you  look  tired,  What 
has  been  doing  in  the  city  to-day  ?  " 

"Trap,  bat,  and  ball,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Orange  ;  "  and 
it  knocks  a  man  up." 

"  That  dreadfully  anxious  city,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange 
to  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  ;  "  so  wearing,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  so  trying  !  "  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine.  "  John  has 
lately  been  speculating  in  the  peg-top  ring  ;  and  I  often  say 
to  him  at  night,  '  John,  is  the  result  worth  the  wear  and 
tear?" 

Dinner  was  ready  by  this  time  ;  so  they  sat  down  to  dinner  ; 
and  while  Mr.  Orange  carved  the  joint  of  sweet-stuff,  he  said, 
"  It's  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices.  Jane,  go  down  to  the 
cellar,  and  fetch  a  bottle  of  the  Upest  ginger-beer." 

At  tea-time,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Orange,  and  baby,  and  Mrs. 
Alicumpaine  went  off  to  Mrs.  Alicumpaine's  house.  The 
children  had  not  come  yet  ;  but  the  ball-room  was  ready  for 
them,  decorated  with  paper  flowers. 

"  How  very  sweet  !  "  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  The  dear 
things  !     How  pleased  they  will  be  !  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  children  myself,"  said  Mr.  Orange  gaping. 

"  Not  for  girls  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine.  "  Come  !  you 
care  for  girls  ?  " 

Mr.  Orange  shook  his  head,  and  gaped  again.  "  Frivolous 
and  vain,  ma'am." 

"  My  dear  James,"  cried  Mrs.  Orange,  who  had  been 
peeping  about,  "  do  look  here.  Here's  the  supper  for  the 
darlings,  ready  laid  in  the  room  behind  the  folding-doors. 
Here's  their  little  pickled  salmon,  I  do  declare  !  And  here's 
their  little  salad,  and  their  little  roast  beef  and  fowls,  and 
their  little  pastry,  and  their  wee,  wee,  wee  champagne  !  " 

"Yes,  I  thought  it  best,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine, 
"  that  they  should  have  their  supper  by  themselves.  Our 
table  is  in  the  corner  here,  where  the  gentlemen  can  have 
their  wine-glass  of  negus,  and  their  egg- sandwich,  and  their 
quiet  game  at  beggar-my-neighbor,  and  look  on.  As  for  us, 
ma'am,  we  shall  have  quite  enough  to  do  to  manage  the 
company." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  you  may  say  so  !  Quite  enough,  ma'am  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Orange. 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  307 

The  company  began  to  come.  The  first  of  them  was  a 
stout  boy,  with  a  white  top-knot  and  spectacles.  The  house- 
maid brought  him  in  and  said,  "  Compliments,  and  at  what 
time  was  he  to  be  fetched  !  "  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  said,  "  Not 
a  moment  later  than  ten.  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  Go  and  sit 
down."  Then  a  number  of  other  children  came  ;  boys  by 
themselves,  and  girls  by  themselves,  and  boys  and  girls  to- 
gether. They  didn't  behave  at  all  well.  Some  of  them 
looked  through  quizzing-glasses  at  others,  and  said,  "  Who 
are  those  ?  Don't  know  them."  Some  of  them  looked 
through  quizzing-glasses  at  others,  and  said,  ."  How  do  ?  " 
Some  of  them  had  cups  of  tea  or  coffee  handed  to  them  by 
others,  and  said,  "  Thanks  ;  much  !  "  A  good  many  boys 
stood  about,  and  felt  their  shirt  collars.  Four  tiresome  fat 
boys  would  stand  in  the  doorway,  and  talk  about  the  news- 
papers, till  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  went  to  them  and  said,  "  My 
dears,  I  really  can  not  allow  you  to  prevent  people  from 
coming  in.  I  shall  be  truly  sorry  to  do  it ;  but,  if  you  put 
yourselves  in  every  body's  way,  I  must  positively  send  you 
home."  One  boy,  with  a  beard  and  a  large  white  waistcoat, 
who  stood  straddling  on  the  hearth-rug  warming  his  coat- 
tails,  was  sent  home.  "  Highly  incorrect,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Alicumpaine,  handing  him  out  of  the  room,  "  and  I 
can  not  permit  it." 

There  was  a  children's  band, — harp,  cornet,  and  piano, 
— and  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  and  Mrs.  Orange  bustled  among 
the  children  to  persuade  them  to  take  partners  and  dance. 
But  they  were  so  obstinate  !  For  quite  a  long  time 
they  would  not  be  persuaded  to  take  partners  and  dance. 
Most  of  the  boys  said,"  Thanks  ;  much  !  But  not  at  pres- 
ent." And  most  of -the  rest  of  the  boys  said,  "Thanks; 
much  !     But  never  do." 

"  Oh,  these  children  are  very  wearing  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ali- 
cumpaine to    Mrs.    Orange. 

"  Dear  things  !  I  dote  upon  them  ;  but  they  are  wearing," 
said  Mrs.  Orange  to  Mrs.  Alicumpaine. 

At  last  they  did  begin  in  a  slow  and  melancholy  way 
to  slide  about  to  the  music  ;  though  even  then  they 
wouldn't  mind  what  they  were  told,  but  would  have  this 
partner,  and  would  have  that  partner,  and  showed  temper 
about  it.  And  they  wouldn't  smile — no,  not  on  any  ac- 
count they  wouldn't  ;  but,  when  the  music  stopped,  went 
round  and  round  the  room  in  dismal  twos  as  if  every  body 
else  was  dead. 


3o8  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

'•  Oh,  it's  very  hard  indeed  to  get  these  vexing  children  to 
be  entertained  !  "  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  to  Mrs.  Orange. 

"  I  dote  upon  the  darlings  ;  but  it  is  hard,"  said  Mrs. 
Orange  to  Mrs.  Alicumpaine. 

They  were  trying  children,  that's  the  truth.  First,  they 
wouldn't  sing  when  they  were  asked  ;  and  then,  when  every 
body  fully  believed  they  wouldn't,  they  would.  "  If  you  serve 
us  so  any  more,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  to  a  tall 
child,  with  a  good  deal  of  white  back,  in  mauve  silk  trimmed 
with  lace,  "  it  will  be  my  painful  privilege  to  offer  you  a  bed, 
and  to  send  you  to  it  immediately." 

The  girls  were  so  ridiculously  dressed,  too,  that  they  were 
in  rags  before  supper.  How  could  the  boys  help  treading 
on  their  trains  ?  And  yet  when  their  trains  were  trodden  on, 
they  often  showed  temper  again,  and  looked  as  black,  they 
did  !  However,  they  all  seemed  to  be  pleased  when  Mrs. 
Alicumpaine  said,  "  Supper  is  ready,  children  !  "  And  they 
went  crowding  and  pushing  in,  as  if  they  had  had  dry  bread 
for  dinner. 

"  How  are  the  children  getting  on  ?  "  said  Mr.  Orange 
to  Mrs.  Orange,  when  Mrs.  Orange  came  to  look  after  baby. 
Mrs.  Orange  had  left  baby  on  a  shelf  near  Mr.  Orange  while 
he  played  at  beggar-my-neighbor,  and  had  asked  him  to 
keep  his  eye  upon  her  now  and  then. 

"  Most  charmingly,  my  dear  !  "  said  Mrs.  Orange.  "  So 
droll  to  see  their  little  flirtations  and  jealousies  !  Do  come 
and  look  !  " 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Orange  ;  "  but 
I  don't  care  about  children  myself." 

So  Mrs.  Orange,  having  seen  that  baby  was  safe,  went  back 
without  Mr.  Orange  to  the  room  where  the  children  were 
having  supper.     . 

"  What  are  they  doing  now  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Orange  to  Mrs. 
Alicumpaine. 

"  They  are  making  speeches,  and  playing  at  parliament," 
said  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  to  Mrs.  Orange. 

On  hearing  this,  Mrs.  Orange  set  off  once  more  back  again 
to  Mr.  Orange,  and  said,  "  James,  dear,  do  come.  The 
children  are  playing  at  parliament." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Orange,  "but  I  don't 
care  about  parliament  myself." 

So  Mrs.  Orange  went  once  again  without  Mr.  Orange  to 
the  room  where  the  children  were  having  supper,  to  see 
them  playing  at  parliament.     And   she  found  some  of  the 


HOLIDAY  ROMANCE.  309 

boys  crying,  "  Hear,  hear,  hear  !  "  while  other  boys  cried, 
"No,  no!"  and  others  "Question!"  "Spoke!"  and  all 
sorts  of  nonsense  that  you  ever  heard.  Then  one  of  those 
tiresome  fat  boys  who  had  stopped  the  doorway  told  them 
that  he  was  on  his  legs  (as  if  they  couldn't  see  that  he  wasn't 
on  his  head,  or  on  his  any  thing  else)  to  explain,  and  that, 
with  the  permission  of  his  honorable  friend,  if  he  would  allow 
him  to  call  him  so  (another  tiresome  boy  bowed),  he  would 
proceed  to  explain.  Then  he  went  on  for  a  long  time  in  a 
sing-song  (whatever  he  meant),  did  this  troublesome  fat 
boy,  about  that  he  held  in  his  hand  a  glass  ;  and  about  that 
he  had  come  down  to  that  house  that  night  to  discharge  what 
he  would  call  a  public  duty,  and  about  that,  on  the  present 
occasion,  he  would  lay  his  hand  (his  other  hand)  upon  his 
heart,  and  would  tell  honorable  gentlemen  that  he  was  about 
to  open  the  door  to  general  approval.  Then  he  opened  the 
door  by  saying,  "  To  our  hostess  !  "  and  every  body  else  said 
"  To  our  hostess  !  "  and  then  there  were  cheers.  Then  an- 
other tiresome  boy  started  up  in  sing-song,  and  then  half  a 
dozen  noisy  nonsensical  boys  at  once.  But  at  last  Mrs.  Ali- 
cumpaine  said,  "  I  can  not  have  this  din.  Now,  children, 
you  have  played  at  parliament  very  nicely  ;  but  parliament 
gets  tiresome  after  a  little  while,  and  it's  time  you  left  off, 
for  you  will  soon  be  fetched." 

After  another  dance  (with  more  tearing  to  rags  than  be- 
fore supper),  they  began  to  be  fetched  ;  and  you  will  be  very 
glad  to  be  told  that  the  tiresome  fat  boy  who  had  been  on 
his  legs  was  walked  off  first  without  any  ceremony.  When 
they  were  all  gone,  poor  Mrs.  Alicumpaine  dropped  on  a  sofa, 
and  said  to  Mrs.  Orange,  "  These  children  will  be  the  death 
of  me  at  last,  ma'am — they  will  indeed  !  " 

"I  quite  adore  them,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Orange  ;  "  but 
they  do  want  variety." 

Mr.  Orange  got  his  hat,  and  Mrs.  Orange  got  her  bonnet 
and  her  baby,  and  they  set  out  to  walk  home.  They  had  to 
pass  Mrs.  Lemon's  preparatory  establishment  on  their  way. 

"  I  wonder,  James  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Orange,  looking  up  at 
the  window,  "  whether  the  precious  children  are  asleep  !  " 

"  I  don't  care  much  whether  they  are  or  not,  myself,"  said 
Mr.  Orange. 

"  James,  dear  !  " 

"  You  dote  upon  them  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Orange* 
"  That's  another  thing." 

"  I  do,"  said  Mrs,  Orange,  rapturously.     "  Oh,  I  do  !  " 


3 jo  HOLIDAY  ROMANCE. 

'  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Orange. 

11  But  I  was  thinking,  James,  love,"  said  Mrs.  Orange, 
pressing  his  arm,  "  whether  our  dear,  good,  kind  Mrs.  Lemon 
would  like  them  to  stay  the  holidays  with  her." 

"  If  she  was  paid  for  it,  I  dare  say  she  would,"  said  Mr. 
Orange. 

"  I  adore  them,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Orange  ;  "but  suppose 
we  pay  her,  then  !  " 

This  was  what  brought  that  country  to  such  perfection, 
and  made  it  such  a  delightful  place  to  live  in.  The  grown- 
up people  (that  would  be  in  other  countries)  soon  left  off  be- 
ing allowed  any  holidays  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Orange  tried 
the  experiment  ;  and  the  children  (that  would  be  in  other 
countries)  kept  them  at  school  as  long  as  ever  they  lived, 
andraadi  them  do  whatever  they  were  told. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 


FIRST  CHAPTER 

It  happened  in  this  wise, — 

But  sitting  with  my  pen  in  my  hand  looking  at  those  words 
again,  without  descrying  any  hint  in  them  of  the  words  that 
should  follow,  it  comes  into  my  mind  that  they  have  an 
abrupt  appearance.  They  may  serve,  however,  if  I  let  them 
remain,  to  suggest  how  very  difficult  I  find  it  to  begin  to 
explain  my  explanation.  An  uncouth  phrase  ;  and  yet  I  do 
not  see  my  way  to  a  better. 


SECOND   CHAPTER. 

It  happened  in  this  wise, — 

But  looking  at  those  words,  and  comparing  them  with  my 
former  opening,  I  find  they  are  the  self-same  words  repeated. 
This  is  the  more  surprising  to  me,  because  I  employ  them 
in  quite  a  new  connection.  For  indeed  I  declare  that  my 
intention  was  to  discard  the  commencement  I  first  had  in 
my  thoughts,  and  to  give  the  preference  to  another  of  an 
entirely  different  nature,  dating  my  explanation  from  an  an- 
terior period  of  my  life.  I  will  make  a  third  trial,  without 
erasing  this  second  failure,  protesting  that  it  is  not  my  de- 
sign to  conceal  any  of  my  infirmities,  whether  they  be  of 
head  or  heart. 


THIRD  CHAPTER. 

Not  as  yet  directly  aiming  at  how  it  came  to  pass,  I  will 
come  upon  it  by  degrees.  The  natural  manner,  after  all, 
for  God  knows  that  is  how  it  came  upon  me. 

My  parents  were  in  a  miserable  condition  of  life,  and  my 


3i2    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

infant  home  was  a  cellar  in  Preston.  I  recollect  the  sound 
of  father's  Lancashire  clogs  on  the  street  pavement  above, 
as  being  different  in  my  young  hearing  from  the  sound  of  all 
other  clogs  ;  and  I  recollect  that,  when  mother  came  down 
the  cellar-steps,  I  used  tremblingly  to  speculate  on  her  feet 
having  a  good  or  an  ill-tempered  look — on  her  knees — on 
her  waist — until  finally  her  face  came  into  view,  and  settled 
the  question.  From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  I  was  timid, 
and  that  the  cellar-steps  were  steep,  and  that  the  doorway, 
was  very  low. 

Mother  had  the  gripe  and  clutch  of  poverty  upon  her 
face,  upon  her  figure,  and  not  least  of  all  upon  her  voice. 
Her  sharp  and  high-pitched  words  were  squeezed  out  of  her, 
as  by  the  compression  of  bony  fingers  on  a  leathern  bag  ; 
and  she  had  a  way  of  rolling  her  eyes  about  and  about  the 
cellar,  as  she  scolded,  that  was  gaunt  and  hungry.  Father, 
with  his  shoulders  rounded,  would  sit  quiet  on  a  three-legged 
stool,  looking  at  the  empty  grate,  until  she  would  pluck  the 
stool  from  under  him,  and  bid  him  go  bring  some  money 
home.  Then  he  would  dismally  ascend  the  steps  ;  and  I, 
holding  my  ragged  shirt  and  trowsers  together  with  a  hand 
(my  only  braces),  would  feint  and  dodge  from  mother's  pur- 
suing grasp  at  my  hair. 

A  worldly  little  devil  was  mother's  usual  name  for  me. 
Whether  I  cried  for  that  I  was  in  the  dark,  or  for  that  it 
was  cold,  or  for  that  I  was  hungry,  or  whether  I  squeezed 
myself  into  a  warm  corner  when  there  was  a  fire,  or  ate 
voraciously  when  there  was  food,  she  would  still  say,  "  Oh 
you  worldly  little  devil  !  "  And  the  sting  of  it  was,  that  I 
quite  well  knew  myself  to  be  a  worldly  little  devil.  Worldly 
as  to  wanting  to  be  housed  and  warmed,  worldly  as  to  want- 
ing to  be  fed,  worldly  as  to  the  greed  with  which  I  inwardly 
compared  how  much  I  got  of  those  good  things  with  how 
much  father  and  mother  got,  when,  rarely,  those  good  things 
were  going. 

Sometimes  they  both  went  away  seeking  work  ;  and  then  I 
would  be  locked  up  in  the  cellar  for  a  day  or  two  at  a  time.  I 
was  at  my  worldliest  then.  Left  alone,  I  yielded  myself  up  to 
a  worldly  yearning  for  enough  of  any  thing  (except  misery), 
and  for  the  death  of  mother's  father,  who  was  a  machine- 
maker  at  Birmingham,  and  in  whose  decease,  I  had  heard 
mother  say,  she  would  come  into  a  whole  court  full  of  houses 
"  if  she  had  her  rights."  Worldly  little  devil,  I  would  stand 
about,  musingly  fitting  my  bare  feet  into  cracked  bricks  and. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    313 

crevices  of  the  damp  cellar  floor — walking  over  my  grand- 
father's body,  so  to  speak,  into  the  court  full  of  houses,  and 
selling  them  for  meat  and  drink,  and  clothes  to  wear. 

At  last  a  change  came  down  into  our  cellar.  The  uni- 
versal came  down  even  as  low  as  that — so  will  it  mount  to 
any  height  on  which  a  human  creature  can  perch — and 
brought  other  changes  with  it. 

We  had  a  heap  of  I  don't  know  what  foul  litter  in  the 
darkest  corner,  which  we  called  "  the  bed."  For  three  days 
mother  lay  upon  it  without  getting  up,  and  then  began  at 
times  to  laugh.  If  I  had  ever  heard  her  laugh  before,  it  had 
been  so  seldom  that  the  strange  sound  frightened  me.  It 
frightened  father  too  ;  and  we  took  it  by  turns  to  give  her 
water.  Then  she  began  to  move  her  head  from  side  to 
side,  and  sing.  After  that,  she  getting  no  better,  father  fell 
a-laughing  and  a-singing  ;  and  then  there  was  only  I  to  give 
them  both  water,  and  they  both  died. 


FOURTH    CHAPTER. 

When  I  was  lifted  out  of  the  cellar  by  two  men,  of  whom 
one  came  peeping  down  alone  first,  and  ran  away  and  brought 
the  other,  I  could  hardly  bear  the  light  of  the  street.  I  was 
sitting  in  the  roadway  blinking  at  it,  and  at  a  ring  of  peo- 
ple collected  around  me,  but  not  close  to  me,  when,  true  to 
my  character  of  worldly  little  devil,  I  broke  silence  by  say- 
ing, "  I  am  hungry  and  thirsty  !  " 

"  Does  he  know  they  are  dead  ?  "  asked  one  of  another. 

"  Do  you  know  your  father  and  mother  are  both  dead  of 
fever  !  "  asked  a  third  of  me,  severely. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  dead.  I  suppose  it  meant 
that,  when  the  cup  rattled  against  their  teeth,  and  the  water 
spilt  over  them.  I  am  hungry  and  thirsty."  That  was  all  I 
had 'to  say  about  it. 

The  ring  of  people  widened  outward  from  the  inner  side 
as  I  looked  around  me  ;  and  I  smelt  vinegar,  and  what  I 
knew  to  be  camphor,  thrown  in  toward  where  I  sat.  Pres- 
ently some  one  put  a  great  vessel  of  smoking  vinegar  on  the 
ground  near  me  ;  and  then  they  all  looked  at  me  in  silent 
horror  as  I  ate  and  drank  of  what  was  brought  me.  I  knew 
at  the  time  they  had  a  horror  of  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 

I  was  still  eating  and  drinking,  and  a  murmur  of  discus- 
sion had  begun  to  arise  respecting  what  was   to  be  done 


3i4    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

with  me  next,  when  I  heard  a  cracked  voice  somewhere  in 
the  ring  say,  "  My  name  is  Hawkyard,  Mr.  Verity  Hawkyard, 
of  West  Broomwich."  Then  the  ring  split  in  one  place  ;  and 
a  yellow-faced,  peak-nosed  gentleman,  clad  all  in  iron-gray 
to  his  gaiters,  pressed  forward  close  to  the  vessel  of  smok- 
ing vinegar  ;  from  which  he  sprinkled  himself  carefully,  and 
me  copiously. 

"  He  had  a  grandfather  at  Birmingham,  this  young  boy, 
who  is  just  dead  too,"  said  Mr.  Hawkyard. 

I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  speaker,  and  said  in  a  ravening 
manner,  "  Where's  his  houses  ?  " 

"  Hah  !  Horrible  worldliness  on  the  edge  of  the  grave," 
said  Mr.  Hawkyard,  casting  more  of  the  vinegar  over  me,  as 
if  to  get  my  devil  out  of  me.  "  I  have  undertaken  a  slight — 
a  ve-ry  slight — trust  in  behalf  of  this  boy  ;  quite  a  volun- 
tary trust  ;  a  matter  of  mere  honor,  if  not  of  mere  sentiment  ; 
still  I  have  taken  it  upon  myself,  and  it  shall  be  (oh  yes,  it 
shall  be  !)  discharged. 

The  bystanders  seemed  to  form  an  opinion  of  this  gentle- 
man much  more  favorable  than  their  opinion  of  me. 

"  He  shall  be  taught,"  said  Mr.  Hawkyard.  "  (Oh  yes,  he 
shall  be  taught  !)  but  what  is  to  be  done  with  him  for  the 
present  ?  He  may  be  infected.  He  may  disseminate  infec- 
tion." The  ring  widened  considerably.  "  What  is  to  be 
done  with  him  ?  " 

He  held  some  talk  with  the  two  officials.  I  could  distin- 
guish no  word  save  "  farm-house."  There  was  another 
sound  several  times  repeated,  which  was  wholly  meaning- 
less in  my  ears  then,  but  which  I  knew  afterward  to  be 
"  Hoghton  Towers." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hawkyard.  "  I  think  that  sounds  promis- 
ing ;  I  think  that  sounds  hopeful.  And  he  can  be  put  by 
himself  in  a  ward,  for  a  night  or  two,  you  say  ?  " 

It  seemed  to  be  the  police-officer  who  had  said  so,  for  it 
was  he  who  replied,  Yes  !  It  was  he,  too,  who  finally  took  me 
by  the  arm,  and  walked  me  before  him  through  the  streets,  into 
a  whitewashed  room  in  a  bare  building,  where  I  had  a  chair  to 
sit  in,  a  table  to  sit  at,  an  iron  bedstead  and  good  mattress  to 
lie  upon,  and  a  rug  and  blanket  to  cover  me.  Where  I  had 
enough  to  eat,  too,  and  was  shown  how  to  clean  the  tin  porrin- 
ger in  which  it  was  conveyed  to  me,  until  it  was  as  good  as 
a  looking-glass.  Here,  likewise,  I  was  put  in  a  bath,  and 
had  new  clothes  brought  to  me  ;  and  my  old  rags  were 
burned,  and  I  was  camphored  and  vinegared  and  disinfected 
in  a  variety  of  ways. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    315 

When  all  this  was  done — 1  don't  know  in  how  many  days 
or  how  few,  but  it  matters  not — Mr.  Hawkyard  stepped  in 
at  the  door,  remaining  close  to  it,  and  said,  "  Go  and  stand 
against  the  opposite  wall,  George  Silverman.  As  far  off  as 
you  can.     That'll  do.     How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  1  didn't  feel  cold,  and  didn't  feel  hungry, 
and  didn't  feel  thirsty.  That  was  the  whole  round  of  human 
feelings,  as  far  as  I  knew,  except  the  pain  of  being  beaten. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  are  going,  George,  to  a  healthy 
farm-house  to  be  purified.  Keep  in  the  air  there  as  much 
as  you  can.  Live  an  out-of-door  life  there,  until  you  are 
fetched  away.  You  had  better  not  say  much — in  fact,  you 
had  better  be  very  careful  not  to  say  any  thing — about  what 
your  parents  died  of,  or  they  might  not  like  to  take  you  in. 
Behave  well,  and  I'll  put  you  to  school  ;  oh  yes !  I'll  put 
you  to  school,  though  I  am  not  obligated  to  do  it.  I  am 
a  servant  of  the  Lord,  George  ;  and  I  have  been  a  good  serv- 
ant to  him,  I  have,  these  five-and-thirty  years.  The  Lord 
has  had  a  good  servant  in  me,  and  he  knows  it." 

What  I  then  supposed  him  to  mean  by  this,  I  can  not 
imagine.  As  little  do  I  know  when  I  began  to  comprehend 
that  he  was  a  prominent  member  of  some  obscure  denomi- 
nation or  congregation,  every  member  of  which  held  forth 
to  the  rest  when  so  inclined,  and  among  whom  he  was  called 
Brother  Hawkyard.  It  was  enough  for  me  to  know,  on  that 
day  in  the  ward,  that  the  farmer's  cart  was  waiting  for  me  at 
the  street  corner.  I  was  not  slow  to  get  into  it ;  for  it  was 
the  first  ride  I  ever  had  in  my  life. 

It  made  me  sleepy,  and  I  slept.  First,  I  stared  at  Preston 
streets  as  long  as  they  lasted  ;  and,  meanwhile,  I  may  have 
had  some  small  dumb  wondering  within  me  whereabouts 
our  cellar  was  ;  but  t  doubt  it.  Such  a  worldly  little  devil 
was  I,  that  I  took  no  thought  who  would  bury  father  and 
mother,  or  where  they  would  be  buried,  or  when.  The 
question  whether  the  eating  or  drinking  by  day,  and  the 
covering  by  night,  would  be  as  good  at  the  farm-house  as  at 
the  ward  superseded  those  questions. 

The  jolting  of  the  cart  on  a  loose  stony  road  awoke  me  ; 
and  I  found  that  we  were  mounting  a  steep  hill,  where  the 
road  was  a  rutty  by-road  through  a  field.  And  so,  by  frag- 
ments of  an  ancient  terrace,  and  by  some  rugged  out-build- 
ings that  had  once  been  fortified,  and  passing  under  a  ruined 
gateway,  we  came  to  the  old  farm-house  in  the  thick  stone 
wall  outside  the  old  quadrangle  of  Hoghton  Towers,  which 


3*6    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

I  looked  at  like  a  stupid  savage,  seeing  no  specialty  in,  see- 
ing no  antiquity  in  ;  assuming  all  farm-houses  to  resemble 
it  ;  assigning  the  decay  I  noticed  to  the  one  potent  cause  of 
all  ruin  that  I  knew — poverty  ;  eying  the  pigeons  in  their 
flights,  the  cattle  in  their  stalls,  the  ducks  in  the  pond,  and 
the  fowls  pecking  about  the  yard,  with  a  hungry  hope  that 
plenty  of  them  might  be  killed  for  dinner  while  I  staid 
there  ;  wondering  whether  the  scrubbed  dairy  vessels,  drying 
in  the  sunlight,  could  be  goodly  porringers  out  of  which  the 
master  ate  his  belly-filling  food,  and  which  he  polished 
when  he  had  done,  according  to  my  ward  experience ; 
shrinkingly  doubtful  whether  the  shadows  passing  over  that 
airy  height  on  the  bright  spring  day,  were  not  something 
in  the  nature  of  frowns — sordid,  afraid,  unadmiring  —  a 
small  brute  to  shudder  at. 

To  that  time  I  had  never  had  the  faintest  impression  of 
duty.  I  had  had  no  knowledge  whatever  that  there  was  any 
thing  lovely  in  this  life.  When  I  had  occasionally  slunk  up 
the  cellar-steps  into  the  street,  and  glared  in  at  shop  windows, 
I  had  done  so  wTith  no  higher  feelings  than  we  may  suppose 
to  animate  a  mangy  young  dog  or  wolf-cub.  It  is  equally 
the  fact  that  I  had  never  been  alone,  in  the  sense  of  holding 
unselfish  converse  with  myself.  I  had  been  solitary  often 
enough,  but  nothing  better. 

Such  wras  my  condition  when  I  sat  down  to  my  dinner  that 
day,  in  the  kitchen  of  the  old  farm-house.  Such  was  my  con- 
dition when  I  lay  on  my  bed  in  the  old  farm-house  that 
night,  stretched  out  opposite  the  narrow  mullioned  window, 
in  the  cold  light  of  the  moon,  like  a  young  vampire. 


FIFTH  CHAPTER. 

What  do  I  know  now  of  Hoghton  Towers  ?  Very  little  ; 
for  I  have  been  gratefully  unwilling  to  disturb  my  first  impres- 
sions. A  house,  centuries  old,  on  high  ground  a  mile  or  so  re- 
moved from  the  road  between  Preston  and  Blackburn,  where 
the  first  James  of  England,  in  his  hurry  to  make  money 
by  making  baronets,  perhaps  made  some  of  those  remu- 
nerative dignitaries.  A  house,  centuries  old,  deserted  and 
falling  to  pieces,  its  woods  and  gardens  long  since  grass- 
land or  plowed  up,  the  rivers  Ribble  and  Darwen  glancing 
below  it,  and  a  vague  haze  of  smoke,  against  which  not  even 
the   supernatural  prescience   of  the  first  Stuart  could  fore- 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    317 

see  a  counterblast,  hinting  at  steam-power,  powerful  in  two 
distances. 

What  did  I  know  then  of  Hoghton  Towers  ?  When  I 
first  peeped  in  at  the  gate  of  the  lifeless  quadrangle,  and 
started  from  the  molding  statue  becoming  visible  to  me  like 
its  guardian  ghost ;  when  I  stole  round  by  the  back  of  the 
farm-house,  and  got  in  among  the  ancient  rooms,  many  of 
them  with  their  floors  and  ceilings  falling,  the  beams  and 
rafters  hanging  dangerously  down,  the  plaster  dropping  as 
I  trod,  the  oaken  panels  stripped  away,  the  windows  half 
walled  up,  half  broken  ;  when  I  discovered  a  gallery  com- 
manding the  old  kitchen,  and  looked  down  between  balus- 
trades upon  a  massive  old  table  and  benches,  fearing  to  see 
I  know  not  what  dead-alive  creatures  come  in  and  seat 
themselves,  and  look  up  with  I  know  not  what  dreadful  eyes, 
or  lack  of  eyes,  at  me  ;  when  all  over  the  house  I  was  awed 
by  gaps  and  chinks  where  the  sky  stared  sorrowfully  at  me, 
where  the  birds  passed,  and  the  ivy  rustled,  and  the  stains 
of  winter  weather  blotched  the  rotten  floors  ;  when  down  at 
the  bottom  of  dark  pits  of  staircase,  into  which  the  stairs 
had  sunk,  green  leaves  trembled,  butterflies  fluttered,  and 
bees  hummed  in  and  out  through  the  broken  doorways  ; 
when  encircling  the  whole  ruin  were  sweet  scents,  and 
sights  of  fresh  green  growth,  and  ever-renewing  life,  that 
I  had  never  dreamed  of — I  say,  when  I  passed  into  such 
clouded  perception  of  these  things  as  my  dark  soul  could 
compass,  what  did  I  know  then  of  Hoghton  Towers  ? 

I  have  written  that  the  sky  stared  sorrowfully  at  me. 
Therein  have  I  anticipated  the  answer.  I  knew  that  all 
these  things  looked  sorrowfully  at  me  ;  that  they  seemed  to 
sigh  or  whisper,  not  without  pity  for  me,  "  Alas  !  poor, 
worldly  little  devil  !  " 

There  were  two  or  three  rats  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the 
smaller  pits  of  broken  staircase  when  I  craned  over  and 
looked  in.  They  were  scuffling  for  some  prey  that  was 
there  ;  and  when  they  started  and  hid  themselves  close 
together  in  the  dark,  I  thought  of  the  old  life  (it  had  grown 
old  already)  in  the  cellar. 

How  not  to  be  this  worldly  little  devil  ?  how  not  to  have 
a  repugnance  toward  myself  as  I  had  toward  the  rats  ? 
I  hid  in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  smaller  chambers  fright- 
ened at  myself,  and  crying  (it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
cried  for  any  cause  not  purely  physical),  and  I  tried  to 
think   about   it.      One    of    the    farm-plows    came  into  my 


jiS    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

range  of  view  just  then  ;  and  it  seemed  to  help  me  as  it 
went  on  with  its  two  horses  up  and  down  the  field  so  peace- 
fully and  quietly. 

There  was  a  girl  of  about  my  own  age  in  the  farm-house 
family,  and  she  sat  opposite  to  me  at  the  narrow  table  at 
meal-times.  It  had  come  into  my  mind,  at  our  first  dinner, 
that  she  might  take  the  fever  from  me.  The  thought  had 
not  disquieted  me  then.  I  had  only  speculated  how  she 
would  look  under  the  altered  circumstances,  and  whether 
she  would  die.  But  it  came  into  my  mind  now,  that  I  might 
try  to  prevent  her  taking  the  fever  by  keeping  away  from 
her.  I  knew  I  should  have  but  scrambling  board  if  I  did  ; 
so  much  the  less  worldly  and  less  devilish  the  deed  would 
be,  I  thought. 

From  that  hour  I  withdrew  myself  at  early  morning  into 
secret  corners  of  the  ruined  house,  and  remained  hidden 
there  until  she  went  to  bed.  At  first,  when  meals  were 
ready,  I  used  to  hear  them  calling  me  ;  and  then  my  resolu- 
tion weakened.  But  I  strengthened  it  again,  by  going  fur- 
ther off  into  the  ruin,  and  getting  out  of  hearing.  I  often 
watched  for  her  at  the  dim  windows  ;  and  when  I  saw  that 
she  was  fresh  and  rosy,  felt  much  happier. 

Out  of  this  holding  her  in  my  thoughts,  to  the  humaniz- 
ing of  myself,  I  suppose  some  childish  love  arose  within  me. 
I  felt,  in  some  sort,  dignified  by  the  pride  of  protecting  her 
— by  the  pride  of  making  the  sacrifice  for  her.  As  my  heart 
swelled  with  that  new  feeling,  it  insensibly  softened  about 
mother  and  father.  It  seemed  to  have  been  frozen  before, 
and  now  to  be  thawed.  The  old  ruin  and  all  the  lovely 
things  that  haunted  it  were  not  sorrowful  for  me  only,  but 
sorrowful  for  mother  and  father  as  well.  Therefore  did  I 
cry  again,  and  often  too. 

The  farm-house  family  conceived  me  to  be  of  a  morose 
temper,  and  were  very  short  with  me  ;  though  they  never 
stinted  me  in  such  broken  fare  as  was  to  be  got  out  of  regu- 
lar hours.  One  night,  when  I  lifted  the  kitchen  latch  at  my 
usual  time,  Sylvia  (that  was  her  pretty  name)  had  but  just 
gone  out  of  the  room.  Seeing  her  ascending  the  opposite 
stairs,  I  stood  still  at  the  door.  She  had  heard  the  clink  of 
the  latch,  and  looked  round. 

"  George,"  she  called  to  me  in  a  pleased  voice,  "  to-mor- 
row is  my  birthday;  and  we  are  to  have  a  fiddler,  and  there's  a 
party  of  boys  and  girls  coming  in  a  cart,  and  we  shall  dance. 
I  invite  you.     Be  sociable  for  once,  George." 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    3tc) 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  miss,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I — but,  no  ; 
I  can't  come." 

"  You  are  a  disagreeable,  ill-humored  lad,"  she  returned 
disdainfully  ;  "  and  I  ought  not  to  have  asked  you.  I  shall 
never  speak  to  you  again." 

As  I  stood  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  after  she  was 
gone,  I  felt  that  the  farmer  bent  his  brows  upon  me. 

"  Eh,  lad  !  "  said  he  ;  "  Sylvy's  right.  You're  as  moody 
and  broody  a  lad  as  never  I  set  eyes  on  yet." 

I  tried  to  assure  him  that  I  meant  no  harm ;  but  he  only 
said  coldly,  "  May  be  not,  may  be  not !  There  !  get  thy  sup- 
per, get  thy  supper  ;  and  then  thou  canst  sulk  to  thy  heart's 
content  again." 

Ah  !  if  they  could  have  seen  me  next  day,  in  the  ruin, 
watching  for  the  arrival  of  the  cart  full  of  merry  young 
guests  ;  if  they  could  have  seen  me  at  night,  gliding  out 
from  behind  the  ghostly  statue,  listening  to  the  music  and 
the  fall  of  dancing  feet,  and  watching  the  lighted  farm-house 
windows  from  the  quadrangle  when  all  the  ruin  was  dark  ; 
if  they  could  have  read  my  heart,  as  I  crept  up  to  bed  by 
the  back  way,  comforting  myself  with  the  reflection,  "  They 
will  take  no  hurt  from  me," — they  would  not  have  thought 
mine  a  morose  or  an  unsocial  nature. 

It  was  in  these  ways  that  I  began  to  form  a  shy  disposi- 
tion ;  to  be  of  a  timidly  silent  character  under  misconstruc- 
tion ;  to  have  an  inexpressible,  perhaps  a  morbid,  dread  of 
ever  being  sordid  or  worldly.  It  was  in  these  ways  that  my 
nature  came  to  shape  itself  to  such  a  mold,  even  before  it 
was  affected  by  the  influences  of  the  studious  and  retired 
life  of  a  poor  scholar. 


SIXTH  CHAPTER. 

Brother  Hawkyard  (as  he  insisted  on  my  calling  him) 
put  me  to  school,  and  told  me  to  work  my  way  :  "  You  are 
all  right,  George,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  the  best  servant 
the  Lord  has  had  in  his  service  for  this  five-and-thirty  year  ; 
(Oh  I  have  !)  and  he  knows  the  value  of  such  a  servant  as 
I  have  been  to  him  ;  (Oh,  yes,  he  does  !)  and  he'll  prosper 
your  schooling  as  a  part  of  my  reward.  That's  what  Zie'll 
do,  George.     He'll  do  it  for  me." 

From  the  first  I  could  not  like  this  familiar  knowledge  of 
the  ways  of  the  sublime,   inscrutable   Almighty,  on  Brother 


32o    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

Hawkyard's  part.  As  I  grew  a  little  wiser,  and  still  a  little 
wiser,  I  liked  it  less  and  less.  His  manner,  too,  of  con- 
firming himself  in  a  parenthesis — as  if,  knowing  himself,  he 
doubted  his  own  word — I  found  distasteful.  I  can  not  tell 
how  much  these  dislikes  cost  me  ;  for  I  had  a  dread  that 
they  were  worldly. 

As  time  went  on,  I  became  a  Foundation-boy  on  a  good 
foundation,  and  I  cost  Brother  Hawkyard  nothing.  When 
I  had  worked  my  way  so  far,  I  worked  yet  harder,  in  the 
hope  of  ultimately  getting  a  presentation  to  college  and  a 
fellowship.  My  health  has  never  been  strong  (some  vapor 
from  the  Preston  cellar  cleaves  to  me,  I  think)  ;  and  what 
with  much  work  and  some  weakness,  I  came  again  to  be 
regarded — that  is,  by  my  fellow  students — as  unsocial. 

All  through  my  time  as  a  Foundation-boy,  I  was  within  a 
few  miles  of  Brother  Hawkyard's  congregation  ;  and  when- 
ever I  was  what  we  called  a  leave-boy  on  a  Sunday,  I  went 
over  there  at  his  desire.  Before  the  knowledge  became 
forced  upon  me  that  outside  of  their  place  of  meeting  these 
brothers  and  sisters  were  no  better  than  the  rest  of  the 
human  family,  but  on  the  whole  were,  to  put  the  case  mildly, 
as  bad  as  most,  in  respect  of  giving  short  weight  in  their 
shops,  and  not  speaking  the  truth — I  say,  before  this  knowl- 
edge became  forced  upon  me,  their  prolix'  addresses,  their 
inordinate  conceit,  their  daring  ignorance,  their  investment 
of  the  Supreme  Ruler  of  heaven  and  earth  with  their  own 
miserable  meannesses  and  littlenesses,  greatly  shocked  me. 
Still,  as  their  term  for  the  frame  of  mind  that  could  not 
perceive  them  to  be  in  an  exalted  state  of  grace  was  the 
"  worldly  "  state,  I  did  for  a  time  suffer  tortures  under  my 
inquiries  of  myself  whether  that  young  worldly-devilish  spirit 
of  mine  could  secretly  be  lingering  at  the  bottom  of  my 
non-appreciation. 

Brother  Hawkyard  was  the  popular  expounder  in  this  assem- 
bly, and  generally  occupied  the  platform  (there  was  a  little  plat- 
form with  a  table  on  it,  in  lieu  of  a  pulpit)  first  on  a  Sunday 
afternoon.  He  was  by  trade  a  drysalter.  Brother  Gimblet,  an 
elderly  man  with  a  crabbed  face,  a  large  dog's-eared  shirt-col- 
lar, and  a  spotted  blue  neckerchief  reaching  up  behind  to  the 
crown  of  his  head,  was  also  a  drysalter,  and  an  expounder. 
Brother  Gimblet  professed  the  greatest  admiration  for 
Brother  Hawkyard,  but  (I  had  thought  more  than  once) 
bore  him  a  jealous  grudge. 

Let  whosoever  may  peruse    these  lines    kindly  take   the 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    321 

pains  here  to  read  twice  my  solemn  pledge,  that  what  I  write 
of  the  language  and  customs  of  the  congregation  in  question 
I  write  scrupulously,  literally,  exactly,  from  the  life  and  the 
truth. 

On  the  first  Sunday  after  I  had  won  what  I  had  so  long 
tried  for,  and  when  it  was  certain  that  I  was  going  up  to 
college,  Brother  Hawkyard  concluded  a  long  exhortation 
thus  : — 

"Well,  my  friends  and  fellow-sinners,  now  I  told  you 
when  I  began,  that  I  didn't  know  a  word  of  what  I  was 
going  to  say  to  you,  (and  no,  I  did  not  ! )  but  that  it  was  all 
one  to  me,  because  I  knew  the  Lord  would  put  into  my 
mouth  the  words  I  wanted." 

("  That's  it  !  "    from  Brother  Gimblet.) 

"  And  he  did  put  into  my  mouth  the  words  I  wanted." 

("  So  he  did  !  "  from  Brother  Gimblet.) 

"And  why?" 

("  Ah,  let's  have  that  !  "  from  Brother  Gimblet.) 

11  Because  I  have  been  his  faithful  servant  for  five-and 
thirty  years,  and  because  he  knows  it.  For  five-and-thirty 
years  !  And  he  knows  it,  mind  you  !  I  got  those  words 
that  I  wanted,  on  account  of  my  wages.  I  got  'em  from  the 
Lord,  my  fellow-sinners.  Down  !  I  said,  '  Here's  a  heap  of 
wages  due  ;  let  us  have  something  down,  on  account.' 
And  I  got  it  down,  and  I  paid  it  over  to  you  ;  and  you  won't 
wrap  it  up  in  a  napkin,  nor  yet  in  a  towel,  nor  yet  pocket- 
ankercher,  but  you'll  put  it  out  at  good  interest.  Very  well. 
Now,  my  brothers  and  sisters  and  fellow-sinners,  I  am  going 
to  conclude  with  a  question,  and  I'll  make  it  so  plain  (with 
the  help  of  the  Lord,  after  five-and-thirty  years,  I  should 
rather  hope  !)  as  that  the  devil  shall  not  be  able  to  con- 
fuse it  in  your  heads,  which  he  would  be  overjoyed 
to  do." 

("Just  his  way.  Crafty  old  blackguard  !  "  from  Brother 
Gimblet.) 

"  And  the  question  is  this,  Are  the  angels  learned  ? " 

("  Not  they.  Not  a  bit  on  it  !  "  from  Brother  Gimblet, 
with  the  greatest  confidence.) 

"  Not  they.  And  where's  the  proof  ?  sent  ready-made  by 
the  hand  of  the  Lord.  Why.  there's  one  among  us  here 
now,  that  has  got  all  the  learning  that  can  be  crammed  into 
him.  His  grandfather"  (this  I  had  never  heard  before) 
"was a  brother  of  ours.  He  was  Brother  Parksop.  That's 
what  he  was.   Parksop  ;  Brother  Parksop.    His  worldly  name 


322      GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

was  Parksop,  and  he  was  a  brother  of  this  brotherhood. 
Then  wasn't  he  Brother  Parksop  ?  " 

("  Must  be.  Couldn't  help  hisself  !  "  from  Brother  Gimb- 
let.) 

"  Well,  he  left  that  one  now  here  present  among  us  to  the 
care  of  a  brother-sinner  of  his  (and  that  brother  sinner, 
mind  you,  was  a  sinner  of  a  bigger  size  in  his  time 
than  any  of  you  ;  praise  the  Lord  ! ),  Brother  Hawkyard. 
Me.  /  got  him,  without  fee  or  reward — without  a  mor- 
sel of  myrrh,  or  frankincense,  nor  yet  amber,  letting 
alone  the  honeycomb — all  the  learning  that  could  be 
crammed  into  him.  Has  it  brought  him  into  our  temple,  in 
the  spirit  ?  No.  Have  we  had  any  ignorant  brothers  and 
sisters  that  didn't  know  round  O  from  crooked  S,  come  in 
among  us  meanwhile  ?  Many.  Then  the  angels  are  not 
learned  ;  then  they  don't  so  much  as  know  their  alphabet. 
And  now  my  friends  and  fellow-sinners,  having  brought  it 
to  that,  perhaps  some  brothers  present — perhaps  you, 
Brother  Gimblet — will  pray  a  bit  for  us  ?  " 

Brother  Gimblet  undertook  the  sacred  function,  after 
having  drawn  his  sleeve  across  his  mouth,  and  muttered, 
"  Well !  I  don't  know  as  I  see  my  way  to  hitting  any  of  you 
quite  in  the  right  place  neither."  He  said  this  with  a  dark 
smile,  and  then  began  to  bellow.  What  we  were  specially 
to  be  preserved  from,  according  to  his  solicitations,  was,  des- 
poilment of  the  orphan,  suppression  of  testamentary  inten- 
tions on  the  part  of  a  father  or  (say)  grandfather,  appropri- 
ation of  the  orphan's  house-property,  feigning  to  give  in 
charity  to  the  wronged  one  from  whom  we  withheld  his  due  ; 
and  that  class  of  sins.  He  ended  with  the  petition,  "  Give 
us  peace  !  "  which,  speaking  for  myself,  was  very  much 
needed  after  twenty  minutes  of  his  bellowing. 

Even  though  I  had  not  seen  him  when  he  rose  from  his 
knees,  steaming  with  perspiration,  glance  at  Brother  Hawk- 
yard,  and  even  though  I  had  not  heard  Brother  Hawkyard's 
tone  of  congraulating  him  on  the  vigor  with  which  he  had 
roared,  I  should  have  detected  a  malicious  application  in  this 
prayer.  Unformed  suspicions  to  a  similar  effect  had 
sometimes  passed  through  my  mind  in  my  earlier  school- 
days, and  had  always  caused  me  great  distress  ;  for 
they  were  worldly  in  their  nature,  and  wide,  very 
wide,  of  the  spirit  that  had  drawn  me  from  Sylvia. 
They  were  sordid  suspicions,  without  a  shadow  of  proof. 
They  were  worthy  to   have  originated  in  the  unwholesome 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    323 

cel]ar.  They  were  not  only  without  proof,  but  against  proof  , 
for  was  I  not  myself  a  living  proof  of  what  Brother  Hawk- 
yard  had  done  ?  and  without  him,  how  should  I  ever  have 
seen  the  sky  look  sorrowfully  down  upon  that  wretched  boy 
at  Hoghton  Towers  ? 

Although  the  dread  of  a  relapse  into  the  stage  of  savage 
selfishness  was  less  strong  upon  me  as  I  approached  man- 
hood, and  could  act  in  an  increased  degree  for  myself,  yet 
I  was  always  on  my  guard  against  any  tendency  to  such 
relapse.  After  getting  these  suspicions  under  my  feet,  I 
had  been  troubled  by  not  being  able  to  like  Brother  Hawk- 
yard's  manner,  or  his  professed  religion.  So  it  came  about, 
that,  as  I  walked  back  that  Sunday  evening,  I  thought  it 
would  be  an  act  of  reparation  for  any  such  injury  my  strug- 
gling thoughts  had  unwillingly  done  him,  if  I  wrote  and 
placed  in  his  hands,  before  going  to  college,  a  full  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  goodness  to  me,  and  an  ample  tribute  of 
thanks.  It  might  serve- as  an  implied  vindication  of  him 
against  any  dark  scandal  from  a  rival  brother  and  expounder, 
or  from  any  other  quarter. 

Accordingly,  I  wrote  the  document  with  much  care.  I 
may  add  with  much  feeling  too  ;  for  it  affected  me  as  I 
went  on.  Having  no  set  studies  to  pursue,  in  the  brief 
interval  between  leaving  the  Foundation  and  going  to  Cam- 
bridge, I  determined  to  walk  out  to  his  place  of  business, 
and  give  it  into  his  own  hands. 

It  was  a  winter  afternoon,  when  I  tapped  at  the  door  of 
his  little  counting  house,  which  was  at  the  further  end  of  his 
long,  low  shop.  As  I  did  so  (having  entered  by  the  back 
yard,  where  casks  and  boxes  were  taken  in,  and  where  there 
was  the  inscription,  "  Private  way  to  the  counting-house  "), 
a  shopman  called  to  me  from  the  counter  that  he  was  engaged. 

"  Brother  Gimblet  "  (said  the  shopman,  who  was  one  of 
the  brotherhood)  "  is  with  him." 

I  thought  this  all  the  better  for  my  purpose,  and  made 
bold  to  tap  again.  They  were  talking  in  a  low  tone,  and 
money  was  passing  ;  for  I  heard  it  being  counted  out. 

u  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Brother  Hawkyard  sharply. 

"  George  Silverman,"  I  answered,  holding  the  door  open. 
"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Both  brothers  seemed  so  astounded  to  see  me  that  I  felt 
shyer  than  usual.  But  they  looked  quite  cadaverous  in  the 
early  gaslight,  and  perhaps  that  accidental  circumstance 
exaggerated  the  expression  of  their  faces. 


324    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Brother  Hawkyard. 

"  Ay  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Brother  Gimblet. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  I  said,  diffidently  producing  my  docu- 
ment :  "  I  am  only  the  bearer  of  a  letter  from  myself." 

"  From  yourself,  George?"  cried  Brother  Hawkyard. 

"  And  to  you,"  said  I. 

"  And  to  me,  George  ?  " 

He  turned  paler,  and  opened  it  hurriedly  ;  but  looking 
over  it,  and  seeing  generally  what  it  was,  became  less  hur- 
ried ;  recovered  his  color,  and  said,  "  Praise  the  Lord  !  " 

"  That's  it !  "  cried  Brother  Gimblet.   "Well  put !  Amen." 

Brother  Hawkyard  then  said,  in  a  livelier  strain,  "  You 
must  know,  George,  that  Brother  Gimblet  and  I  are  going 
to  make  our  two  businesses  one.  We  are  going  into  partner- 
ship. We  are  settling  it  now.  Brother  Gimblet  is  to  take 
one  clear  half  of  the  profits  (Oh  yes  !  he  shall  have  it  ;  he 
shall  have  it  to  the  last  farthing)." 

"  D.  V.!  "  said  Brother  Gimblet,  with  his  right  fist  firmly 
clinched  on  his  right  leg. 

"  There  is  no  objection,"  pursued  Brother  Hawkyard,  "  to 
my  reading  this  aloud,  George  ? " 

As  it  was  what  I  expressly  desired  should  be  done,  after 
yesterday's  prayer,  I  more  than  readily  begged  him  to  read 
it  aloud.  He  did  so,  and  Brother  Gimblet  listened  with  a 
crabbed  smile. 

"  It  was  in  a  good  hour  that  I  came  here,"  he  said,  wrink- 
ling up  his  eyes.  "  It  was  in  a  good  hour,  likewise,  that  I 
was  moved  yesterday  to  depict  for  the  terror  of  evil-doers  a 
character  the  direct  opposite  of  Brother  Hawkyard's.  But 
it  was  the  Lord  that  done  it  ;  I  felt  him  at  it  while  I  was 
perspiring." 

After  that  it  was  proposed,  by  both  of  them,  that  I  should 
attend  the  congregation  once  more  before  my  final  depart- 
ure. What  my  shy  reserve  would  undergo,  from  being 
expressly  preached  at  and  prayed  at,  I  knew  beforehand. 
But  I  reflected  that  it  would  be  for  the  last  time,  and  that 
it  might  add  to  the  weight  of  my  letter.  It  was  well  known 
to  the  brothers  and  sisters  that  there  was  no  place  taken  for 
me  in  their  paradise  ;  and  if  I  showed  this  last  token  of 
deference  to  Brother  Hawkyard,  notoriously  in  despite  of 
my  own  sinful  inclinations,  it  might  go  some  little  way  in 
aid  of  my  statement  that  he  had  been  good  to  me,  and  that 
I  was  grateful  to  him.  Merely  stipulating,  therefore,  that 
no  express  endeavor  should   be   made  for  my  conversion—^ 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    325 

Which  would  involve  the  rolling  of  several  brothers  and 
sisters  on  the  floor,  declaring  that  they  felt  all  their  sins  in  a 
heap  on  their  left  side,  weighing  so  many  pounds  avoirdupois, 
as  I  knew  from  what  I  had  seen  of  those  repulsive  mysteries 
— I  promised. 

Since  the  reading  of  my  letter,  Brother  Gimblet  had  been  at 
intervals  wiping  one  eye  with  an  end  of  his  spotted  blue 
neckerchief,  and  grinning  to  himself.  It  was,  however,  a 
habit  that  brother  had,  to  grin  in  an  ugly  manner  even  when 
expounding.  I  call  to  mind  a  delighted  snarl  with  which  he 
used  to  detail  from  the  platform  the  torments  reserved  for 
the  wicked  (meaning  all  human  creation  except  the  brother- 
hood), as  being  remarkably  hideous. 

I  left  the  two  to  settle  their  articles  of  partnership,  and 
count  money  ;  and  I  never  saw  them  again  but  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday.  Brother  Hawkyard  died  within  two  or  three 
years,  leaving  all  he  possessed  to  Brother  Gimblet,  in  virtue 
of  a  will  dated  (as  I  have  been  told)  that  very  day. 

Now  I  was  so  far  at  rest  with  myself,  when  Sunday  came, 
knowing  that  I  had  conquered  my  own  mistrust,  and  righted 
Brother  Hawkyard  in  the  jaundiced  vision  of  a  rival,  that  I 
went,  even  to  that  coarse  chapel,  in  a  less  sensitive  state  than 
usual.  How  could  I  foresee  that  the  delicate,  perhaps  the 
diseased,  corner  of  my  mind,  where  I  winced  and  shrunk 
when  it  was  touched,  or  was  even  approached,  would  be 
handled  as  the  theme  of  the  whole  proceedings  ? 

On  this  occasion  it  was  assigned  to  Brother  Hawkyard  to 
pray,  and  to  Brother  Gimblet  to  preach.  The  prayer  was  to 
open  the  ceremonies  ;  the  discourse  was  to  come  next. 
Brothers  Hawkyard  and  Gimblet  were  both  on  the  platform; 
Brother  Hawkyard  on  his  knees  at  the  table,  unmusically 
ready  to  pray  ;  Brother  Gimblet  sitting  against  the  wall,  grin- 
ning ready  to  preach. 

"  Let  us  offer  up  the  sacrifice  of  prayer,  my  brothers  and 
sisters  and  fellow-sinners."  Yes  !  but  it  was  I  who  was  the 
sacrifice.  It  was  our  poor,"  sinful  worldly-minded  brother 
here  present  who  was  wrestled  for.  The  now- opening  career 
of  this  our  unawakened  brother  might  lead  to  his  becoming  a 
minister  of  what  was  called  "  the  church."  That  was  what 
he  looked  to.  The  church.  Not  the  chapel,  Lord.  The 
church.  No  rectors,  no  vicars,  no  archdeacons,  no  bishops, 
no  archbishops,  in  the  chapel,  O  Lord  !  many  such  in  the 
church.  Protect  our  sinful  brother  from  his  love  of  lucre. 
Cleanse  from  our  unawakened  brother's    breast  his  sin  of 


326    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

worldly-mindedness.  The  prayer  said  infinitely  more  in 
words,  but  nothing  more  to  any  intelligible  effect. 

Then  Brother  Gimbletcame  forward,  and  took  (as  I  knew 
he  would)  the  text,  "  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world."  Ah! 
but  whose  was,  my  fellow-sinners  ?  Whose  ?  Why,  our  broth- 
er's here  present  was.  The  only  kingdom  he  had  an  idea  of 
was  of  this  world.  ("  That's  it  !  "  from  several  of  the  con- 
gregation.) What  did  the  woman  do  when  she  lost  the  piece 
of  money  ?  Went  and  looked  for  it.  WThat  should  our  brother 
do  when  he  lost  his  way  ?  ("  Go  and  look  for  it,"  from 
a  sister.)  Go  and  look  for  it,  true.  But  must  he  look  for 
it  in  the  right  direction,  or  in  the  wrong  ?  ("  In  the  right," 
from  a  brother.)  There  spake  the  prophets  !  He  must  look  for 
it  in  the  right  direction,  or  he  couldn't  find  it.  But  he  had 
turned  his  back  upon  the  right  direction,  and  he  wouldn't  find 
it.  Now,  my  fellow-sinners,  to  show  you  the  difference  betwixt 
worldly  mindedness  and  unworldly-mindedness,  betwixt 
kingdoms  not  of  this  world  and  kingdoms  0/this  world,  here 
was  a  letter  wrote  by  even  our  worldly-minded  brother  unto 
Brother  Hawkyard.  Judge,  from  hearing  of  it  read,  whether 
Brother  Hawkyard  was  the  faithful  steward  that  the  Lord 
had  in  his  mind  only  t'other  day,  when,  in  this  very  place, 
he  drew  you  the  picture  of  the  unfaithful  one  ;  for  it  was 
him  that  done  it,  not  me.     Don't  doubt  that  !  " 

Brother  Gimblet  then  groaned  and  bellowed  his  way 
through  my  composition  and  subsequently  through  an  hour. 
The  service  closed  with  a  hymn,  in  which  the  brothers 
unanimously  roared,  and  the  sisters  unanimously  shrieked  at 
me.  That  I  by  wiles  of  worldly  gain  was  mocked,  and  they 
on  waters  of  sweet  love  were  rocked  ;  that  I  with  mammon 
struggled  in  the  dark,  while  they  were  floating  in  a  second 
ark. 

I  went  out  from  all  this  with  an  aching  heart  and  a  weary 
spirit  ;  not  because  I  was  quite  so  weak  as  to  consider  these 
narrow  creatures  interpreters  of  the  divine  Majesty  and  Wis- 
dom ;  but  because  I  was  weak  enough  to  feel  as  though  it 
were  my  hard  fortune  to  be  misrepresented  and  misunder- 
stood when  I  most  tried  to  subdue  any  risings  of  mere 
worldliness  within  me,  and  when  I  most  hoped,  that,  by  dint 
of  trying  earnestly,  I  had  succeeded. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    32? 


SEVENTH    CHAPTER. 

My  timidity  and  my  obscurity  occasioned  me  to  live  a  se- 
cluded life  at  college,  and  to  be  little  known.  No  relative  ever 
came  to  visit  me,  for  I  had  no  relative.  No  intimate  friends 
broke  in  upon  my  studies,  for  I  made  no  intimate  friends.  I 
supported  myself  on  my  scholarship,  and  read  much.  My  col- 
lege time  was  otherwise  not  so  very  different  from  my  time 
at  Hoghton  Towers. 

Knowing  myself  to  be  unfit  for  the  noisier  stir  of  social 
existence,  but  believing  myself  qualified  to  do  my  duty  in  a 
moderate,  though  earnest  way,  if  I  could  obtain  some  small 
preferment  in  the  church,  I  applied  my  mind  to  the  clerical 
profession.  In  due  sequence  I  took  orders,  was  ordained, 
and  began  to  look  about  me  for  employment.  I  must  ob- 
serve that  I  had  taken  a  good  degree,  that  I  had  succeeded 
in  winning  a  good  fellowship,  and  that  my  means  were  ample 
for  my  retired  way  of  life.  By  this  time  I  had  read  with 
several  young  men  ;  and  the  occupation  increased  my  in- 
come, while  it  was  highly  interesting  to  me.  I  once  acci- 
dentally overheard  our  greatest  don  say  to  my  boundless 
joy,  "  That  he  heard  it  reported  of  Silverman  that  his  gift  of 
quiet  explanation,  his  patience,  his  amiable  temper,  and  his 
conscientiousness,  made  him  the  best  of  coaches."  May  my 
"  gift  of  quiet  explanation "  come  more  seasonably  and 
powerfully  to  my  aid  in  this  present  explanation  than  1  think 
it  will  ! 

It  may  be  in  a  certain  degree  owing  to  the  situation  of  my 
college  rooms  (in  a  corner  where  the  daylight  was  sobered), 
but  it  is  in  a  much  larger  degree  referable  to  the  state  of  my 
own  mind,  that  I  seem  to  myself,  on  looking  back  to  this 
time  of  my  life,  to  have  been  always  in  the  peaceful  shade. 
I  can  see  others  in  the  sunlight ;  I  can  see  our  boats'  crews 
and  our  athletic  young  men  on  the  glistening  water,  or 
speckled  with  the  moving  lights  of  sunlit  leaves  ;  but  I  my- 
self am  always  in  the  shadow  looking  on.  Not  unsympa- 
thetically— God  forbid  ! — but  looking  on  alone,  much  as  I 
looked  at  Sylvia  from  the  shadows  of  the  ruined  house,  or 
looked  at  the  red  gleam  shining  through  the  farmer's  win- 
dows, and  listened  to  the  fall  of  dancing  feet,  when  all  the 
ruin  was  dark  that  night  in  the  quadrangle. 

I  now  come  to  the  reason  of  my  quoting  that  laudation  of 


328    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

myself  above  given.  Without  such  reason,  to  repeat  it  would 
have  been  mere  boastfulness. 

Among  those  who  had  read  with  me  was  Mr.  Fareway, 
second  son  of  Lady  Fareway,  widow  of  Sir  Gaston  Fareway, 
baronet.  This  young  gentleman's  abilities  were  much  above 
the  average  ;  but  he  came  of  a  rich  family,  and  was  idle  and 
luxurious.  He  presented  himself  to  me  too  late,  and  after- 
ward came  to  me  too  irregularly,  to  admit  of  my  being  of 
much  service  to  him.  In  the  end  I  considered  it  my  duty 
to  dissuade  him  from  going  up  for  an  examination  which  he 
could  never  pass  ;  and  he  left  college  without  a  ^.degree. 
After  his  departure,  Lady  Fareway  wrote  to  me,  represent- 
ing the  justice  of  my  returning  half  my  fee,  as  I  had  been 
of  so  little  use  to  her  son.  Within  my  knowledge  a  similar 
demand  had  not  been  made  in  any  other  case  ;  and  I  most 
freely  admit  that  the  justice  of  it  had  not  occurred  to  me 
until  it  was  pointed  out.  But  I  at  once  perceived  it,  yielded 
to  it,  and  returned  the  money. 

Mr.  Fareway  had  been  gone  two  years  or  more,  and  I  had 
forgotten  him,  when  he  one  day  walked  into  my  rooms  as  I 
was  sitting  at  my  books. 

Said  he,  after  the  usual  salutations  had  passed,  "  Mr.  Sil- 
verman, my  mother  is  in  town  here,  at  the  hotel,  and  wishes 
me  to  present  you  to  her." 

I  was  not  comfortable  with  strangers,  and  I  dare  say  I  be- 
trayed that  I  was  a  little  nervous  or  unwilling.  "  For,"  said 
he,  without  my  having  spoken,  "  I  think  the  interview  may 
tend  to  the  advancement  of  your  prospects." 

It  put  me  to  the  blush  to  think  that  I  should  be  tempted 
by  a  worldly  reason,  and  I  rose  immediately. 

Said  Mr.  Fareway,  as  we  went  along,  "  Are  you  a  good 
hand  at  business  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I. 

Said  Mr.  Fareway  then,  "  My  mother  is." 

"Truly?"  said  I. 

"  Yes  ;  my  mother  is  what  is  usually  called  a  managing 
woman.  Doesn't  make  a  bad  thing,  for  instance,  even  out 
of  the  spendthrift  habits  of  my  eldest  brother  abroad.  In 
short,  a  managing  woman.     This  is  in  confidence." 

He  had  never  spoken  to  me  in  confidence,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised by  his  doing  so.  I  said  I  should  respect  his  confi- 
dence, of  course,  and  said  no  more  on  the  delicate  subject. 
We  had  but  a  little  way  to  walk,  and  I  was  soon  in  his 
mother's  company.  He  presented  me,  shook  hands  with  me, 
and  left  us  two  (as  he  said)  to  business. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    329 

I  saw  in  my  Lady  Fareway  a  handsome,  well-preserved 
lady  of  somewhat  large  stature,  with  a  steady  glare  in  her 
great  round  dark  eyes  that  embarrassed  me. 

Said  my  lady,  "  I  have  heard  from  my  son,  Mr.  Silverman, 
that  you  would  be  glad  of  some  preferment  in  the  church." 

I  gave  my  lady  to  understand  that  was  so. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  aware,"  my  lady  pro- 
ceeded, "  that  we  have  a  presentation  to  a  living  ?  I  say  we 
have  ;  but,  in  point  of  fact,  /  have." 

I  gave  my  lady  to  understand  that  I  had  not  been  aware 
of  this. 

Said  my  lady,  "  So  it  is  ;  indeed,  I  have  two  presentations, 
— one  to  two  hundred,  a  year,  one  to  six.  Both  livings  are 
in  our  county — North  Devonshire — as  you  probably  know. 
The  first  is  vacant.     Would  you  like  it  ?  " 

What  with  my  lady's  eyes,  and  what  with  the  suddenness 
of  this  proposed  gift,  I  was  much  confused. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  the  larger  presentation,"  said  my 
lady,  rather  coldly  ;  "  though  I  will  not,  Mr.  Silverman,  pay 
you  the  bad  compliment  of  supposing  that  you  are,  because 
that  would  be  mercenary, — and  mercenary  I  am  persuaded 
you  are  not." 

Said  I,  with  my  utmost  earnestness,  "  Thank  you,  Lady 
Fareway,  thank  you,  thank  you  !  I  should  be  deeply  hurt 
if  I  thought  I  bore  the  character." 

"  Naturally,"  said  my  lady.  "  Always  detestable,  but  par- 
ticularly in  a  clergyman.  You  have  not  said  whether  you 
will  like  the  living  ?" 

With  apologies  for  my  remissness  or  indistinctness,  I  as- 
sured my  lady  that  I  accepted  it  most  readily  and  gratefully. 
I  added  that  I  hoped  she  would  not  estimate  my  apprecia- 
tion of  the  generosity  of  her  choice  by  my  flow  of  words  ; 
for  I  was  not  a  ready  man  in  that  respect  when  taken  by 
surprise  or  touched  at  heart. 

"The  affair  is  concluded,"  said  my  lady  ;  "concluded. 
You  will  find  the  duties  very  light,  Mr.  Silverman.  Charm- 
ing house  ;  charming  little  garden,  orchard,  and  all  that. 
You  will  be  able  to  take  pupils.  By  the  by  !  No  :  I  will 
return  to  the  word  afterward.  What  was  I  going  to  men- 
tion, when  it  put  me  out  ?  " 

My  lady  stared  at  me,  as  if  I  knew.  And  I  didn't  know. 
And  that  perplexed  me  afresh. 

Said  my  lady,  after  some  consideration,  "  Oh,  of  course  ! 
How  very  dull  of  me  !      The  last  incumbent — least  mer* 


33o    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

cenary  man  I  ever  saw — in  consideration  of  the  duties  being 
so  light  and  the  house  so  delicious,  couldn't  rest,  he  said, 
unless  I  permitted  him  to  help  me  with  my  correspondence, 
accounts,  and  various  little  things  of  that  kind  ;  nothing  in 
themselves,  but  which  it  worries  a  lady  to  cope  with.  Would 
Mr.  Silverman  also  like  to —     Or  shall  I — " 

I  hastened  to  say  that  my  poor  help  would  be  always  at 
her  ladyship's  service. 

"  I  am  absolutely  blessed,"  said  my  lady,  casting  up  her 
eyes  (and  so  taking  them  off  me  for  one  moment),  "  in  hav- 
ing to  do  with  gentlemen  who  can  not  endure  an  approach  to 
the  idea  of  being  mercenary  !  "  She  shivered  at  the  word. 
u  And  now  as  to  the  pupil." 

"  The  ?  " — I  was  quite  at  a  loss. 

"  Mr.  Silverman,  you  have  no  idea  what  she  is.  She  is," 
said  my  lady,  laying  her  touch  upon  my  coat-sleeve,  "  I  do 
verily  believe,  the  most  extraordinary  girl  in  this  world. 
Already  knows  more  Greek  and  Latin  than  Lady  Jane  Grey. 
And  taught  herself  !  Has  not  yet,  remember,  derived  a  mo- 
ment's advantage  from  Mr.  Silverman's  classical  acquire- 
ments. To  say  nothing  of  mathematics,  which  she  is  bent 
upon  becoming  versed  in,  and  in  which  (as  I  hear  from  my 
son  and  others)  Mr.  Silverman's  reputation  is  so  deservedly 
high  !  " 

Under  my  lady's  eyes,  I  must  have  lost  the  clew,  I  felt 
persuaded  ;  and  yet  I  did  not  know  where  I  could  have 
dropped  it. 

"  Adelina,"  said  my  lady,  "  is  my  only  daughter.  If  I  did 
not  feel  quite  convinced  that  I  am  not  blinded  by  a  mother's 
partiality  ;  unless  I  was  absolutely  sure  that  when  you  know 
her,  Mr.  Silverman,  you  will  esteem  it  a  high  and  unusual 
privilege  to  direct  her  studies — I  should  introduce  a  mer- 
cenary element  into  this  conversation,  and  ask  you  on  what 
terms — " 

I  entreated  my  lady  to  go  no  further.  My  lady  saw  that  I 
was  troubled,  and  did  me  the  honor  to  comply  with  my  re- 
quest. 

EIGHTH  CHAPTER. 

Every  thing  in  mental  acquisition  that  her  brother  might 
have  been,  if  he  would,  and  every  thing  in  all  gracious 
charms  and  admirable  qualities  that  no  one  but  herself  could 
J?e — this  was  Adelina, 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    331 

I  will  not  expatiate  upon  her  beauty  ;  I  will  not  expatiate 
upon  her  intelligence,  her  quickness  of  perception,  her  pow- 
ers of  memory,  her  sweet  consideration,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment, for  the  slow-paced  tutor  who  ministered  to  her  won- 
derful gifts.  I  was  thirty  then  ;  I  am  over  sixty  now  ;  she 
is  ever  present  to  me  in  these  hours  as  she  was  in  those, 
bright  and  beautiful  and  young,  wise  and  fanciful  and  good. 

When  I  discovered  that  I  loved  her,  how  can  I  say  ?  In 
the  first  day  ?  in  the  first  week  ?  in  the  first  month  ?  Im- 
possible to  trace.  If  I  be  (as  I  am)  unable  to  represent  to 
myself  any  previous  period  of  my  life  as  quite  separable 
from  her  attracting  power,  how  can  I  answer  for  this  one  de- 
tail ? 

Whensoever  I  made  the  discovery,  it  laid  a  heavy  burden 
on  me.  And  yet,  comparing  it  with  the  far  heavier  burden  that 
I  afterward  took  up,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  now  to  have 
been  very  hard  to  bear.  In  the  knowledge  that  I  did  love 
her,  and  that  I  should  love  her  while  my  life  lasted,  and  that 
I  was  ever  to  hide  my  secret  deep  in  my  own  breast,  and  she 
was  never  to  find  it,  there  was  a  kind  of  sustaining  joy  or 
pride  or  comfort  mingled  with  my  pain. 

But  later  on,  say  a  year  later  on — when  I  made  another 
discovery,  then  indeed  my  suffering  and  my  struggle  were 
strong.     That  other  discovery  was — 

These  words  will  never  see  the  light,  if  ever,  until  my  heart 
is  dust ;  until  her  bright  spirit  has  returned  to  the  regions  of 
which,  when  imprisoned  here,  it  surely  retained  some  unusual 
glimpse  of  remembrance  ;  until  all  the  pulses  that  ever  beat 
around  us  shall  have  long  been  quiet  ;  until  all  the  fruits  of 
all  the  tiny  victories  and  defeats  achieved  in  our  little  breasts 
shall  have  withered  away.  That  discovery  was,  that  she 
loved  me. 

She  may  have  enhanced  my  knowledge,  and  loved  me  for 
that  ;  she  may  have  overvalued  my  discharge  of  duty  to  her, 
and  loved  me  for  that  ;  she  may  have  refined  upon  a  playful 
compassion  which  she  would  sometimes  show  for  what  she 
called  my  want  of  wisdom,  according  to  the  light  of  the 
world's  dark  lantern,  and  loved  me  for  that  ;  she  may — she 
must — have  confused  the  borrowed  light  of  what  I  had  only 
learned,  with  its  brightness  in  its  pure,  original  rays  ;  but  she 
loved  me  at  that  time,  and  she  made  me  know  it. 

Pride  of  family  and  pride  of  wealth  put  me  as  far  off  from 
her  in  my  lady's  eyes  as  if  I  had  been  some  domesticated 
creature  of  another  kind,     But  they  could  not  put  me  further 


332    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

from  her  than  I  put  myself  when  I  set  my  merits  against 
hers.  More  than  that.  They  could  not  put  me,  by  millions 
of  fathoms,  half  so  low  beneath  her  as  I  put  myself  when  in 
imagination  I  took  advantage  of  her  noble  trustfulness,  took 
the  fortune  that  I  knew  she  must  possess  in  her  own  right, 
and  left  her  to  find  herself,  in  the  zenith  of  her  beauty  and 
genius,  bound  to  poor,  rusty,  plodding  me. 

No  !  Worldliness  should  not  enter  here,  at  any  cost.  If 
I  had  tried  to  keep  it  out  of  other  ground,  how  much  harder 
was  I  bound  to  try  to  keep  it  from  this  sacred  place  ! 

But  there  was  something  daring  in  her  broad,  generous 
character,  that  demanded  at  so  delicate  a  crisis  to  be  deli- 
cately and  patiently  addressed.  After  many  and  many  a 
bitter  night  (oh,  I  found  I  could  cry  for  reasons  not  purely 
physical,  at  this  pass  of  my  life  !)  I  took  my  course. 

My  lady  had,  in  our  first  interview,  unconsciously  over- 
stated the  accommodation  of  my  pretty  house.  There  was 
room  in  it  for  only  one  pupil.  He  was  a  young  gentleman 
near  coming  of  age,  very  well  connected,  but  what  is  called 
a  poor  relation.  His  parents  were  dead.  The  charges  of 
his  living  and  reading  with  me  were  defrayed  by  an  uncle  ; 
and  he  and  I  were  to  do  our  utmost  together  for  three  years 
toward  qualifying  him  to  make  his  way.  At  this  time  he 
had  entered  into  his  second  year  with  me.  He  was  well- 
looking,  clever,  energetic,  enthusiastic,  bold  ;  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  term,  a  thorough  young  Anglo-Saxon. 

I  resolved  to  bring  these  two  together. 


NINTH  CHAPTER. 

Said  I,  one  night,  when  I  had  conquered  myself,  "  Mr. 
Granville  " — Mr.  Granville  Wharton  his  name  was, — "  I 
doubt  if  you  have  ever  yet  so  much  as  seen  Miss  Fareway." 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  he,  laughing,  "you  see  her  so  much 
yourself,  that  you  hardly  give  another  fellow  a  chance  of 
seeing  her." 

"  I  am  her  tutor,  you  know,"  said  I. 

And  there  the  subject  dropped  for  that  time.  But  I  so 
contrived  as  that  they  should  come  together  shortly  after- 
ward. I  had  previously  so  contrived  as  to  keep  them 
asunder  ;  for  while  I  loved  her — I  mean  before  I  had  deter- 
mined on  my  sacrifice — a  lurking  jealousy  of  Mr.  Granville 
Jay  within  my  unworthy  breast. 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    333 

It  was  quite  an  ordinary  interview  in  the  Fareway  Park  ; 
but  they  talked  easily  together  for  some  time  ;  like  takes  to 
like,  and  they  had  many  points  of  resemblance.  Said  Mr. 
Granville  to  me,  when  he  and  I  sat  at  our  supper  that  night, 
"  Miss  Fareway  is  remarkably  beautiful,  sir,  remarkably  en- 
gaging. Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  "I  think  so,"  said  I.  And 
I  stole  a  glance  at  him,  and  saw  that  he  had  reddened  and 
was  thoughtful.  I  remember  it  most  vividly,  because  the 
mixed  feeling  of  grave  pleasure  and  acute  pain  that  the  slight 
circumstance  caused  me  was  the  first  of  a  long,  long  series 
of  such  mixed  impressions  under  which  my  hair  turned 
slowly  gray. 

I  had  not  much  need  to  feign  to  be  subdued  ;  but  I  counter- 
feited to  be  older  than  I  was  in  all  respects  (heaven  knows  ! 
my  heart  being  all  too  young  the  while),  and  feigned  to  be 
more  of  a  recluse  and  bookworm  than  I  had  really  become, 
and  gradually  set  up  more  and  more  of  a  fatherly  manner 
toward  Adelina.  Likewise  I  made  my  tuition  less  imagina- 
tive than  before  ;  separated  myself  from  my  poets  and 
philosophers  ;  was  careful  to  present  them  in  their  own 
light,  and  me,  their  lowly  servant,  in  my  own  shade.  More- 
over in  the  matter  of  apparel  I  was  equally  mindful  ;  not 
that  I  had  ever  been  dapper  that  way  ;  but  that  I  was 
slovenly  now. 

As  I  depressed  myself  with  one  hand,  so  did  I  labor  to 
raise  Mr.  Granville  with  the  other  ;  directing  his  attention 
to  such  subjects  as  I  too  well  knew  most  interested  her,  and 
fashioning  him  (do  not  deride  or  misconstrue  the  expression, 
unknown  reader  of  this  writing  ;  for  I  have  suffered  !)  into 
a  greater  resemblance  to  myself  in  my  solitary  one  strong 
aspect.  And  gradually,  gradually,  as  I  saw  him  take  more 
and  more  to  these  thrown-out  lures  of  mine,  then  did  I  come 
to  know  better  and  better  that  love  was  drawing  him  on,  and 
was  drawing  her  from  me. 

So  passed  more  than  another  year  ;  every  day  a  year  in 
its  number  of  my  mixed  impressions  of  grave  pleasure  and 
acute  pain  ;  and  then  these  two,  being  of  age  and  free  to  act 
legally  for  themselves,  came  before  me  hand  in  hand  (my 
hair  being  now  quite  white),  and  entreated  me  that  I  would 
unite  them  together.  "  And  indeed,  dear  tutor,"  said  Ade- 
lina, "  it  is  but  consistent  in  you  that  you  should  do  this 
thing  for  us,  seeing  that  we  should  never  have  spoken  to- 
gether that  first  time  but  for  you,  and  that  but  for  you  we 
could  never  have  met  so  often  afterward."     The  whole  of 


334    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

which  was  literally  true  ;  for  I  had  availed  myself  of  my 
many  business  attendances  on,  and  conferences  with,  my 
lady,  to  take  Mr.  Granville  to  the  house,  and  leave  him  ip 
the  outer  room  with  Adelina. 

I  knew  that  my  lady  would  object  to  such  a  marriage  for 
her  daughter,  or  to  any  marriage  that  was  other  than  an 
exchange  of  her  for  stipulated  lands,  goods,  and  moneys. 
But  looking  on  the  two,  and  seeing  with  full  eyes  that  they 
were  both  young  and  beautiful ;  and  knowing  that  they  were 
alike  in  the  tastes  and  acquirements  that  will  outlive  youth 
and  beauty  ;  and  considering  that  Adelina  had  a  fortune 
now,  in  her  own  keeping  ;  and  considering  further  that  Mr. 
Granville,  though  for  the  present  poor,  was  of  a  good  family 
that  had  never  lived  in  a  cellar  in  Preston  ;  and  believing 
that  their  love  would  endure,  neither  having  any  great  dis- 
crepancy to  find  out  in  the  other — I  told  them  of  my  readi- 
ness to  do  this  thing  which  Adelina  asked  of  her  dear  tutor, 
and  to  send  them  forth  husband  and  wife,  into  the  shining 
world  with  golden  gates  that  awaited  them. 

It  was  on  a  summer  morning,  that  I  rose  before  the  sun 
to  compose  myself  for  the  crowning  of  my  work  with  this 
end  ;  and  my  dwelling  being  near  to  the  sea,  I  walked  down 
to  the  rocks  on  the  shore,  in  order  that  I  might  behold  the 
sun  rise  in  his  majesty. 

The  tranquillity  upon  the  deep  and  on  the  firmament,  the 
orderly  withdrawal  of  the  stars,  the  calm  promise  of  coming 
day,  the  rosy  suffusion  of  the  sky  and  waters,  the  ineffable 
splendor  that  then  burst  forth,  attuned  my  mind  afresh  after 
the  discords  of  the  night.  Methought  that  all  I  looked  on 
said  to  me,  and  that  all  I  heard  in  the  sea  and  in  the  air 
said  to  me,  "  Be  comforted,  mortal,  that  thy  life  is  so  short. 
Our  preparation  for  what  is  to  follow  has  endured,  and  shall 
endure,  for  unimaginable  ages." 

I  married  them.  I  knew  that  my  hand  was  cold  when- 1 
placed  it  on  their  hands  clasped  together  ;  but  the  words 
with  which  I  had  to  accompany  the  action  I  could  say  with- 
out faltering,  and  I  was  at  peace. 

They  being  well  away  from  my  house  and  from  the  place 
after  our  simple  breakfast,  the  time  was  come  when  I  must 
do  what  I  had  pledged  myself  to  them  that  I  would  do — 
break  the  intelligence  to  my  lady. 

I  went  up  to  the  house,  and  found  my  lady  in  her  ordinary 
business-room.  She  happened  to  have  an  unusual  amount 
of  commissions  to  intrust  to  me  that   day,   and   she   had 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPl  ANATION.    335 

filled    my    hands   with    papers   before  I    could    originate  a 
word. 

"  My  lady,"  I  then  began,  as  I  stood  beside  her  table. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?"  she  said  quickly,  looking  up. 

"  Not  much,  I  would  fain  hope,  after  you  shall  have  pre- 
pared yourself,  and  considered  a  little." 

"  Prepared  myself  ;  and  considered  a  little  !  You  appear 
to  have  prepared  yourseli  but  indifferently,  anyhow,  Mr. 
Silverman."  This  mighty  scornfully,  as  I  experienced  my 
usual  embarrassment  under  her  stare. 

Said  I,  in  self-extenuation  once  for  all,  "  Lady  Fareway,  I 
have  but  to  say  for  myself  that  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty." 

"  For  yourself  ?  "  repeated  my  lady.  "  Then  there  are 
others  concerned,  I  see.     Who  are  they  ?  " 

I  was  about  to  answer,  when  she  made  toward  the  bell 
with  a  dart  that  stopped  me,  and  said,  "  Why,  where  is  Ade- 
Iina  ?  " 

"  Forbear  !  be  calm,  my  lady.  I  married  her  this  morn- 
ing to  Mr.  Granville  Wharton." 

She  set  her  lips,  looked  more  intently  at  me  than  ever, 
raised  her  right  hand,  and  smote  me  hard  upon  the  cheek. 

"  Give  me  back  those  papers  !  give  me  back  those  pa- 
pers !  "  She  tore  them  out  of  my  hands,  and  tossed  them 
on  her,'  table.  Then  seating  herself  defiantly  in  her  great 
chair,  and  folding  her  arms,  she  stabbed  me  to  the  heart 
with  the  unlooked-for  reproach,  "  You  worldly  wretch !  " 

"Worldly?"  I  cried.     "Worldly?" 

"  This,  if  you  please,"  she  went  on  with  supreme  scorn, 
pointing  me  out,  as  if  there  was  some  one  there  to  see, — 
"  this,  if  you  please,  is  the  disinterested  scholar,  with  not  a 
design  beyond  his  books  !  This,  if  you  please,  is  the  simple 
creature  whom  any  one  could  overreach  in  a  bargain  !  This, 
if  you  please,  is  Mr.  Silverman  !  Not  of  this  world  ;  not  he  ! 
He  has  too  much  simplicity  for  this  world's  cunning.  He 
has  too  much  singleness  of  purpose  to  be  a  match  for  this 
world's  double-dealing.     What  did  he  give  you  for  it  ? " 

"  For  what  ?     And  who  ?  " 

"  How  much,"  she  asked,  bending  forward  in  her  great 
chair,  and  insultingly  tapping  the  fingers  of  her  right  hand 
on  the  palm  of  her  left,—"  how  much  does  Mr.  Granville 
Wharton  pay  you  for  getting  him  Adelina's  money  ?  What 
is  the  amount  of  your  percentage  upon  Adelina's  fortune  ! 
What  were  the  terms  of  the  agreement  that  you  proposed  to 
this  boy  when  you,  the  Rev.  George  Silverman,  licensed  to 


$$6    GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 

marry,  engaged  to  put  him  in  possession  of  the  girl  ?  You 
made  good  terms  for  yourself,  whatever  they  were.  He 
would  stand  a  poor  chance  against  your  keenness." 

Bewildered,  horrified,  stunned  by  this  cruel  perversion,  I 
could  not  speak.  But  I  trust  that  I  looked  innocent,  being  so. 

"  Listen  to  me,  shrewd  hypocrite,"  said  my  lady,  whose 
anger  increased  as  she  gave  it  utterance  ;  "  attend  to  my 
words,  you  cunning  schemer,  who  have  carried  this  plot 
through  with  such  a  practiced  double  face  that  I  have  never 
suspected  you.  I  had  my  projects  for  my  daughter  ;  pro- 
jects for  family  connection  ;  projects  for  fortune.  You  have 
thwarted  them,  and  overreached  me  ;  but  I  am  not  one  to 
be  thwarted  and  overreached  without  retaliation.  Do  you 
mean  to  hold  this  living  another  month  ?" 

"  Do  you  deem  it  possible,  Lady  Fareway,  that  I  can  hold 
it  another  hour,  under  your  injurious  words  ?  " 

"  Is  it  resigned,  then  ?  " 

"  It  was  mentally  resigned,  my  lady,  some  minutes  ago." 

"  Don't  equivocate,  sir.     Is  it  resigned  ?  " 

"  Unconditionally  and  entirely  ;  and  I  would  that  I  had 
never,  never  come  near  it !  " 

"A  cordial  response  from  me  to  that wish,  Mr.  Silverman  ! 
But  take  this  with  you,  sir.  If  you  had  not  resigned  it,  I 
would  have  had  you  deprived  of  it.  And  though  you  have 
resigned  it,  you  will  not  get  quit  of  me  as  easily  as  you  think 
for.  I  will  pursue  you  with  this  story.  I  will  make  this 
nefarious  conspiracy  of  yours,  for  money,  known.  You  have 
made  money  by  it,  but  you  have  at  the  same  time  made  an 
enemy  by  it.  You  will  take  good  care  that  the  money 
sticks  to  you  ;  I  will  take  good  care  that  the  enemy  sticks 
to  you." 

Then  said  I  finally,  "  Lady  Fareway,  I  think  my  heart  is 
broken.  Until  I  came  into  this  room  just  now,  the  possibility 
of  such  mean  wickedness  as  you  have  imputed  to  me  never 
dawned  upon  my  thoughts.     Your  suspicions  " — 

"Suspicions!  Pah!"  said  she,  indignantly.  "Certain- 
ties." 

"  Your  certainties,  my  lady,  as  you  call  them,  your  sus- 
picions, as  I  call  them,  are  cruel,  unjust,  wholly  devoid  of 
foundation  in  fact.  I  can  declare  no  more  ;  except  that  I 
have  not  acted  for  my  own  profit  or  my  own  pleasure.  I 
have  not  in  this  proceeding  considered  myself.  Once  again, 
I  think  my  heart  is  broken.  If  I  have  unwittingly  done  any 
wrong  with  a  righteous  motive,  that  is  some  penalty  to  pay." 


GEORGE  SILVERMAN'S  EXPLANATION.    337 

She  received  this  with  another  and  a  more  indignant 
"  Pah  !  "  and  I  made  my  way  out  of  her  room  (I  think  I  felt 
my  way  out  with  my  hands,  although  my  eyes  were  open), 
almost  suspecting  that  my  voice  had  a  repulsive  sound,  and 
that  I  was  a  repulsive  object. 

There  was  a  great  stir  made,  the  bishop  was  appealed  to, 
I  received  a  severe  reprimand,  and  narrowly  escaped  suspen- 
sion. For  years  a  cloud  hung  over  me,  and  my  name  was 
tarnished.  But  my  heart  did  not  break,  if  a  broken  heart 
involves  death  ;  for  I  lived  through  it. 

They  stood  by  me,  Adelina  and  her  husband,  through  it 
all.  Those  who  had  known  me  at  college,  and  even  most  of 
those  who  had  only  known  me  there  by  reputation,  stood  by 
me  too.  Little  by  little,  the  belief  widened  that  I  was  not 
capable  of  what  was  laid  to  my  charge.  At  length  I  was 
presented  to  a  college-living  in  a  sequestered  place,  and 
there  I  now  pen  my  explanation.  I  pen  it  at  my  open  win- 
dow in  the  summer-time,  before  me  lying,  in  the  church-yard, 
equal  resting-place  for  sound  hearts,  wounded  hearts,  and 
broken  hearts.  I  pen  it  for  the  relief  of  my  own  mind,  not 
foreseeing  whether  or  no  it  will  ever  have  a  reader. 


THE 

WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 
[1856.] 


THE   WRECK. 

I  was  apprenticed  to  the  sea  when  I  was  twelve  years  old, 
and  I  have  encountered  a  great  deal  of  rough  weather,  both 
literal  and  metaphorical.  It  has  always  been  my  opinion 
since  I  first  possessed  such  a  thing  as  an  opinion,  that  the 
man  who  knows  only  one  subject  is  next  tiresome  to  the  man 
who  knows  no  subject.  Therefore,  in  the  course  of  my  life 
I  have  taught  myself  whatever  I  could,  and  although  I  am 
not  an  educated  man,  I  am  able,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  to 
have  an  intelligent  interest  in  most  things. 

A  person  might  suppose,  from  reading  the  above,  that  I 
an  in  the  habit  of  holding  forth  about  number  one.  That 
is  not  the  case.  Just  as  if  I  was  to  come  into  a  room 
among  strangers,  and  must  either  be  introduced  or  introduce 
myself,  so  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  passing  these  few  re- 
marks, simply  and  plainly  that  it  may  be  known  who  and 
what  I  am.  I  will  add  no  more  of  the  sort  than  that  my 
name  is  William  George  Ravender,  that  I  was  born  at  Penrith 
half  a  year  after  my  own  father  was  drowned,  and  that  I  am 
on  the  second  day  of  this  present  blessed  Christmas  week  of 
one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  fifty-six,  fifty-six  years  of  age. 

When  the  rumor  first  went  flying  up  and  down  that  there 
was  gold  in  California — which,  as  most  people  know,  was 
before  it  was  discovered  in  the  British  colony  of  Australia — 
I  was  in  the  West  Indies,  trading  among  the  islands.  Being 
in  command  and  likewise  part  owner  of  a  smart  schooner,  I 
hr-d  my  work  cut  out  for  me,  arid  I  was  doing  it.  Conse- 
quently, gold  in  California  was  no  business  of  mine. 

But  by  the  time  when  I  came  home  to  England  again,  the 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     339 

thing  was  as  clear  as  your  hand  held  up  before  you  at  noon- 
day. There  was  California  gold  in  the  museums  and  in  the 
goldsmiths'  shops,  and  the  very  first  time  I  went  upon 
'Change,  I  met  a  friend  of  mine  (a  seafaring  man  like  my- 
self), with  a  California  nugget  hanging  to  his  watch-chain. 
I  handled  it.  It  was  as  like  a  peeled  walnut,  with  its  bits 
unevenly  broken  off  here  and  there,  and  then  electrotyped 
all  over,  as  ever  I  saw  any  thing  in  my  life. 

I  am  a  single  man  (she  was  too  good  for  this  world  and 
for  me,  and  she  died  six  weeks  before  our  marriage-day),  so 
when  I  am  ashore,  I  live  in  my  house  at  Poplar.  My  house 
at  Poplar  is  taken  care  of  and  kept  ship-shape  by  an  old 
lady  who  was  my  mother's  maid  before  I  was  born.  She  is 
as  handsome  and  as  upright  as  any  old  lady  in  the  world. 
She  is  as  fond  of  me  as  if  she  ever  had  an  only  son,  and  I 
was  he.  Well  do  I  know  wherever  I  sail  that  she  never  lays 
down  her  head  at  night  without  having  said,  "  Merciful 
Lord  !  bless  and  preserve  William  George  Ravender,  and 
send  him  safe  home,  through  Christ,  our  Saviour  !  "  I  have 
thought  of  it  in  many  a  dangerous  moment,  when  it  has 
done  me  no  harm,  I  am  sure. 

In  my  house  at  Poplar,  along  with  this  old  lady,  I  lived 
quiet  for  the  best  part  of  a  year  ;  having  had  a  long  spell  of 
it  among  the  islands,  and  having  (which  was  very  uncommon 
in  me)  taken  the  fever  rather  badly.  At  last,  being  strong 
and  hearty,  and  having  read  every  book  I  could  lay  hold  of, 
right  out,  I  was  walking  down  Leadenhall  Street  in  the  city 
of  London,  thinking  of  turning-to  again,  when  I  met  what  I 
call  Smithick  and  Watersby  of  Liverpool.  I  chanced  to 
lift  up  my  eyes  from  looking  in  at  a  ship's  chronometer  in  a 
window,  and  I  saw  him  bearing  down  upon  me,  head  on. 

It  is,  personally,  neither  Smithick,  nor  Watersby,  that  I 
here  mention,  nor  was  I  ever  acquainted  with  any  man  of 
either  of  those  names,  nor  do  I  think  that  there  has  been 
any  one  of  either  of  those  names  in  that  Liverpool  house 
for  years  back.  But  it  is  in  reality  the  house  itself  that  I 
refer  to  ;  and  a  wiser  merchant  or  a  truer  gentleman  never 
stepped. 

"  My  dear  Captain  Ravender,"  says  he.  "  Of  all  the  men 
on  earth,  I  wanted  to  see  you  most.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
you." 

"Well !  "  says  I.  "  That  looks  as  if  you  were  to  see  me, 
don't  it  ?  "  With  that  I  put  my  arm  in  his,  and  we  walked  on 
toward  the  Royal  Exchange,  and  when  we  got  there,  walked 


340  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

up  and  down  at  the  back  of  it  where  the  clock-tower  is.  Ws 
walked  an  hour  or  more,  for  he  had  much  to  say  to  me.  He 
had  a  scheme  for  chartering  a  new  ship  of  their  own  to  take 
out  cargo  to  the  diggers  and  emigrants  in  California,  and  to 
buy  and  bring  back  gold.  Into  the  particulars  of  that  scheme 
I  will  not  enter,  and  I  have  no  right  to  enter.  All  I  say  of 
it  is,  that  it  was  a  very  original  one,  a  very  fine  one,  a  very 
sound  one,  and  a  very  lucrative  one,  beyond  doubt. 

He  imparted  it  to  me  as  freely  as  if  I  had  been  part  of 
himself.  After  doing  so,  he  made  me  the  handsomest  shar- 
ing offer  that  ever  was  made  to  me,  boy  or  man — or  I  be- 
lieve to  any  other  captain  in  the  merchant  navy — and  he 
took  this  round  turn  to  finish  with  : 

"  Ravender,  you  are  well  aware  that  the  lawlessness  of 
that  coast  and  country  at  present,  is  as  special  as  the  circum- 
stances in  which  it  is  placed.  Crews  of  vessels  outward- 
bound,  desert  as  soon  as  they  make  the  land  ;  crews  of  ves- 
sels homeward-bound,  ship  at  enormous  wages,  with  the  ex- 
press intention  of  murdering  the  captain  and  seizing  the  gold 
freight  ;  no  man  can  trust  another,  and  the  devil  seems  let 
loose.  Now,"  says  he,  "  you  know  my  opinion  of  you,  and 
you  know  I  am  only  expressing  it,  and  with  no  singularity, 
when  I  tell  you  that  you  are  almost  the  only  man  on  whose 
integrity,  discretion,  and  energy — "  etc.,  etc.  For,  I  don't 
want  to  repeat  what  he  said,  though  I  was  and  am  sensible 
of  it. 

Notwithstanding  my  being,  as  I  have  mentioned,  quite 
ready  for  a  voyage,  still  I  had  some  doubts  of  this  voyage. 
Of  course  I  knew,  without  being  told,  that  there  were  pe- 
culiar difficulties  and  dangers  in  it,  a  long  way  over  and 
above  those  which  attend  all  voyages.  It  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  I  was  afraid  to  face  them  ;  but  in  my  opinion  a 
man  has  no  manly  motive  or  sustainment  in  his  own  breast 
for  facing  dangers,  unless  he  has  well  considered  what  they 
are,  and  is  able  quietly  to  say  to  himself,  "  None  of  these 
perils  can  now  take  me  by  surprise  ;  I  shall  know  what  to 
do  for  the  best  in  any  of  them  ;  all  the  rest  lies  in  the  higher 
and  greater  hands  to  which  I  humbly  commit  myself."  On 
this  principle  I  have  so  attentively  considered  (regarding  it 
as  my  duty)  all  the  hazards  I  have  ever  been  able  to  think 
of,  in  the  ordinary  way  of  storm,  shipwreck,  and  fire  at  sea, 
that  I  hope  I  should  be  prepared  to  do,  in  any  of  those 
cases,  whatever  could  be  done,  to  save  the  lives  intrusted  to 
my  charge. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     341 

As  I  was  thoughtful,  my  good  friend  proposed  that  he 
should  leave  me  to  walk  there  as  long  as  I  liked,  and  that  I 
should  dine  with  him  by  and  by  at  his  club  at  Pall  Mall.  I 
accepted  the  invitation,  and  I  walked  up  and  down  there, 
quarter-deck  fashion,  a  matter  of  a  couple  of  hours  ;  now  and 
then  looking  up  at  the  weathercock  as  I  might  have  looked 
up  aloft  ;  and  now  and  then  taking  a  look  into  Cornhill,  as  I 
might  have  taken  a  look  over  the  side. 

All  dinner-time,  and  all  after  dinner-time,  we  talked  it 
over  again.  I  gave  him  my  views  of  his  plan,  and  he  very 
much  approved  of  the  same.  I  told  him  I  had  nearly  de- 
cided, but  not  quite.  "  Well,  well,"  says  he,  "  Come  down 
to  Liverpool  to-morrow  with  me,  and  see  the  Gulden  Mary" 
I  liked  the  name  (her  name  was  Mary,  and  she  was  golden, 
if  golden  stands  for  good),  so  I  began  to  feel  that  it  was 
almost  done  when  I  said  I  would  go  to  Liverpool.  On  the 
next  morning  but  one  we  were  on  board  the  Golden  Mary. 
I  might  have  known,  from  his  asking  me  to  come  down  and 
see  her,  what  she  was.  I  declare  her  to  have  been  the  com- 
pletest  and  most  exquisite  beauty  that  ever  I  set  my  eyes 
upon. 

We  had  inspected  every  timber  in  her,  and  had  come  back 
to  the  gangway  to  go  ashore  from  the  dock- basin,  when  I 
put  out  my  hand  to  my  friend.  "Touch  upon  it,"  says  I, 
and  touch  heartily.  I  take  command  of  this  ship,  and  I 
am  hers  and  yours,  if  I  can  get  John  Steadiman  for  my  chief 
mate." 

John  Steadiman  had  sailed  with  me  four  voyages.  The 
first  voyage  John  was  third  mate  out  to  China,  and  came 
home  second.  The  other  three  voyages  he  was  my  first  of- 
ficer. At  this  time  of  chartering  the  Golden  Mary,  he  was 
aged  thirty-two.  A  brisk,  bright,  blue-eyed  fellow,  a  very 
neat  figure  and  rather  under  the  middle  size,  never  out  of 
the  way  and  never  in  it,  a  face  that  pleased  every  body  and 
all  the  children  took  to,  a  habit  of  going  about  singing  as 
cheerily  as  a  blackbird,  and  a  perfect  sailor. 

We  were  in  one  of  those  Liverpool  hackney-coaches  in  less 
than  a  minute,  and  we  cruised  about  in  her  upward  of  three 
hours,  looking  for  John.  John  had  come  home  from  Van  Die- 
men's  Land  barely  a  month  before,  and  I  had  heard  of  him  as 
taking  a  frisk  in  Liverpool.  We  asked  after  him,  among  many 
other  places,  at  the  two  boarding-houses  he  was  fondest  of,  and 
we  found  he  had  had  a  week's  spell  at  each  of  them  ;  but,  he 
had  gone  here  and  gone  there,  and  had  set  off  "  to  lay  out  on 


342  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

the  main-to'-gallant-yard  of  the  highest  Welsh  mountain  " 
(so  he  had  told  the  people  of  the  house),  and  where  he  might 
be  then,  or  when  he  might  come  back  nobody  could  tell  us. 
But  it  was  surprising  to  be  sure,  to  see  how  every  face 
brightened  the  moment  there  was  mention  made  of  the  name 
of  Mr.  Steadiman. 

We  were  taken  aback  at  meeting  with  no  better  luck,  and 
we  had  wore  ship  and  put  her  head  for  my  friends,  when  as 
we  were  jogging  through  the  streets,  I  clap  my  eyes  on  John 
himself  coming  out  of  a  toyshop  !  He  was  carrying  a  little 
boy,  and  conducting  two  uncommon  pretty  women  to  their 
coach,  and  he  told  me  afterward  that  he  had  never  in  his 
life  seen  one  of  the  three  before,  but  that  he  was  so  taken 
with  them  on  looking  in  at  the  toyshop  while  they  were  buy- 
ing the  child  a  cranky  Noah's  Ark,  very  much  down  by  the 
head,  that  he  had  gone  in  and  asked  the  ladies  permission  to 
treat  them  to  a  tolerably  correct  cutter  there  was  in  the  win- 
dow, in  order  that  such  a  handsome  boy  might  not  grow  up 
with  a  lubberly  idea  of  naval  architecture. 

We  stood  off  and  on  until  the  ladies'  coachman  began  to 
give  way,  and  then  we  hailed  John.  On  his  coming  aboard 
of  us,  I  told  him,  very  gravely,  what  I  had  said  to  my  friend. 
It  struck  him,  as  he  said  himself,  amidships.  He  was  quite 
shaken  by  it.  "  Captain  Ravender,"  were  John  Steadiman's 
words,  "  such  an  opinion  from  you  is  true  commendation,  and 
I'll  sail  round  the  world  with  you  for  twenty  years  if  you 
hoist  the  signal,  and  stand  by  you  forever  !  "  And  now  in- 
deed I  felt  that  it  was  done,  and  that  the  Golden  Mary  was 
afloat. 

Grass  never  grew  yet  under  the  feet  of  Smithick  and  Wa- 
tersby.  The  riggers  were  out  of  that  ship  in  a  fortnight's  time, 
and  we  had  begun  taking  in  cargo.  John  was  always  aboard, 
seeing  every  thing  stowed  with  his  own  eyes  ;  and  whenever 
I  went  aboard  myself,  early  or  late,  whether  he  was  below  in 
the  hold,  or  on  deck  at  the  hatchway,  or  overhauling  his 
cabin,  nailing  up  pictures  in  it  of  the  Blue  Rose  of  England, 
and  the  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland,  and  the  female  Shamrock  of 
Ireland  :  of  a  certainty  I  heard  John  singing  like  a  blackbird. 

We  had  room  for  twenty  passengers.  Our  sailing  adver- 
tisement was  no  sooner  out  then  we  might  have  taken  these 
twenty  times  over.  In  entering  our  men,  I  and  John  (both 
together)  picked  them,  and  we  entered  none  but  good  hands 
— as  good  as  were  to  be  found  in  that  port.  And  so,  in  a 
good  ship  of  the  best  build,  well  owned,  well  arranged,  well 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     343 

officered,  well  manned,  well  found  in  all  respects,  we  parted 
with  our  pilot  at  a  quarter  past  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  seventh  of  March  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
fifty-one,  and  stood  with  a  fair  wind  out  to  sea. 

It  may  be  easily  believed  that  up  to  that  time  I  had  had 
no  leisure  to  be  intimate  with  my  passengers.  The  rnost  of 
them  were  then  in  their  berths  sea-sick  ;  however,  in  going 
among  them,  telling  them  what  was  good  for  them,  persuad- 
ing them  not  to  be  there,  but  to  come  up  on  deck  and  feel 
the  breeze,  and  in  rousing  them  with  a  joke,  or  a  comfortable 
word,  I  made  acquaintance  with  them,  perhaps  in  a  more 
friendly  and  confidential  way  from  the  first,  than  I  might 
have  done  at  the  cabin  table. 

Of  my  passengers,  I  need  only  particularize  just  at 
present,  a  bright-eyed,  blooming  young  wife  who  was  going 
out  to  join  her  husband  in  California,  taking  with  her  their 
only  child,  a  little  girl  three  years  old,  whom  he  had  never 
seen  ;  a  sedate  young  woman  in  black,  some  five  years  older 
(about  thirty  as  I  should  say),  who  was  going  out  to  join  a 
brother  ;  and  an  old  gentleman,  a  good  deal  like  a  hawk  if 
his  eyes  had  been  better  and  not  so  red,  who  was  always 
talking,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  about  the  gold  discovery. 
But,  whether  he  was  making  the  voyage,  thinking  his  old 
arms  could  dig  for  gold,  or  whether  his  speculation  was  to 
buy  it,  or  to  barter  for  it,  or  to  cheat  for  it,  or  to  snatch  it 
anyhow  from  other  people,  was  his  secret.  He  kept  his 
secret. 

These  three  and  the  child  were  the  soonest  well.  The 
child  was  a  most  engaging  child,  to  be  sure,  and  very  fond 
of  me  ;  though  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  John  Steadiman 
and  I  were  borne  on  her  pretty  little  books  in  reverse  order, 
and  that  he  was  captain  there,  and  I  was  mate.  It  was 
beautiful  to  watch  her  with  John,  and  it  was  beautiful  to 
watch  John  with  her.  Few  would  have  thought  it  possible, 
to  see  John  playing  at  bopeep  round  the  mast,  that  he  was 
the  man  who  had  caught  up  an  iron  bar  and  struck  a  Malay 
and  a  Maltese  dead,  as  they  were  gliding  with  their  knives 
down  the  cabin  stair  aboard  the  bark  Old  England,  when  the 
captain  lay  ill  in  his  cot,  off  Sanger  Point.  But  he  was  ; 
and  give  him  his  back  against  a  bulwark,  he  would  have 
done  the  same  by  half  a  dozen  of  them.  The  name  of  the 
young  mother  was  Mrs.  Atherfield,  the  name  of  the  young 
lady  in  black  was  Miss  Coleshaw,  and  the  name  of  the  old 
gentleman  was  Mr.  Rarx? 


344  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

As  the  child  had  a  quantity  of  shining  fair  hair,  clustering 
in  curls  all  about  her  face,  and  as  her  name  was  Lucy,  Steadi- 
man  gave  her  the  name  of  Golden  Lucy.  So  we  had  the  Gol- 
den Lucy  and  the  Golden  Mary  ;  and  John  kept  up  the  idea 
to  that  extent  as  he  and  the  child  went  playing  about  the  decks, 
that  I  believe  she  used  to  think  the  ship  was  alive  somehow — a 
sister  or  companion,  going  to  the  same  place  as  herself.  She 
liked  to  be  by  the  wheel,  and  in  fine  weather,  I  have  often 
stood  by  the  man  whose  trick  it  was  at  the  wheel,  only  to 
hear  her,  sitting  near  my  feet,  talking  to  the  ship.  Never 
had  a  child  such  a  doll  before,  I  suppose  ;  but  she  made  a 
doll  of  the  Golden  Mary,  and  used  to  dress  her  up  by  tying 
bits  of  ribbons  and  little  bits  of  finery  to  the  belaying-pins  ; 
and  nobody  ever  moved  them,  unless  it  was  to  save  them 
from  being  blown  away. 

Of  course  I  took  charge  of  the  two  young  women,  and  I 
called  them  "my  dear,"  and  they  never  minded,  knowing 
that  whatever  I  said  was  said  in  a  fatherly  and  protecting 
spirit.  I  gave  them  their  places  on  each  side  of  me  at  din- 
ner, Mrs.  Atherfield  on  my  right,  and  Miss  Coleshaw  on  my 
left  ;  and  I  directed  the  unmarried  lady  to  serve  out  the 
breakfast,  and  the  married  lady  to  serve  out  the  tea. 
Likewise  I  said  to  my  black  steward  in  their  presence,  "  Tom 
Snow,  the  two  ladies  are  equally  the  mistresses  of  this  house, 
and  do  you  obey  their  orders  equally  ; "  at  which  Tom 
laughed,  and  they  all  laughed. 

Old  Mr.  Rarx  was  not  a  pleasant  man  to  look  at,  nor  yet 
to  talk  to,  or  to  be  with,  for  no  one  could  help  seeing  that 
he  was  a  sordid  and  selfish  character,  and  that  he  had 
warped  further  and  further  out  of  the  straight  with  time. 
Not  but  what  he  was  on  his  best  behavior  with  us,  as  every 
body  was  ;  for  we  had  no  bickering  among  us,  for'ard  or 
aft.  I  only  mean  to  say,  he  was  not  the  man  one  would  have 
chosen  for  a  messmate.  If  choice  there  had  been  one  might 
even  have  gone  a  few  points  out  of  one's  course,  to  say,  "  No  ! 
Not  him  !  "  But  there  was  one  curious  inconsistency  in 
Mr.  Rarx.  That  was,  that  he  took  an  astonishing  interest  in 
the  child.  He  looked,  and  I  may  add,  he  was,  one  of  the 
last  of  men  to  care  at  all  for  a  child,  or  to  care  much  for  any 
human  creature.  Still,  he  went  so  far  as  to  be  habitually 
uneasy,  if  the  child  was  long  on  deck,  out  of  his  sight.  He 
was  always  afraid  of  her  falling  overboard,  or  falling  down 
a  hatchway,  or  of  a  block  or  what  not  coming  down  upon 
her  from  the  rigging  in  the  working  of  the   ship,  or  of  her 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     345 

getting  some  hurt  or  other.  He  used  to  look  at  her  and 
touch  her,  as  if  she  was  something  precious  to  him.  He 
was  always  solicitous  about  her  not  injuring  her  health,  and 
constantly  entreated  her  mother  to  be  careful  of  it.  This 
was  so  much  the  more  curious,  because  the  child  did  not 
like  him,  but  used  to  shrink  away  from  him,  and  would  not 
even  put  out  her  hand  to  him  without  coaxing  from  others. 
I  believe  that  every  soul  on  board  frequently  noticed  this, 
and  not  one  of  us  understood  it.  However,  it  was  such  a 
plain  fact,  that  John  Steadiman  said  more  than  once  when 
old  Mr.  Rarx  was  not  within  earshot,  that  if  the  Golden 
Mary  felt  a  tenderness  for  the  dear  old  gentleman  she  car- 
ried in  her  lap,  she  must  be  bitterly  jealous  of  the  Golden 
Lucy. 

Before  I  go  any  further  with  this  narrative,  I  will  state 
that  our  ship  was  a  bark  of  three  hundred  tons,  carrying  a 
crew  of  eighteen  men,  a  second  mate  in  addition  to  John, 
a  carpenter,  an  armorer  or  smith,  and  two  little  apprentices 
(one  a  Scotch  boy,  poor  little  fellow).  We  had  three  boats  ; 
the  longboat,  capable  of  carrying  twenty-five  men  ;  the  cut- 
ter, capable  of  carrying  fifteen  ;  and  the  surf  boat,  capable 
of  carrying  ten.  I  put  down  the  capacity  of  these  boats  ac- 
cording to  the  numbers  they  were  really  meant  to  hold. 

We  had  tastes  of  bad  weather  and  head-winds,  of  course  ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  we  had  as  fine  a  run  as  any  reasonable 
man  could  expect,  for  sixty  days.  I  then  began  to  enter  two 
remarks  in  the  ship's  log  and  in  my  journal  ;  first,  that  there 
was  an  unusual  and  amazing  quantity  of  ice  ;  second,  that 
the  nights  were  most   wonderfully  dark,  in   spite  of  the  ice. 

For  five  days  and  a  half,  it  seemed  quite  useless  and  hope- 
less to  alter  the  ship's  course  so  as  to  stand  out  of  the  way 
of  this  ice.  I  made  what  southing  I  could  ;  but,  all  that 
time,  we  were  beset  by  it.  Mrs.  Atherfield,  after  standing  by 
me  on  deck  once,  looking  for  some  time  in  an  awed  manner 
at  the  great  bergs  that  surrounded  us,  said  in  a  whisper, 
"  Oh  !  Captain  Ravender,  it  looks  as  if  the  whole  solid  earth 
had  changed  into  ice,  and  broken  up  !  "  I  said  to  her,  laugh- 
ing, "  I  don't  wonder  that  it  does,  to  your  inexperienced 
eyes,  my  dear."  But  I  had  never  seen  a  twentieth  part  of 
the  quantity,  and,  in  reality,  I  was  pretty  much  of  her 
opinion. 

However,  at  two  p.  m.  on  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day, 
that  is  to  say,  when  we  were  sixty-three  days  out,  John 
Steadiman,  who  had  gone  aloft,  sang  out  from  the  top  that 


346  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

the  sea  was  clear  ahead.  Before  four  p.  m.  a  strong  breeze1 
springing  up  right  astern,  we  were  in  open  water  at  sunset. 
The  breeze  then  freshening  into  half  a  gale  of  wind,  and  the 
Golde?i  Mary  being  a  very  fast  sailer,  we  went  before  the 
wind  merrily,  all  night. 

I  had  thought  it  impossible  that  it  could  be  darker  than 
it  had  been,  until  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  should  fall  out  of 
the  heavens,  and  time  should  be  destroyed  ;  but  it  had  been 
next  to  light,  in  comparison  with  what  it  was  now.  The  dark- 
ness was  so  profound,  that  looking  into  it  was  painful  and 
oppressive — like  looking,  without  a  ray  of  light,  into  a  dense 
black  bandage  put  as  close  before  the  eyes  as  it  could  be, 
without  touching  them.  I  doubled  the  look-out,  and  John 
and  I  stood  in  the  bow  side-by-side,  never  leaving  it  all 
night.  Yet  I  should  no  more  have  known  that  he  was  near 
me  when  he  was  silent,  without  putting  out  my  arm  and 
touching  him,  than  I  should  if  he  had  turned  in  and  been 
fast  asleep  below.  We  were  not  so  much  looking  out,  all  of 
us,  as  listening  to  the  utmost,  both  with  our  eyes  and   ears. 

Next  day,  I  found  that  the  mercury  in  the  barometer, 
which  had  risen  steadily  since  we  cleared  the  ice,  remained 
steady.  I  had  had  very  good  observations  with  now  and 
then  the  interruption  of  a  day  or  so,  since  our  departure.  I 
got  the  sun  at  noon,  and  found  that  we  were  in  Lat.  580  S., 
Long.  60 °  W.,  off  New  South  Shetland  ;  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Cape  Horn.  We  were  sixty-seven  days  out,  that 
day.  The  ship's  reckoning  was  accurately  worked  and 
made  up.  The  ship  did  her  duty  admirably,  all  on  board 
were  well,  and  all  hands  were  as  smart,  efficient,  and  con- 
tented, as  it  was  possible  to  be. 

When  the  night  came  on  again  as  dark  as  before,  it  was 
the  eighth  night  I  had  been  on  deck.  Nor  had  I  taken 
more  than  a  very  little  sleep  in  the  day-time,  my  station  being 
always  near  the  helm,  and  often  at  it,  while  we  were  among 
the  ice.  Few  but  those  who  have  tried  it  can  imagine  the 
difficulty  and  pain  of  only  keeping  the  eyes  open — physically 
open — under  such  circumstances,  in  such  darkness.  They 
get  struck  by  the  darkness,  and  blinded  by  the  darkness. 
They  make  patterns  in  it,  and  they  flash  in  it,  as  if  they  had 
gone  out  of  your  head  to  look  at  you.  On  the  turn  of  mid- 
night, John  Steadiman,  wrho  was  alert  and  fresh  (for  I  had 
always  made  him  turn  in  by  day),  said  to  me,  "  Captain 
Ravender,  I  entreat  of  you  to  go  below.  I  am  sure  you  can 
hardly  stand,  and  your  voice  is  getting  weak,  sir.     Go  below, 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     34? 

and  take  a  little  rest.  I'll  call  you  if  a  block  chafes."  I 
said  to  John  in  answer,  "  Well,  well,  John  !  Let  us  wait  till 
the  turn  of  one  o'clock,  before  we  talk  about  that."  I  had 
just  had  one  of  the  ship's  lanterns  held  up,  that  I  might  see 
how  the  night  went  by  my  watch,  and  it  was  then  twenty 
minutes  after  twelve. 

At  five  minutes  before  one,  John  sang  out  to  the  boy  to 
bring  the  lantern  again,  and  when  I  told  him  once  more 
what  the  time  was,  entreated  and  prayed  of  me  to  go  below. 
"  Captain  Ravender,"  says  he,  "  all's  well  ;  we  can't  afford 
to  have  you  laid  up  for  a  single  hour  ;  and  I  respectfully 
and  earnestly  beg  of  you  to  go  below."  The  end  of  it  was, 
that  I  agreed  to  do  so,  on  the  understanding  that  if  I  failed 
to  come  up  of  my  own  accord  within  three  hours,  I  was  to 
be  punctually  called.  Having  settled  -that,  I  left  John  in 
charge.  But  I  called  him  to  me  once  afterward,  to  ask  him 
a  question.  I  had  been  to  look  at  the  barometer,  and  had 
seen  the  mercury  still  perfectly  steady,  and  had  come  up  the 
companion  again  to  take  a  last  look  about  me — if  I  can  use 
such  a  word  in  reference  to  such  darkness — when  I  thought 
that  the  waves,  as  the  Golden  Mary  parted  them  and  shook 
them  off,  had  a  hollow  sound  in  them  ;  something  that  I 
fancied  was  a  rather  unusual  reverberation.  I  was  standing  by 
the  quarter-deck  rail  on  the  starboard  side,  when  I  called 
John  aft  to  me,  and  bade  him  listen.  He  did  so  with  the 
greatest  attention.  Turning  to  me  he  then  said,  "  Rely 
upon  it,  Captain  Ravender,  you  have  been  without  rest  too 
long,  and  the  novelty  is  only  in  the  state  of  your  sense  of 
hearing."  I  thought  so  too  by  that  time,  and  I  think  so 
now,  though  I  can  never  know  for  absolute  certain  in  this 
world,  whether  it  was  or  not. 

When  I  left  John  Steadiman  in  charge,  the  ship  was  still 
going  at  a  great  rate  through  the  water.  The  wind  still  blew 
right  astern.  Though  she  was  making  great  way,  she  was 
under  shortened  sail,  and  had  no  more  than  she  could  easily 
carry.  All  was  snug,  and  nothing  complained.  There  was 
a  pretty  sea  running,  but  not  a  very  high  sea  neither,  nor  at 
all  a  confused  one. 

I  turned  in,  as  we  seamen  say,  all  standing,  The  meaning 
of  that  is,  I  did  not  pull  my  clothes  off — no,  not  even  as 
much  as  my  coat  :  though  I  did  my  shoes,  for  my  feet  were 
badly  swelled  with  the  deck.  There  was  a  little  swing-lamp 
alight  in  my  cabin.  I  thought,  as  I  looked  at  it  before  shut- 
ting my  eyes,  that  I  was  so  tired  of  darkness,  and  troubled 


348  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

by  darkness,  that  I  could  have  gone  to  sleep  best  in  the 
midst  of  a  million  of  naming  gas-lights.  That  was  the  last 
thought  I  had  before  I  went  off,  except  the  prevailing 
thought  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  get  to  sleep  at  all. 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  back  at  Penrith  again,  and  was  trying 
to  get  round  the  church,  which  had  altered  its  shape  very 
much  since  I  last  saw  it,  and  was  cloven  all  down  the  middle 
of  the  steeple  in  a  most  singular  manner.  Why  I  wanted  to  get 
round  the  church,  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  was  as  anxious  to  do  it 
as  if  my  life  depended  on  it.  Indeed,  I  believe  it  did,  in  the 
dream.  For  all  that,  I  could  not  get  round  the  church.  I  was 
still  trying,  when  I  came  against  it  with  a  violent  shock,  and 
was  flung  out  of  my  cot  against  the  ship's  side.  Shrieks  and  a 
terrific  outcry  struck  me  far  harder  than  the  bruising  timbers, 
and  amidst  sounds  of  grinding  and  crashing,  and  a  heavy 
rushing  and  breaking  of  water — sounds  I  understood  too  well 
— I  made  my  way  on  deck.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do, 
for  the  ship  heeled  over  frightfully,  and  was  beating  in  a 
furious  manner. 

I  could  not  see  the  men  as  I  went  forward,  but  I  could 
hear  that  they  were  hauling  in  sail,  in  disorder.  I  had  my 
trumpet  in  my  hand,  and,  after  directing  and  encouraging 
them  in  this  till  it  was  done,  I  hailed  first  John  Steadiman, 
and  then  my  second  mate,  Mr.  William  Rames.  Both  an- 
swered clearly  and  steadily.  Now,  I  had  practiced  them 
and  all  my  crew,  as  I  had  ever  made  it  a  custom  to  practice 
all  who  sail  with  me,  to  take  certain  stations  and  wait  my 
orders,  in  case  of  any  unexpected  crisis.  When  my  voice 
was  heard  hailing,  and  their  voices  were  heard  answering,  I 
was  aware,  through  all  the  noises  of  the  ship  and  sea,  and  all 
the  crying  of  the  passengers  below,  that  there  was  a  pause. 
"Are  you  ready,  Rames?" — "Ay,  ay  sir  !  " — "Then  light 
up  for  God's  sake  !  "  In  a  moment  he  and  another  were 
burning  blue-lights,  and  the  ship  and  all  on  board  seemed  to 
be  inclosed  in  a  mist  of  light,  under  a  great  black  dome. 

The  light  shone  up  so  high  that  I  could  see  the  huge  ice- 
berg upon  which  we  had  struck,  cloven  at  the  top  and  down 
the  middle,  exactly  like  Penrith  Church  in  my  dream.  At 
the  same  moment  I  could  see  the  watch  last  relieved,  crowd- 
ing up  and  down  on  deck  ;  I  could  see  Mrs.  Atherfield  and 
Miss  Coleshaw  thrown  about  on  the  top  of  the  companion  as 
they  struggled  to  bring  the  child  up  from  below  ;  I  could  see 
that  the  masts  were  going  with  the  shock  and  the  beating  of 
the  ship  ;  I  could  see  the  frightful  breach  stove  in  on  the 


The  wreck  of  the  golden  mary.    349 

Starboard  side,  half  the  length  of  the  vessel,  and  the  sheath- 
ing and  timbers  spirting  up;  I  could  see  that  the  cutter  was  dis- 
abled, in  a  wreck  of  broken  fragments  ;  and  I  could  see  every 
eye  turned  upon  me.  It  is  my  belief  that  if  there  had  been 
ten  thousand  eyes. there,  I  should  have  seen  them  all,  with 
their  different  looks.  And  all  this  in  a  moment.  But  you 
must  consider  what  a  moment. 

I  saw  the  men,  as  they  looked  at  me,  fall  toward  their  ap- 
pointed stations,  like  good  men  and  true.  If  she  had  not 
righted,  they  could  have  done  very  little  there  or  anywhere 
but  die— not  that  it  is  little  for  a  man  to  die  at  his  post — I 
mean  they  could  have  done  nothing  to  save  the  passengers 
and  themselves.  Happily,  however,  the  violence  of  the  shock 
with  which  we  had  so  determinedly  borne  down  direct  on 
.  that  fatal  iceberg,  as  if  it  had  been  our  destination  instead 
of  our  destruction,  had  so  smashed  and  pounded  the  ship 
that  she  got  off  in  the  same  instant  and  righted.  I  did  not 
want  the  carpenter  to  tell  me  she  was  filling  and  going  down  ; 
I  could  see  and  hear  that.  I  gave  Rames  the  word  to  lower 
the  long-boat  and  the  surf-boat,  and  I  myself  told  off  the 
men  for  each  duty.  Not  one  hung  back,  or  came  before 
the  other.  I  now  whispered  to  John  Steadiman,  "  John,  I 
stand  at  the  gangway  here  to  see  every  soul  on  board  safe 
over  the  side.  You  shall  have  the  next  post  of  honor,  and 
shall  be  the  last  but  one  to  leave  the  ship.  Bring  up  the 
passengers,  and  range  them  behind  me  ;  and  put  what  pro- 
vision and  water  you  can  get  at,  in  the  boats.  Cast  your  eye 
for'ard,  John,  and  you'll  see  you  have  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

My  noble  fellows  got  the  boats  over  the  side  as  orderly  as 
I  ever  saw  boats  lowered  with  any  sea  running,  and  when 
they  were  launched,  two  or  three  of  the  nearest  men  in  them 
as  they  held  on,  rising  and  falling  with  the  swell,  called  out, 
looking  up  at  me,  "  Captain  Ravender,  if  any  thing  goes 
wrong  with  us  and  you  are  saved,  remember  we  stood  by 
yOU  !  » — «  We'll  all  stand  by  one  another  ashore,  yet,  please 
God,  my  lads  !  "  says  I.  "  Hold  on  bravely,  and  be  tender 
with  the  women." 

The  women  were  an  example  to  us.  They  trembled  very 
much,  but  they  were  quiet  and  perfectly  collected.  "  Kiss 
me,  Captain  Ravender,"  says  Mrs.  Atherfield,  "  and  ^  God  in 
heaven  bless  you,  you  good  man  !  "  "  My  dear,"  says  I, 
those  words  are  better  for  me  than  a  life-boat."  I  held  her 
child  in  my  arms  till  she  was  in  the  boat,  and  then  kissed 
the  child  and  handed  her  safe  down.     I  now  said  to  the 


350     THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

people  in  her,  "You  have  got  your  freight,  my  lads,  all  but 
me,  and  I  am  not  coming  yet  a  while.  Pull  away  from  the 
ship,  and  keep  off  !  " 

That  was  the  long-boat.  Old  Mr.  Rarx  was  one  of  her 
complement,  and  he  was  the  only  passenger  who  had  greatly 
misbehaved  since  the  ship  struck.  Others  had  been  a  little 
wild,  which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  and  not  very  blam- 
able  ;  but  he  had  made  a  lamentation  and  uproar  which  it 
was  dangerous  for  the  people  to  hear,  as  there  is  always  con- 
tagion in  weakness  and  selfishness.  His  incessant  cry  had 
been  that  he  must  not  be  separated  from  the  child,  that  he 
couldn't  see  the  child,  and  that  he  and  the  child  must  go  to- 
gether. He  had  even  tried  to  wrest  the  child  out  of  my  arms, 
that  he  might  keep  her  in  his.  "  Mr.  Rarx,"  said  I  to  him  when 
it  came  to  that,  "  I  have  a  loaded  pistol  in  my  pocket  ;  and  if 
you  don't  stand  out  of  the  gangway,  and  keep  perfectly  quiet, 
I  shall  shoot  you  through  the  heart,  if  you  have  got  one." 
Says  he,  "  You  won't  do  murder,  Captain  Ravender  !  "  "  No, 
sir,"  say^  I,  "  I  won't  murder  forty-four  people  to  humor  you, 
but  I'll  shoot  you  to  save  them."  After  that  he  was  quiet, 
and  stood  shivering  a  little  way  off,  until  I  named  him  to  go 
over  the  side. 

The  long-boat  being  cast  off,  the  surf-boat  was  soon 
filled.  There  only  remained  aboard  the  Golden  Alary,  John 
Mullion,  the  man  who  had  kept  on  burning  the  blue-lights 
(and  who  had  lighted  every  new  one  at  every  old  one  before 
it  went  out,  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  been  at  an  illumination); 
John  Steadiman  ;  and  myself.  I  hurried  those  two  into  the 
surf-boat,  called  to  them  to  keep  off,  and  waited  with  a 
grateful  and  relieved  heart  for  the  long-boat  to  come  and 
take  me  in,  if  she  could.  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  it 
showed  me,  by  the  blue-light,  ten  minutes  past  two.  They 
lost  no  time.  As  soon  as  she  was  near  enough,  I  swung 
myself  into  her,  and  called  to  the  men,  "  With  a  will,  lads  ! 
She's  reeling !  "  We  were  not  an  inch  too  far  out  of  the 
inner  vortex  of  her  going  down,  when,  by  the  blue-light 
which  John  Mullion  still  burned  in  the  bow  of  the  surf -boat, 
we  saw  her  lurch,  and  plunge  to  the  bottom  headforemost. 
The  child  cried  weeping  wildly,  "  Oh  the  dear  Golden  Mary  / 
Oh  look  at  her  !  Save  her  !  Save  the  poor  Golden  Mary  /  " 
And  then  the  light  burned  out,  and  the  black  dome  seemed  to 
come  down  upon  us. 

I  suppose  if  we  had  all  stood  a-top  of  a  mountain,  and 
seen  the  whole  remainder  of  the  world  sink  away  from  under 


The  wreck  of  the  golden  mary.   35  i 

Us,  we  could  hardly  have  felt  more  shocked  and  solitary 
than  we  did  when  we  knew  we  were  alone  on  the  wide 
ocean,  and  that  the  beautiful  ship  in  which  most  of  us  had 
been  securely  asleep  within  half  an  hour  was  gone  forever. 
There  was  an  awful  silence  in  our  boat,  and  such  a  kind  of 
palsy  on  the  rowers  and  the  man  at  the  rudder,  that  I  felt 
they  were  scarcely  keeping  her  before  the  sea.  I  spoke  out 
then,  and  said,  "  Let  every  one  here  thank  the  Lord  for  our 
preservation  !"  All  the  voices  answered  (even  the  child's), 
"  We  thank  the  Lord  !  "  I  then  said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and 
all  hands  said  it  after  me  with  a  solemn  murmuring.  Then 
I  gave  the  word  '*  Cheerily,  oh  men,  cheerily  !  "  and  I  felt 
that  they  were  handling  the  boat  again  as  a  boat  ought  to 
be  handled. 

The  surf-boat  now  burned  another  blue-light  to  show  us 
where  they  were,  and  we  made  for  her,  and  laid  ourselves  as 
nearly  alongside  of  her  as  we  dared.  I  had  always  kept  my 
boats  with  a  coil  or  two  of  good  stout  stuff  in  each  of  them, 
so  both  boats  had  a  rope  at  hand.  We  made  a  shift,  with 
much  labor  and  trouble,  to  get  near  enough  to  one  another 
to  divide  the  blue-lights  (they  were  no  use  after  that  night, 
for  the  sea-water  soon  got  at  them),  and  to  get  a  tow-rope 
out  between  us.  All  night  long  we  kept  together,  sometimes 
obliged  to  cast  off  the  rope,  and  sometimes  getting  it  out 
again,  and  all  of  us  wearying  for  the  morning — which  ap- 
peared so  long  in  coming  that  old  Mr.  Rarx  screamed  out, 
in  spite  of  his  fears  of  me,  "  The  world  is  drawing  to  an  end, 
and  the  sun  will  never  rise  any  more." 

When  the  day  broke,  I  found  that  we  were  all  huddled 
together  in  a  miserable  manner.  We  were  deep  in  the 
water  ;  being  as  I  found  on  mustering,  thirty-one  in  num 
ber,  or  at  least  six  too  many.  In  the  surf-boat  they  were 
fourteen  in  number,  being  at  least  four  too  many.  The  first 
thing  I  did,  was  to  get  myself  passed  to  the  rudder — which 
I  took  from  that  time — and  to  get  Mrs.  Atherfield,  her  child, 
and  Miss  Coleshaw,  passed  on  to  sit  next  me.  As  to  old 
Mr.  Rarx,  1,  put  him  in  the  bow,  as  far  from  us  as  I  could. 
And  I  put  some  of  the  best  men  near  us,  in  order  that  if 
I  should  drop,  there  might  be  a  skillful  hand  ready  to  take 
the  helm. 

The  sea  moderating  as  the  sun  came  up,  though  the  sky 
was  cloudy  and  wild,  we  spoke  the  other  boat,  to  know  what 
stores  they  had,  and  to  overhaul  what  we  had.  I  had  a  com- 
pass  iii  my  pocket,  a   small    telescope,   a   double-barreled 


352  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

pistol,  a  knife,  and  a  fire-box  and  matches.  Most  of  my 
men  had  knives,  and  some  had  a  little  tobacco  ;  some  a 
pipe  as  well.  We  had  a  mug  among  us,  and  an  iron  spoon. 
As  to  provisions,  there  were  in  my  boat  two  bags  of  biscuit, 
one  piece  of  raw  beef,  one  piece  of  raw  pork,  a  bag  of  coffee, 
roasted  but  not  ground  (thrown  in,  I  imagine,  by  mistake, 
for  something  else),  two  small  casks  of  water,  and  abou*- 
half-a-gallon  of  rum  in  a  keg.  The  surf-boat,  having  rather 
more  rum  than  we,  and  fewer  to  drink  it,  gave  us,  as  I  esti- 
mated, another  quart  into  our  keg.  In  return,  we  gave  them 
three  double  handfuls  of  coffee,  tied  up  in  a  piece  of  a  hand- 
kerchief ;  they  reported  that  they  had  aboard  besides,  a  bag 
of  biscuit,  a  piece  of  beef,  a  small  cask  of  water,  a  small  box 
of  lemons,  and  a  Dutch  cheese.  It  took  a  long  time  to  make 
these  exchanges,  and  they  were  not  made  without  risk  to  both 
parties  ;  the  sea  running  quite  high  enough  to  make  our  ap- 
proaching near  to  one  another  very  hazardous.  In  the  bundle 
with  the  coffee,  I  conveyed  to  John  Steadiman  (who  had  a 
ship's  compass  with  him),  a  paper  written  in  pencil,  and  torn 
from  my  pocket-book,  containing  the  course  I  meant  to  steer, 
in  the  hope  of  making  land,  or  being  picked  up  by  some  vessel 
— I  say  in  the  hope,  though  I  had  little  hope  of  either  deliv- 
erance. I  then  sang  out  to  him,  so  as  all  might  hear,  that  if 
we  two  boats  could  live  or  die  together,  we  would  ;  but 
that  if  we  should  be  parted  by  the  weather,  and  join  com- 
pany no  more,  they  should  have  our  prayers  and  blessings, 
and  we  asked  for  theirs.  We  then  gave  them  three  cheers, 
which  they  returned,  and  I  saw  the  men's  heads  droop  in 
both  boats  as  they  fell  to  their  oars  again. 

These  arrangements  had  occupied  the  general  attention 
advantageously  for  all,  though  (as  I  expressed  in  the  last 
sentence)  they  ended  in  a  sorrowful  feeling.  I  now  said  a 
few  words  to  my  fellow-voyagers  on  the  subject  of  the  small 
stock  of  food  on  which  our  lives  depended  if  they  were  pre- 
served from  the  great  deep,  and  on  the  rigid  necessity  of 
our  eking  it  out  in  the  most  frugal  manner.  One  and  all  re- 
plied that  whatever  allowance  I  thought  best  to  lay  down 
should  be  strictly  kept  to.  We  made  a  pair  of  scales  out  of 
a  thin  scrap  of  iron-piating  and  some  twine,  and  I  got  to- 
gether for  weights  such  of  the  heaviest  buttons  among  us  as 
I  calculated  made  up  some  fraction  over  two  ounces.  This 
was  the  allowance  of  solid  food  served  out  once  a  day  to 
each,  from  that  time  to  the  end  ;  with  the  addition  of  a  cof- 
fee-berry, or  sometimes  half  a  one,  when   the   weather  was 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     353 

very  fair,  for  breakfast.  We  had  nothing  else  whatever,  but 
half  a  pint  of  water  each  per  day,  and  sometimes  when  we 
were  coldest  and  weakest,  a  teaspoonful  of  rum  each,  served 
out  as  a  dram.  I  know  how  learnedly  it  can  be  shown  that 
rum  is  poison,  but  I  also  know  that  in  this  case,  as  in  all  sim- 
ilar cases  I  have  ever  read  of — which  are  numerous — no 
words  can  express  the  comfort  and  support  derived  from  it. 
Nor  have  I  the  least  doubt  that  it  saved  the  lives  of  far 
more  than  half  our  number.  Having  mentioned  half  a  pint 
of  water  as  our  daily  allowance,  I  ought  to  observe  that 
sometimes  we  had  less,  and  sometimes  we  had  more  ;  for, 
much  rain  fell,  and  we  caught  it  in  a  canvas  stretched  for 
the  purpose. 

Thus,  at  that  tempestuous  time  of  the  year,  and  in  that 
tempestuous  part  of  the  world,  we  shipwrecked  people  rose 
and  fell  with  the  waves.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  relate  (if 
I  can  avoid  it)  such  circumstances  appertaining  to  our  dole- 
ful condition  as  have  been  better  told  in  many  other  narra- 
tives of  the  kind  than  I  can  be  expected  to  tell  them.  I  will 
only  note,  in  so  many  passing  words,  that  day  after  day  and 
night  after  night,  we  received  the  sea  upon  our  backs  to  pre- 
vent it  from  swamping  the  boat  ;  that  one  party  was  always 
kept  baling,  and  that  every  hat  and  cap  among  us  soon  got 
worn  out,  though  patched  up  fifty  times,  as  the  only  vessels 
we  had  for  that  service  ;  that  another  party  lay  down  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  while  a  third  rowed  ;  and  that  we  were 
soon  all  in  boils  and  blisters  and  rags. 

The  other  boat  was  a  source  of  such  anxious  interest  to  all 
of  us  that  I  used  to  wonder  whether,  if  we  were  saved,  the  time 
could  ever  come  when  the  survivors  in  this  boat  of  ours 
could  be  at  all  indifferent  to  the  fortunes  of  the  survivors  in 
that.  We  got  out  a  tow-rope  whenever  the  weather  permit- 
ted, but  that  did  not  often  happen,  and  how  we  two  parties 
kept  within  the  same  horizon,  as  we  did,  He  who  mercifully 
permitted  it  to  be  so  for  our  consolation,  only  knows.  I 
never  shall  forget  the  looks  with  which,  when  the  morning 
light  came,  we  used  to  gaze  about  us  over  the  stormy 
waters,  for  the  other  boat.  We  once  parted  company  for 
seventy-two  hours,  and  we  believed  them  to  have  gone  down 
as  they  did  us.  The  joy  on  both  sides  when  we  came  within 
view  of  one  another  again,  had  something  in  a  manner 
divine  in  it  ;  each  was  so  forgetful  of  individual  suffering  in 
tears  of  delight  and  sympathy  for  the  people  in  the  other 
boat. 


^54  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

I  have  been  waiting  to  get  round  to  the  individual  or  per- 
sonal part  of  my  subject,  as  I  call  it,  and  the  foregoing  inci- 
dent puts  me  in  the  right  way.  The  patience  and  good  dis- 
position aboard  of  us,  was  wonderful.  I  was  not  surprised 
by  it  in  the  women  ;  for  all  men  born  of  women  know  what 
great  qualities  they  will  show  when  men  will  fail  ;  but  I 
own  I  was  a  little  surprised  by  it  in  some  of  the  men.  Among 
one-and-thirty  people  assembled  at  the  best  of  times,  there 
will  usually,  I  should  say,  be  two  or  three  uncertain  tempers. 
I  knew  that  I  had  more  than  one  rough  temper  with  me 
among  my  own  people,  for  I  had  chosen  those  for  the 
long-boat  that  I  might  have  them  under  my  eye.  But 
they  softened  under  their  misery,  and  were  as  consider- 
ate of  the  ladies,  and  as  compassionate  of  the  child,  as 
the  best  among  us,  or  among  men  —  they  could  not 
have  been  more  so.  I  heard  scarcely  any  complaining. 
The  party  lying  down  would  moan  a  good  deal  in  their 
sleep,  and  I  would  often  notice  a  man — not  always  the 
same  man,  it  is  to  be  understood,  but  nearly  all  of  them  at 
one  time  or  other — sitting  moaning  at  his  oar,  or  in  his 
place,  as  he  looked  mistily  over  the  sea.  When  it  happened 
to  be  long  before  I  could  catch  his  eye,  he  would  go  on 
moaning  all  the  time  in  the  dismalest  manner  ;  but  when 
our  looks  met,  he  would  brighten  and  leave  off.  I  almost  al- 
ways got  the  impression  that  he  did  not  know  what  sound  he 
had  been  making,  but  that  he  thought  he  had  been  humming 
a  tune. 

Our  sufferings  from  cold  and  wTet  were  far  greater  than 
our  sufferings  from  hunger.  We  managed  to  keep  the  child 
warm  ;  but  I  doubt  if  any  one  else  among  us  ever  was  warm 
for  five  minutes  together  ;  and  the  shivering,  and  the  chat- 
tering of  teeth,  were  sad  to  hear.  The  child  cried  a  little 
at  first  for  her  lost  playfellow,  the  Golden  Mary;  but 
hardly  ever  whimpered  afterward  ;  and  when  the  state  of 
the  weather  made  it  possible,  she  used  now  and  then  to  be 
held  up  in  the  arms  of  some  of  us,  to  look  over  the  sea  for 
John  Steadiman's  boat.  I  see  the  golden  hair  and  the 
innocent  face  now,  between  me  and  the  driving  clouds,  like 
an  angel  going  to  fly  away. 

It  had  happened  on  the  second  day,  toward  night,  that 
Mrs.  Atherfield,  in  getting  little  Lucy  to  sleep,  sang  her  a 
song.  She  had  a  soft,  melodious  voice,  and,  when  she  had 
finished  it,  our  people  up  and  begged  for  another.  She 
sang  them  another,  and  after  it  had  fallen  dark  ended  with 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     355 

the  evening  hymn.  From  that  time,  whenever  any  thing 
could  be  heard  above  the  sea  and  wind,  and  while  she  had 
any  voice  left,  nothing  would  serve  the  people  but  that  she 
should  sing  at  sunset.  She  always  did,  and  always  ended 
with  the  evening  hymn.  We  mostly  took  up  the  last  line, 
and  shed  tears  when  it  was  done,  but  not  miserably.  We 
had  a  prayer  night  and  morning,  also,  when  the  weather 
allowed  of  it. 

Twelve  nights  and  eleven  days  we  had  been  driving  in 
the  boat,  when  old  Mr.  Rarx  began  to  be  delirious,  and  to 
cry  out  to  me  to  throw  the  gold  overboard  or  it  would  sink 
us,  and  we  should  all  be  lost.  For  days  past  the  child  had 
been  declining,  and  that  was  the  great  cause  of  his  wildness. 
He  had  been  over  and  over  again  shrieking  out  to  me  to 
give  her  all  the  remaining  meat,  to  give  her  all  the  remain- 
ing rum,  to  save  her  at  any  cost,  or  we  should  all  be  ruined. 
At  this  time,  she  lay  in  her  mother's  arms  at  my  feet.  One 
of  her  little  hands  was  almost  always  creeping  about  her 
mother's  neck  or  chin.  I  had  watched  the  wasting  of  the 
little  hand,  and  I  knew  it  was  nearly  over. 

The  old  man's  cries  were  so  discordant  with  the  mother's 
love  and  submission,  that  I  called  out  to  him  in  an  angry 
voice,  unless  he  held  his  peace  on  the  instant,  I  would  order 
him  to  be  knocked  on  the  head  and  thrown  overboard.  He 
was  mute  then,  until  the  child  died,  very  peacefully,  an 
hour  afterward  ;  which  was  known  to  all  in  the  boat  by  the 
mother's  breaking  out  into  lamentations  for  the  first  time 
since  the  wreck — for  she  had  great  fortitude  and  constancy, 
though  she  was  a  little  gentle  woman.  Old  Mr.  Rarx  then 
became  quite  ungovernable,  tearing  what  rags  he  had  on 
him,  raging  in  imprecations,  and  calling  to  me  that  if  I  had 
thrown  the  gold  overboard  (always  the  gold  with  him  !)  I 
might  have  saved  the  child.  "And  now,"  says  he,  in  a 
terrible  voice,  "  we  shall  founder,  and  all  go  to  the  devil, 
for  our  sins  will  sink  us,  when  we  have  no  innocent  child  to 
bear  us  up  !  "  We  so  discovered  with  amazement  that  this 
old  wretch  had  only  cared  for  the  life  of  the  pretty  little 
creature  dear  to  all  of  us,  because  of  the  influence  he  super- 
stitiously  hoped  she  might  have  in  preserving  him  !  Alto- 
gether it  was  too  much  for  the  smith  or  armorer,  who  was 
sitting  next  the  old  man,  to  bear.  He  took  him  by  the 
throat  and  rolled  him  under  the  thwarts,  where  he  lay  still 
enough  for  hours  afterward. 

AH  that  thirteenth  night,  Miss  Coleshaw,  lying  across  my 


356  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

knees  as  I  kept  the  helm,  comforted  and  supported  the  poor 
mother.  Her  child,  covered  with  a  pea-jacket  of  mine,  lay 
in  her  lap.  It  troubled  me  all  night  to  think  that  there  was 
no  prayer-book  among  us,  and  that  I  could  remember  but 
very  few  of  the  exact  words  of  the  burial  service.  When  I 
stood  up  at  broad  day,  all  knew  what  was  going  to  be  done, 
and  I  noticed  that  my  poor  fellows  made  the  motion  of 
uncovering  their  heads  though  their  heads  had  been  stark 
bare  to  the  sky  and  sea  for  many  a  weary  hour.  There  was 
a  long  heavy  swell  on,  but  otherwise  it  was  a  fair  morning, 
and  there  were  broad  fields  of  sunlight  on  the  waves  in  the 
east.  I  said  no  more  than  this  :  "  I  am  the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life,  saith  the  Lord.  He  raised  the  daughter  of 
Jairus  the  ruler,  and  said  she  was  not  dead  but  slept.  He 
raised  the  widow's  son.  He  arose  Himself,  and  was  seen  of 
many.  He  loved  little  children,  saying,  Suffer  them  to  come 
unto  Me  and  rebuke  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  In  His  name,  my  friends,  and  committed  to  His 
merciful  goodness  !  "  With  those  words  I  laid  my  rough 
face  softly  on  the  placid  little  forehead,  and  buried  the 
Golden  Lucy  in  the  grave  of  the  Golde?i  Mary. 

Having  had  it  on  my  mind  to  relate  the  end  of  this  dear 
little  child,  I  have  omitted  something  from  its  exact  place, 
which  I  will  supply  here.  It  will  come  quite  as  well  here 
as  anywhere  else. 

Foreseeing  that  if  the  boat  lived  through  the  stormy  weather, 
the  time  must  come,  and  soon  come,  when  we  should  have  ab- 
solutely no  morsel  to  eat,  I  had  one  momentous  point  often  in 
my  thoughts.  Although  I  had,  years  before  that,  fully  satisfied 
myself  that  the  instances  in  which  human  beings  in  the  last 
distress  have  fed  upon  each  other  are  exceedingly  few,  and 
have  very  seldom  indeed  (if  ever)  occurred  when  the  people 
in  distress,  however  dreadful  their  extremity,  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  moderate  forbearance  and  restraint  ;  I  say,  though 
I  had  long  before  quite  satisfied  my  mind  on  this  topic,  I 
felt  doubtful  whether  there  might  not  have  been  in  former 
cases  some  harm  and  danger  from  keeping  it  out  of  sight  and 
pretending  not  to  think  of  it.  I  felt  doubtful  whether  some 
minds,  growing  weak  with  fasting  and  exposure,  and  having 
such  a  terrific  idea  to  dwell  upon  in  secret,  might  not  mag- 
nify it  until  it  got  to  have  an  awful  attraction  about  it.  This 
was  not  a  new  thought  of  mine,  for  it  had  grown  out  of  my 
reading.  However,  it  came  over  me  stronger  than  it  had 
ever  done  before — as  it  had  reason   for  doing — in  the  boat, 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     357 

and  on  the  fourth  day  I  decided  that  I  would  bring  out  into 
the  light  that  unformed  fear  which  must  have  been  more  or 
less  darkly  in  every  brain  among  us.  Therefore,  as  a  means 
of  beguiling  the  time  and  inspiring  hope,  I  gave  them  the 
best  summary  in  my  power  of  Bligh's  voyage  of  more  than 
three  thousand  miles  in  an  open  boat  after  the  mutiny  of 
the  Bounty,  and  of  the  wonderful  preservation  of  that  boat's 
crew.  They  listened  throughout  with  great  interest,  and  I 
concluded  by  telling  them,  in  my  opinion,  the  happiest  cir- 
cumstance in  the  whole  narrative  was  that  Bligh,  who  was 
no  delicate  man,  either,  had  solemnly  placed  it  on  record 
therein  that  he  was  sure  and  certain  that  under  no  conceiv- 
able circumstances  whatever  would  that  emaciated  party,  who 
had  gone  through  all  the  pains  of  famine,  have  preyed  on 
one  another.  I  can  not  describe  the  visible  relief  which  this 
spread  through  the  boat,  and  how  the  tears  stood  in  everj) 
eye.  From  that  time  I  was  as  well  convinced  as  Bligh  him 
self  that  there  was  no  danger,  and  that  this  phantom,  at  any 
rate,  did  not  haunt  us. 

Now,  it  was  a  part  of  Bligh's  experience  that  when  the 
people  in  his  boat  were  most  cast  down,  nothing  did  them 
so  much  good  as  hearing  a  story  told  by  one  of  their  num- 
ber. When  I  mentioned  that,  I  saw  that  it  struck  the  gen- 
eral attention  as  much  as  it  did  my  own,  for  I  had  not 
thought  of  it  until  I  came  to  it  in  my  summary.  This  was 
on  the  day  after  Mrs.  Atherfield  first  sang  to  us.  I  proposed 
that  whenever  the  weather  would  permit,  we  should  have  a 
story  two  hours  after  dinner  (I  always  issued  the  allowance  I 
have  mentioned  at  one  o'clock  and  called  it  by  that  name) 
as  well  as  our  song  at  sunset.  The  proposal  was  received 
with  a  cheerful  satisfaction  that  warmed  my  heart  within  me  ; 
and  I  do  not  say  too  much  when  I  say  that  those  two  periods 
in  the  four  and  twenty  hours  were  expected  with  positive 
pleasure,  and  were  really  enjoyed  by  all  hands.  Specters  as 
we  soon  were,  in  our  bodily  wasting,  our  imaginations  did 
not  perish  like  the  gross  flesh  upon  our  bones.  Music  and 
adventure,  two  of  the  great  gifts  of  providence  to  mankind, 
could  charm  us  long  after  that  was  lost. 

The  wind  was  almost  always  against  us  after  the  second 
day  ;  and  for  many  days  together  we  could  not  nearly  hold 
our  own.  We  had  all  varieties  of  bad  weather.  We  had 
rain,  hail,  snow,  wind,  mist,  thunder  and  lightning.  Still 
the  boats  lived  through  the  heavy  seas,  and  still  we  perishing 
people  rose  and  fell  with  the  great  waves. 


358  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

Sixteen  nights  and  fifteen  days,  twenty  nights  and  nine- 
teen days,  twenty-four  nights  and  twenty- three  days.  So  the 
time  wore  on.  Disheartening  as  I  knew  that  our  progress, 
or  want  of  progress,  must  be,  I  never  deceived  them  as  to  my 
calculations  of  it.  In  the  first  place,  I  felt  that  we  were  all 
too  near  eternity  for  deceit  ;  in  the  second  place,  I  knew 
that  if  I  failed,  or  died,  the  man  who  followed  me  must 
have  a  knowledge  of  the  true  state  of  things  to  begin  upon. 
When  I  told  them  at  noon  what  I  reckoned  we  had 
made  or  lost,  they  generally  received  what  I  said  in  a  tran- 
quil and  resigned  manner,  and  always  gratefully  toward  me. 
It  was  not  unusual  at  any  time  of  the  day  for  some  one  to 
burst  out  weeping  loudly  without  any  new  cause  ;  and, 
when  the  burst  was  over,  to  calm  down  a  little  better  than 
before.  I  had  seen  exactly  the  same  thing  in  a  house  of 
mourning. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  old  Mr.  Rarx  had  had  his 
fits  of  calling  out  to  me  to  throw  the  gold  (always  the 
gold)  overboard,  and  of  heaping  violent  reproaches  upon 
me  for  not  having  saved  the  child  ;  but  now,  the  food 
being  all  gone,  and  I  having  nothing  left  to  serve  out  but  a 
bit  of  coffee-berry  now  and  then,  he  began  to  be  too  weak 
to  do  this,  and  consequently  fell  silent.  Mrs.  Atherfield 
and  Miss  Coleshaw  generally  lay  eacli  with  an  arm  across 
one  of  my  knees,  and  her  head  upon  it.  They  never  com- 
plained at  all.  Up  to  the  time  of  her  child's  death,  Mrs. 
Atherfield  had  bound  up  her  own  beautiful  hair  every 
day ;  and  I  took  particular  notice  that  this  was  always 
before  she  sung  at  night,  when  every  one  looked  at  her. 
But  she  never  did  it  after  the  loss  of  her  darling  ;  and  it 
would  have  been  now  all  tangled  with  dirt  and  wet,  but  that 
Miss  Coleshaw  was  careful  of  it  long  after  she  was  herself, 
and  would  sometimes  smooth  it  down  with  her  weak,  thin 
hands. 

We  were  past  mustering  a  story  now  ;  but  one  day,  at 
about  this  period,  I  reverted  to  the  superstition  of  old  Mr. 
Rarx,  concerning  the  Golden  Lucy  and  told  them  that  noth- 
ing vanished  from  the  eye  of  God,  though  much  might  pass 
away  from  the  eyes  of  men.  "  We  were  all  of  us,"  says  I, 
"  children  once  ;  and  our  baby  feet  have  strolled  in  green 
woods  as  she  ;  and  our  baby  hands  have  gathered  flowers 
in  gardens,  where  the  birds  were  singing.  The  children  that 
we  were,  are  not  lost  to  the  great  knowledge  of  our  Creator. 
Those  innocent  creatures  will  appear  with  us  before  Him, 


The  wreck  of  the  golden  mary.   359 

and  plead  for  us.  What  we  were  in  the  best  time  of  our 
generous  youth  will  arise  and  go  with  us  too.  The  purest 
part  of  our  lives  will  not  desert  us  at  the  pass  to  which  all  of 
us  here  present  are  gliding.  What  we  were  then,  will  be 
as  much  in  existence  before  Him,  as  what  we  are  now." 
They  were  no  less  comforted  by  this  consideration,  than  I  was 
myself  ;  and  Miss  Coleshaw,  drawing  my  ear  nearer  to  her 
lips,  said,  "  Captain  Ravender,  I  was  on  my  way  to  marry  a 
disgraced  and  broken  man,  whom  I  dearly  loved  when  he 
was  honorable  and  good.  Your  words  seem  to  have  come 
out  of  my  own  poor  heart."  She  pressed  my  hand  upon  it, 
smiling. 

Twenty-seven  nights  and  twenty-six  days.  We  were  in  no 
want  of  rain-water,  but  we  had  nothing  else;  And  yet, 
even  now,  I  never  turned  my  eyes  upon  a  waking  face  but 
it  tried  to  brighten  before  mine.  Oh  what  a  thing  it  is,  in 
a  time  of  danger  and  in  the  presence  of  death,  the  shining 
of  a  face  upon  a  face  !  I  have  heard  it  broached  that  orders 
should  be  given  in  great  new  ships  by  electric  telegraph.  I 
admire  machinery  as  much  as  any  man,  and  am  as  thankful  to 
it  as  any  man  can  be  for  what  it  does  for  us.  But  it  will 
never  be  a  substitute  for  the  face  of  a  man,  with  his  soul  in 
it,  encouraging  another  man  to  be  brave  and  true.  Never 
try  it  for  that.     It  will  break  down  like  a  straw. 

I  now  began  to  remark  certain  changes  in  myself  which  I 
did  not  like.  They  caused  me  much  disquiet.  I  often  saw 
the  Golden  Lucy  in  the  air  above  the  boat.  I  often  saw  her 
I  have  spoken  of  before,  sitting  beside  me.  I  saw  the  Golden 
Mary  go  down,  as  she  really  had  gone  down,  twenty  times  in 
a  day.  And  yet  the  sea  was  mostly,  to  my  thinking,  not  sea 
neither,  but  moving  country  and  extraordinary  mountainous 
regions,  the  like  of  which  have  never  been  beheld.  _  I  felt  it 
time  to  leave  my  last  words  regarding  John  Steadiman,  in 
case  any  lips  should  last  out  to  repeat  them  to  any  living  ears. 
I  said  that  John  had  told  me  (as  he  had  on  deck)  that  he  had 
sung  out  '  Breakers  ahead  ! '  the  instant  they  were  audible, 
and  had  tried  to  wear  ship,  but  she  struck  before  it  could 
be  done.  (His  cry,  I  dare  say,  had  made  my  dream.)  I 
said  that  the  circumstances  were  altogether  without  warn- 
ing, and  out  of  any  course  that  could  have  been  guarded 
against  ;  that  the  same  loss  would  have  happened  if  I  had 
been  in  charge  ;  and  that  John  was  not  too  blame,  but  from* 
first  to  last  had  done  his  duty  nobly,  like  the  man  he  was.  I 
tried  to  write  it  down  in  my  pocket-book,  but  could  maktf 


360  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

no  words,  though  I  knew  what  the  words  were  that  I  wanted 
to  make.  When  it  had  come  to  that,  her  hands — though 
she  was  dead  so  long — laid  me  down  gently  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and  she  and  the  Golden  Lucy  swung  me  to 
sleep. 


ALL    THAT     FOLLOWS,    WAS    WRITTEN    BY    JOHN    STEADIMAN, 
CHIEF    MATE  : 

On  the  twenty-sixth  day  after  the  foundering  of  the  Golden 
Mary  at  sea,  I,  John  Steadiman,  was  sitting  in  my  place  in 
the  stern-sheets  of  the  surf-boat,  with  just  sense  enough  left 
in  me  to  steer — that  is  to  say,  with  my  eyes  strained,  wide 
awake,  over  the  bows  of  the  boat,  and  my  brains  fast  asleep 
and  dreaming — when  I  was  roused  upon  a  sudden  by  our 
second  mate,   Mr.  William  Rames. 

"  Let  me  take  a  spell  in  your  place,''  says  he.  "  And  look 
you  out  for  the  long-boat  astern.  The  last  time  she  rode  on 
the  crest  of  a  wave,  I  thought  I  made  out  a  signal  flying 
aboard  her." 

We  shifted  our  places,  clumsily  and  slowly  enough,  for  we 
were  both  of  us  weak  and  dazed  with  wet,  cold,  and  hunger. 
I  waited  some  time,  watching  the  heavy  rollers  astern,  before 
the  long-boat  rose  a-top  of  one  of  them  at  the  same  time  with 
us.  At  last,  she  was  heaved  up  for  a  moment  well  in  view, 
and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  signal  flying  aboard  of  her 
— a  strip  of  rag  of  some  sort,  rigged  to  an  oar,  and  hoisted 
in  her  bows. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  says  Rames  to  me  in  a  quaver- 
ing, trembling  sort  of  a  voice.  "  Do  they  signal  a  sail  in 
sight  ?  " 

"  Hush,  for  God's  sake  !  "  says  I,  clapping  my  hand  over 
his  mouth.  "  Don't  let  the  people  hear  you.  They'll  all  go 
mad  together  if  we  mislead  them  about  that  signal.  Wait  a 
bit  till  I  have  another  look  at  it." 

I  held  on  by  him,  for  he  had  set  me  all  of  a  tremble  with 
his  notion  of  a  sail  in  sight,  and  watched  for  the  long-boat 
again. 

Up  she  rose  on  the  top  of  another  roller.  I  made  out  the 
signal  clearly,  that  second  time,  and  saw  that  it  was  rigged 
.half-mast  high. 

"Rames,"  says  I,  "it's  a  signal  of  distress.  Pass  the 
word  forward  to  keep  her  before  the  sea,  and  no  more.    We 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     361 

must  get  the  long-boat  within  hailing  distance  of  us  as  soon 
as  possible." 

I  dropped  down  into  my  old  place  at  the  tiller  without 
another  word — for  the  thought  went  through  me  like  a  knife 
that  something  had  happened  to  Captain  Ravender.  I 
should  consider  myself  unworthy  to  write  another  line  of 
this  statement,  if  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  to  speak  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth — and  I 
must,  therefore,  confess  plainly  that  now,  for  the  first  time, 
my  heart  sank  within  me.  This  weakness  on  my  part  was 
produced  in  some  degree,  as  I  take  it,  by  the  exhausting 
effects  of  previous  anxiety  and  grief. 

Our  provisions — if  I  may  give  that  name  to  what  we  had 
left — were  reduced  to  the  rind  of  one  lemon  and  about  a 
couple  of  handfuls  of  coffee-berries.  Besides  these  great 
distresses,  caused  by  the  death,  the  danger,  and  the  suffer- 
ing among  my  crew  and  passengers,  I  had  a  little  distress 
of  my  own  to  shake  me  still  more,  in  the  death  of  the  child 
whom  I  had  got  to  be  very  fond  of  on  the  voyage  out — so 
fond  that  I  was  secretly  a  little  jealous  of  her  being  taken  in 
the  long-boat  instead  of  mine  when  the  ship  foundered. 
It  used  to  be  a  great  comfort  to  me,  and  I  think  to  those 
with  me  also,  after  we  had  seen  the  last  of  the  Golden  Mary, 
to  see  the  Golden  Lucy,  held  up  by  the  men  in  the  long- 
boat, when  the  weather  allowed  it,  as  the  best  and  brightest 
sight  they  had  to  show.  She  looked,  at  the  distance  we  saw 
her  from,  almost  like  a  little  white  bird  in  the  air.  To  miss 
her  for  the  first  time,  when  the  weather  lulled  a  little  again, 
and  we  all  looked  out  for  our  white  bird  and  looked  in  vain, 
was  a  sore  disappointment.  To  see  the  men's  heads  bowed 
down  and  the  captain's  hand  pointing  into  the  sea  when  we 
hailed  the  long-boat,  a  few  days  after,  gave  me  as  heavy  a 
shock  and  as  sharp  a  pang  of  heartache  to  bear  as  ever  I 
remember  suffering  in  all  my  life.  I  only  mention  these 
things  to  show  that  if  I  did  give  way  a  little  at  first,  under 
the  dread  that  our  captain  was  lost  to  us,  it  was  not  with- 
out having  been  a  good  deal  shaken  beforehand  by  more 
trials  of  one  sort  or  another  than  often  fall  to  one  man's 
share. 

I  had  got  over  the  choking  in  my  throat  with  the  help  of 
a  drop  of  water,  and  had  steadied  my  mind  again  so  as  to 
be  prepared  against  the  worst,  when  I  heard  the  hail  (Lord 
help  the  poor  fellows,  how  weak  it  sounded  ! ) — 

"  Surf-boat,  ahoy  !  " 


362     THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

I  looked  up,  and  there  were  our  companions  in  misfortune 
tossing  abreast  of  us  ;  not  so  near  that  we  could  make  out 
the  features  of  any  of  them,  but  near  enough,  with  some 
exertion  for  people  in  our  condition,  to  make  their  voices 
heard  in  the  intervals  when  the  wind  was  weakest. 

I  answered  the  hail,  and  waited  a  bit,  and  heard  nothing, 
and  then  sung  out  the  captain's  name.  The  voice  that 
replied  did  not  sound  like  his  ;  the  words  that  reached  us 
were  : 

"  Chief-mate  wanted  on  board  !  " 

Every  man  of  my  crew  knew  what  that  meant  as  well  as  I 
did.  As  second  officer  in  command,  there  could  be  but 
one  reason  for  wanting  me  on  board  the  long-boat.  A 
groan  went  all  round  us,  and  my  men  looked  darkly  in  each 
other's  faces,  and  whispered  under  their  breaths  : 

"The  captain  is  dead  !  " 

I  commanded  them  to  be  silent,  and  not  to  make  too  sure 
of  bad  news,  at  such  a  pass  as  things  had  now  come  to  with 
us.  Then,  hailing  the  long-boat,  I  signified  that  I  was 
ready  to  go  on  board  when  the  weather  would  let  me — 
stopped  a  bit  to  draw  a  good  long  breath — and  then  called 
out  as  loud  as  I  could  the  dreadful  question  : 

"  Is  the  captain  dead  ?" 

'The  black  figures  of  three  or  four  men  in  the  after-part 
of  the  long-boat  all  stooped  down  together  as  my  voice 
reached  them.  They  were  lost  to  view  for  about  a  minute  ; 
then  appeared  again — one  man  among  them  was  held  up  on 
his  feet  by  the  rest,  and  he  hailed  back  the  blessed  words 
(a  very  faint  hope  went  a  very  long  way  with  people  in  our 
desperate  situation)  :  "  Not  yet  !  " 

The  relief  felt  by  me,  and  by  all  with  me,  when  we  knew 
that  our  captain,  though  unfitted  for  duty,  was  not  lost  to  us, 
it  is  not  in  words — at  least,  not  in  such  words  as  a  man  like 
me  can  command — to  express.  I  did  my  best  to  cheer  the 
men  by  telling  them  what  a  good  sign  it  was  that  we  were  not 
as  badly  off  yet  as  we  had  feared  ;  and  then  communicated 
what  instructions  I  had  to  give,  to  William  Rames,  who  was 
to  be  left  in  command  in  my  place  Avhen  I  took  charge  of  the 
long-boat.  After  that,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to 
wait  for  the  chance  of  the  wind  dropping  at  sunset,  and  the  sea 
going  down  afterward,  so  as  to  enable  our  weak  crews  to  lay 
the  two  boats  alongside  of  each  other,  without  undue  risk — 
or,  to  put  it  plainer,  without  saddling  ourselves  with  the 
necessity  for  any  extraordinary  exertion  of  strength  or  skill. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     363 

Both  the  one  and  the  other  had  now  been  starved  out  of  us 
for  days  and  days  together. 

At  sunset  the  wind  suddenly  dropped,  but  the  sea,  which 
had  been  running  high  for  so  long  a  time  past,  took  hours 
after  before  it  showed  any  signs  of  getting  to  rest.  The 
moon  was  shining,  the  sky  was  wonderfully  clear,  and  it 
could  not  have  been,  according  to  my  calculations,  far  off 
midnight,  when  the  long,  slow,  regular  swell  of  the  calming 
ocean  fairly  set  in,  and  I  took  the  responsibility  of  lessening 
the  distance  between  the  long-boat  and  ourselves. 

It  was,  I  dare  say,  a  delusion  of  mine  ;  but  I  thought  I 
had  never  seen  the  moon  shine  so  white  and  ghastly  any- 
where, either  at  sea  or  on  land,  as  she  shone  that  night  while 
we  were  approaching  our  companions  in  misery.  When  there 
was  not  much  more  than  a  boat's  length  between  us,  and  the 
white  light  streamed  cold  and  clear  over  all  our  faces,  both 
crews  rested  on  their  oars  with  one  great  shudder,  and  stared 
over  the  gunwale  of  either  boat,  panic-stricken  at  the  first 
sight  of  each  other. 

"Any  lives  lost  among  you?"  I  asked,  in  the  midst  of 
that  frightful  silence. 

The  men  in  the  long-boat  huddled  together  like  sheep  at 
the  sound  of  my  voice. 

11  None  yet,  but  the  child,  thanks  be  to  God  !  "  answered 
one  among  them. 

And  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  all  my  men  shrank  together 
like  the  men  in  the  long-boat.  I  was  afraid  to  let  the  horror 
produced  by  our  first  meeting  at  close  quarters  after  the 
dreadful  changes  that  wet,  cold,  and  famine  had  produced, 
last  one  moment  longer  than  could  be  helped  ;  so,  without 
giving  time  for  any  more  questions  and  answers,  I  com- 
manded the  men  to  lay  the  two  boats  close  alongside  of 
each  other.  When  I  rose  up  and  committed  the  tiller  to 
the  hands  of  Rames,  all  my  poor  fellows  raised  their  white 
faces  imploringly  to  mine.  "  "  Don't  leave  us,  sir,"  they  said, 
"  don't  leave  us."  "  I  leave  you,"  says  I,  "under  the  com- 
mand and  the  guidance  of  Mr.  William  Rames,  as  good  a 
sailor  as  I  am,  and  as  trusty  and  kind  a  man  as  ever  stepped. 
Do  your  duty  by  him,  as  you  have  done  it  by  me  ;  and 
remember  to  the  last,  that  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope. 
God  bless  and  help  you  all  !  "  With  those  words  I  collected 
what  strength  I  had  left,  caught  at  two  arms  that  were  held 
out  to  me,  and  so  got  from  the  stern-sheets  of  one  boat  into 
the  stern-sheets  of  the  other. 


364  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY. 

"  Mind  where  you  step,  sir,"  whispered  one  of  the  men 
who  had  helped  me  into  the  long-boat.  I  looked  down  as 
he  spoke.  Three  figures  were  huddled  up  below  me,  with 
the  moonshine  falling  on  them  in  ragged  streaks  through  the 
gaps  between  the  men  standing  or  sitting  above  them.  The 
first  face  I  made  out  was  the  face  of  Miss  Coleshaw  :  her 
eyes  were  wide  open  and  fixed  on  me.  She  seemed  still  to 
keep  her  senses,  and,  by  the  alternate  parting  and  closing  of 
her  lips,  to  be  trying  to  speak,  but  I  could  not  hear  that  she 
uttered  a  single  word.  On  her  shoulder  rested  the  head  of 
Mrs.  Atherfield.  The  mother  of  our  poor  little  Golden 
Lucy  must,  I  think,  have  been  dreaming  of  the  child  she 
had  lost  ;  for  there  was  a  faint  smile  just  ruffling  the  white 
stillness  of  her  face,  when  I  first  saw  it  turned  upward,  with 
peaceful,  closed  eyes  toward  the  heavens.  From  her,  I 
looked  down  a  little,  and  there,  with  his  head  on  her  lap, 
and  with  one  of  her  hands  resting  tenderly  on  his  cheek — 
there  lay  the  captain,  to  whose  help  and  guidance,  up  to 
this  miserable  time,  we  had  never  looked  in  vain — there, 
worn  out  at  last  in  our  service,  and  for  our  sakes,  lay  the 
best  and  bravest  man  of  all  our  company.  I  stole  my  hand 
in  gently  through  his  clothes  and  laid  it  on  his  heart,  and 
felt  a  little  feeble  warmth  over  it,  though  my  cold,  dulled 
touch  could  not  detect  even  the  faintest  beating.  The  two 
men  in  the  stern- sheets  with  me,  noticing  what  I  was  doing 
— knowing  I  loved  him  like  a  brother — and  seeing,  I  suppose, 
more  distress  in  my  face  than  I  myself  was  conscious  of  its 
showing,  lost  command  over  themselves  altogether,  and 
burst  into  a  piteous  moaning,  sobbing  lamentation  over  him. 
One  of  the  two  drew  aside  a  jacket  from  his  feet,  and  showed 
me  that  they  were  bare,  except  where  a  wet,  ragged  strip  of 
stocking  still  clung  to  one  of  them.  When  the  ship  struck 
the  iceberg,  he  had  run  on  deck,  leaving  his  shoes  in  his 
cabin.  All  through  the  voyage  in  the  boat  his  feet  had  been 
unprotected  ;  and  not  a  soul  had  discovered  it  until  he 
dropped  !  As  long  as  he  could  keep  his  eyes  open,  the 
very  look  of  them  had  cheered  the  men,  and  comforted 
and  upheld  the  women.  Not  one  living  creature  in  the 
boat,  with  any  sense  about  him,  but  had  felt  the  good  in- 
fluence of  that  brave  man  in  one  way  or  another.  Not 
one  but  had  heard  him,  over  and  over  again,  give  the  credit 
to  others  which  was  due  only  to  himself ;  praising  this 
man  for  patience,  and  thanking  that  man  for  help,  when 
the  patience  and  the  help  had  really  and  truly,  as  to  the 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY.     365 

best  part  of  both,  come  only  from  him.  All  this,  and  much 
more,  I  heard  pouring  confusedly  from  the  men's  lips  while 
they  crouched  down,  sobbing  and  crying  over  their  com- 
mander, and  wrapping  the  jacket  as  warmly  and  tenderly 
as  they  could  over  his  cold  feet.  It  went  to  my  heart  to 
check  them  ;  but  I  knew  that  if  this  lamenting  spirit  spread 
any  further  all  chance  of  keeping  alight  any  last  sparks  of 
hope  and  resolution  among  the  boat's  company  would  bf 
lost  forever.  Accordingly  I  sent  them  to  their  places,  spokt 
a  few  encouraging  words  to  the  men  forward,  promising  to 
serve  out,  when  the  morning  came,  as  much  as  I  dared  of 
any  eatable  thing  left  in  the  lockers  ;  called  to  Rames,  in 
my  old  boat,  to  keep  as  near  us  as  he  safely  could  ;  drew 
the  garments  and  coverings  of  the  two  poor  suffering  women 
more  closely  about  them  ;  and,  with  a  secret  prayer  to  be 
directed  for  the  best  in  bearing  the  awful  responsibility  now 
laid  on  my  shoulders,  took  my  captain's  vacant  place  at  the 
helm  of  the  long-boat. 

This,  as  well  as  I  can  tell  it,  is  the  full  and  true  account 
of  how' I  came  to  be  placed  in  charge  of  the  lost  passengers 
and  crew  of  the  Golden  Mary,  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
seventh  day  after  the  ship  struck  the  iceberg,  and  foundered 
at  sea. 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  ENGLISH 
PRISONERS. 

[1857.] 
IN    TWO    CHAPTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    ISLAND    OF    SILVER-STORE. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  forty-four,  that  I,  Gill  Davis  to  command,  his 
mark,  having  then  the  honor  to  be  a  private  in  the  Royal 
Marines,  stood  a-leaning  over  the  bulwarks  of  the  armed 
sloop  Christopher  Columbus,  in  the  South  American  waters 
off  the  Musquito  shore. 

My  lady  remarks  to  me,  before  I  go  any  further,  that 
there  is  no  such  Christian-name  as  Gill,  and  that  her 
confident  opinion  is,  that  the  name  given  to  me  in  the 
baptism  wherein  I  was  made,  etc.,  was  Gilbert.  She  is 
certain  to  be  right,  but  I  never  heard  of  it.  I  was  a  found- 
ling child,  picked  up  somewhere  or  another,  and  I  always 
understood  my  Christian-name  to  be  Gill,  it  is  true  that  I 
was  called  Gills  when  employed  at  Snorridge  Bottom  betwixt 
Chatham  and  Maidstone  to  frighten  birds  ;  but  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  baptism  wherein  I  was  made,  etc., 
and  wherein  a  number  of  things  were  promised  for  me  by 
somebody,  who  let  me  alone  ever  afterward  as  to  perform- 
ing any  of  them,  and  who,  I  consider,  must  have  been  the 
beadle.  Such  name  of  Gills  was  entirely  owing  to  my 
cheeks,  or  gills,  which  at  that  time  of  my  life  were  of  a  raspy 
description. 

My  lady  stops  me  again,  before  I  go  any  further,  by  laugh- 
ing exactly  in  her  old  way  and  waving  the  feather  of  her 
pen  at  me.  That  action  on  her  part  calls  to  my  mind  as  I 
look  at  her  hand  with  the  rings  on  it — Well !  I  won't !     To 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  367 

be  sure  it  will  come  in,  in  its  own  place.  But  it's  always 
strange  to  me,  noticing  the  quiet  hand,  and  noticing  it  (as 
I  have  done,  you  know,  so  many  times)  a-fondling  children 
and  grandchildren  asleep,  to  think  that  when  blood  and 
honor  were  up — there  !  I  won't !  not  at  present ! — Scratch  it 
out. 

She  won't  scratch  it  out,  and  quite  honorable  ;  because 
we  have  made  an  understanding  that  every  thing  is  to  be 
taken  down,  and  that  nothing  that  is  once  taken  down  shall 
be  scratched  out.  I  have  the  great  misfortune  of  not  being 
able  to  read  and  write,  and  I  am  speaking  my  true  and  faith- 
ful account  of  these  adventures,  and  my  lady  is  writing  it, 
word  for  word. 

I  say,  there  I  was,  a-leaning  over  the  bulwarks  of  the  sloop 
Christopher  Columbus,  in  the  South  American  waters  off  the 
Musquito  shore  ;  a  subject  of  his  gracious  majesty  King 
George  of  England,  and  a  private  in  the  Royal  Marines. 

In  those  climates  you  don't  want  to  do  much.  I  was 
doing  nothing.  I  was  thinking  of  the  shepherd  (my  father, 
I  wonder  ?)  on  the  hill-sides  by  Snorridge  Bottom,  with  a 
long  staff,  and  with  a  rough  white  coat  in  all  weathers  all 
the  year  round,  who  used  to  let  me  lie  in  a  corner  of  his  hut 
by  night,  and  who  used  to  let  me  go  about  with  him  and  his 
sheep  by  day  when  I  could  get  nothing  else  to  do,  and  who 
used  to  give  me  so  little  of  his  victuals  and  so  much  of  his 
staff,  that  I  ran  away  from  him — which  was  what  he  wanted 
all  along,  I  expect — to  be  knocked  about  the  world  in  pref- 
erence to  Snorridge  Bottom.  I  had  been  knocked  about 
the  world  for  nine-and-twenty  years  in  all,  when  I  stood 
looking  along  those  bright  blue  South  American  waters. 
Looking  after  the  shepherd,  I  may  say.  Watching  him  in  a 
half-waking  dream,  with  my  eyes  half  shut,  as  he  and  his 
flock  of  sheep,  and  his  two  dogs,  seemed  to  move  away  from 
the  ship's  side,  far  away  over  the  blue  water,  and  to  go  right 
down  into  the  sky. 

"  It's  rising  out  of  the  water,  steady,"  a  voice  said  close  to 
me.  I  had  been  thinking  on  so,  that  it  like  woke  me  with  a 
start,  though  it  was  no  stranger  voice  than  the  voice  of  Harry 
Charker,  my  own  comrade. 

"  What's  rising  out  of  the  waters,  steady,"  I  asked  my 
comrade. 

"  What  ? "  says  he.     "  The  island." 

"Oh  !  The  island  !"  says  I,  turning  my  eyes  toward  it. 
"  True.     I  forgot  the  island." 


$68         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

'"'Fdrgot  the  port  you're  going  to  ?    That's  odd,  ain't  it  ? " 

*  ir  is  odd,"  says  I. 

"And  odd,"  he  said,  slowly  considering  with  himself, 
"ain't  even  ;  is  it,  Gill?" 

He  had  always  a  remark  just  like  that  to  make,  and  sel- 
dom another.  As  soon  as  he  had  brought  a  thing  round  to 
what  it  was  not,  he  was  satisfied.  He  was  one  of  the  best 
of  men,  and,  in  a  certain  sort  of  a  way,  one  with  the  least  to 
say  for  himself.  I  qualify  it,  because,  besides  being  able  to 
read  and  write  like  a  quartermaster,  he  had  always  one 
most  excellent  idea  in  his  mind.  That  was  duty.  Upon 
my  soul,  I  don't  believe,  though  I  admire  learning  beyond 
every  thing,  that  he  could  have  got  a  better  idea  out  of  all 
the  books  in  the  world,  if  he  had  learned  them  every  word, 
and  been  the  cleverest  of  scholars. 

My  comrade  and  I  had  been  quartered  in  Jamaica,  and 
from  there  we  had  been  drafted  off  to  the  British  settlement 
of  Belize,  lying  away  west  and  north  of  the  Musquito  coast. 
At  Belize  there  had  been  great  alarm  of  one  cruel  gang  of 
pirates  (there  were  always  more  pirates  than  enough  in  those 
Caribbean  Seas),  and  as  they  got  the  better  of  our  English 
cruisers  by  running  into  out-of-the-way  creeks  and  shallows, 
and  taking  the  land  when  they  were  hotly  pressed,  the  gov- 
ernor of  Belize  had  received  orders  from  home  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  them  along  shore.  Now  there  was  an 
armed  sloop  came  once  a  year  from  Port  Royal,  Jamaica,  to 
the  island,  laden  with  all  manner  of  necessaries  to  eat  and 
to  drink,  and  to  wear,  and  to  use  in  various  ways  ;  and  it 
was  aboard  of  that  sloop  which  had  touched  at  Belize  that  I 
was  a-standing,  leaning  over  the  bulwarks. 

The  island  was  occupied  by  a  very  small  English  colony. 
It  had  been  given  the  name  of  Silver-Store.  The  reason  of 
its  being  so  called  was,  that  the  English  colony  owned  and 
worked  a  silver  mine  over  on  the  mainland,  in  Honduras, 
and  used  this  island  as  a  safe  and  convenient  place  to  store 
their  silver  in,  until  it  was  annually  fetched  away  by  the 
sloop.  It  was  brought  down  from  the  mine  to  the  coast  on 
the  backs  of  mules,  attended  by  friendly  Indians  and  guarded 
by  white  men  ;  from  thence  it  was  conveyed  over  to  Silver- 
Store,  when  the  weather  was  fair,  in  the  canoes  of  that 
country  ;  from  Silver-Store  it  was  carried  to  Jamaica  by  the 
armed  sloop  once  a  year,  as  I  have  already  mentioned  ;  from 
Jamaica  it  went,  of  course,  all  over  the  world. 

How  I  came  to  be  aboard  the  armed  sloop,  is  easily  told. 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  369 

Four-and-twenty  marines  under  command  of  a  lieutenant — 
that  officer's  name  was  Linderwood — had  been  told  off  at 
Belize,  to  proceed  to  Silver-Store,  in  aid  of  boats  and  sea- 
men stationed  there  for  the  chase  of  the  pirates.  The  island 
was  considered  a  good  post  of  observation  against  the  pi- 
rates, both  by  land  and  sea  ;  neither  the  pirate  ship  nor  yet 
her  boats  had  been  seen  by  any  of  us,  but  they  had  been 
so  much  heard  of,  that  the  re-enforcement  was  sent.  Of 
that  party,  I  was  one.  It  included  a  corporal  and  a  ser- 
geant. Charker  was  corporal,  and  the  sergeant's  name  was 
Drooce.  He  was  the  most  tyrannical  non-commissioned 
officer  in  his  majesty's  service. 

The  night  came  on,  soon  after  I  had  had  the  foregoing 
words  with  Charker.  All  the  wonderful  bright  colors  went 
out  of  the  sea  and  sky  in  a  few  minutes,  and  all  the  stars 
in  the  heavens  seemed  to  shine  out  together,  and  to  look 
down  at  themselves  in  the  sea,  over  one  another's  shoulders, 
millions  deep.  Next  morning,  we  cast  anchor  off  the  island. 
There  was  a  snug  harbor  within  a  little  reef  ;  there  was  a 
sandy  beach  ;  there  were  cocoanut  trees  with  high,  straight 
stems,  quite  bare,  and  foliage  at  the  top  like  plumes  of 
magnificent  green  feathers  ;  there  were  all  the  objects  that 
are  usually  seen  in  those  parts,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
describe  them,  having  something  else  to  tell  about. 

Great  rejoicings,  to  be  sure,  were  made  on  our  arrival. 
All  the  flags  in  the  place  were  hoisted,  all  the  guns  in  the 
place  were  fired,  and  all  the  people  in  the  place  came  down 
to  look  at  us.  One  of  those  Sambo  fellows — they  call  those 
natives  Sambos,  when  they  are  half  negro  and  half  Indian 
— had  come  off  outside  the  reef,  to  pilot  us  in,  and  remained 
on  board  after  we  had  let  go  our  anchor.  He  was  called 
Christian  George  King,  and  was  fonder  of  all  hands  than 
any  body  else  was.  Now,  I  confess,  for  myself,  that  on  that 
first  day,  if  I  had  been  captain  of  the  Christopher  Columbus 
instead  of  private  in  the  Royal  Marines,  I  should  have  kicked 
Christian  George  King — who  was  no  more  a  Christian  than 
he  was  a  King  or  a  George — over  the  side,  without  exactly 
knowing  why,  except  that  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do. 

But  I  must  likewise  confess  that  I  was  not  in  a  parti- 
cularly pleasant  humor,  when  I  stood  under  arms  that 
morning,  aboard  the  Christopher  Columbus  in  the  harbor 
of  the  Island  of  Silver-Store.  I  had  had  a  hard  life,  and  the 
life  of  the  English  on  the  island  seemed  to  be  too  easy  and 
too  gay,  to  please  me.     "  Here  you  are,  I  thought  to  myself, 


37o         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"  good  scholars  and  good  livers  ;  able  to  read  what  you  like, 
able  to  write  what  you  like,  able  to  eat  and  drink  what  you 
like,  and  spend  what  you  like,  and  do  what  you  like  ;  and 
much  y&u  care  for  a  poor,  ignorant  private  in  the  Royal 
Marines  !  Yet  it's  hard,  too,  I  think,  that  you  should  have 
all  the  half-pence  and  I  all  the  kicks  ;  you  all  the  smooth 
and  I  all  the  rough  ;  you  all  the  oil,  and  I  all  the  vinegar." 
It  was  as  envious  a  thing  to  think  as  might  be,  let  alone  its 
being  nonsensical  ;  but  I  thought  it.  I  took  it  so  much 
amiss,  that,  when  a  very  beautiful  young  English  lady  came 
aboard,  I  grunted  to  myself,  "  Ah  !  you  have  got  a  lover, 
I'll  be  bound  !  "  As  if  there  was  any  new  offense  to  me  in 
that,  if  she  had  ! 

She  was  sister  to  the  captain  of  our  sloop,  who  had  been 
in  a  poor  way  for  some  time,  and  who  was  so  ill  then  that 
he  was  obliged  to  be  carried  ashore.  She  was  the  child  of 
a  military  officer,  and  had  come  out  there  with  her  sister, 
who  was  married  to  one  of  the  owners  of  the  silver-mine, 
and  who  had  three  children  with  her.  It  was  easy  to  see 
that  she  was  the  light  and  spirit  of  the  island.  After  I  had 
got  a  good  look  at  her,  I  grunted  to  myself  again,  in  an 
even  worse  state  of  mind  than  before,  "  I'll  be  damned  if  I 
don't  hate  him,  whoever  he  is  !  " 

My  officer,  Lieutenant  Linderwood,  was  as  ill  as  the  cap- 
tain of  the  sloop,  and  was  carried  ashore,  too.  They  were 
both  young  men  of  about  my  age,  who  had  been  delicate 
in  the  West  India  climate.  I  even  took  that  in  bad  part. 
I  thought  I  was  much  fitter  for  the  work  than  they  were, 
and  that  if  all  of  us  had  our  deserts,  I  should  be  both  of 
them  rolled  into  one.  (It  may  be  imagined  what  sort  of  an 
officer  of  marines  I  should  have  made,  without  the  power 
of  reading  a  written  order.  And  as  to  any  knowledge  how 
to  command  the  sloop — Lord  !  I  should  have  sunk  her  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  !) 

However,  such  were  my  reflections  ;  and  when,  we  men 
were  ashore  and  dismissed,  I  strolled  about  the  place  along 
with  Charker,  making  my  observations  in  a  similar  spirit. 

It  was  a  pretty  place  ;  in  all  its  arrangements  partly  South 
"American  and  partly  English,  and  very  agreeable  to  look  at  on 
that  account,  being  like  a  bit  of  home  that  had  got  clipped  off 
and  had  floated  away  to  that  spot,  accommodating  itself  to  cir- 
cumstances as  it  drifted  along.  The  huts  of  the  Sambos,  to 
the  number  of  five-and-twenty,  perhaps,  were  down  by  the 
beach  to  the  left  of  the  anchorage.     On  the  right  was  a  sort  of 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  371 

barrack,  with  a  South  American  flag  and  the  Union  Jack,  fly- 
ing from  the  same  staff,  where  the  little  English  colony  could 
all  come  together,  if  they  saw  occasion.  It  was  a  walled  square 
of  building,  with  a  sort  of  pleasure-ground  inside,  and  inside 
that  again  a  sunken  block  like  a  powder  magazine,  with  a 
little  square  trench  round  it,  and  steps  down  to  the  door. 
Charker  and  I  were  looking  in  at  the  gate,  which  was  not 
guarded  ;  and  I  had  said  to  Charker,  in  reference  to  the  bit 
like  a  powder  magazine,  "  That's  where  they  keep  the  silver 
you  see  ;  "  and  Charker  had  said  to  me,  after  thinking  it 
over,  "  And  silver  ain't  gold.  Is  it,  Gill  ?  "  when  the  beau- 
tiful young  English  lady  I  had  been  so  bilious  about,  looked  out 
of  a  door,  or  a  window — at  all  events  looked  out,  from  un- 
der a  bright  awning.  She  no  sooner  saw  us  two  in  uniform, 
than  she  came  out  so  quickly  that  she  was  still  putting  on 
her  broad  Mexican  hat  of  plaited  straw  when  we  saluted. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  in,"  she  said,  "  and  see  the 
place  ?     It  is  rather  a  curious  place." 

We  thanked  the  young  lady,  and  said  we  didn't  wish  to  be 
troublesome  ;  but  she  said  it  could  be  no  trouble  to  an 
English  soldier's  daughter,  to  show  English  soldiers  how 
their  countrymen  and  countrywomen  fared,  so  far  away 
from  England  ;  and  consequently  we  saluted  again,  and 
went  in.  Then  as  we  stood  in  the  shade,  she  showed  us 
(being  as  affable  as  beautiful),  how  the  different  families 
lived  in  their  separate  houses,  and  how  there  was  a  general 
house  for  stores,  and  a  general  reading-room,  and  a  general 
room  for  music  and  dancing,  and  a  room  for  church  ;  and 
how  there  were  other  houses  on  the  rising  ground  called  the 
Signal  Hill,  where  they  lived  in  the  hottest  weather. 

"  Your  officer  has  been  carried  up  there,"  she  said,  "and 
my  brother,  too,  for  the  better  air.  At  present,  our  few  resi- 
dents are  dispersed  over  both  spots  ;  deducting,  that  is  to 
say,  such  of  our  number  as  are  always  going  to,  or  always 
staying  at,  the  mine." 

("  He  is  among  one  of  those  parties,"  I  thought,  "  and  I 
wish  somebody  would  knock  his  head  off." 

11  Some  of  our  married  ladies  live  here,"  she  said,  "  during 
at  least  half  the  year,  as  lonely  as  widows,  with  their  children." 

"  Many  children  here,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Seventeen.  There  are  thirteen  married  ladies,  and 
there  are  eight  like  me." 

There  were  not  eight  like  her — there  was  not  one  like  her 
— in  the  world.     She  meant  single. 


372         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"Which,  with  about  thirty  Englishmen  of  various  de- 
grees," said  the  young  lady,  "  from  the  little  colony  now  on 
the  island.  I  don't  count  the  sailors,  for  they  don't  belong 
to  us.  Nor  the  soldiers,"  she  gave  us  a  gracious  smile  when 
she  spoke  of  the  soldiers,  "  for  the  same  reason." 

"  Nor  the  Sambos,  ma'am,"  said  I. 

"  No." 

"  Under  your  favor,  and  with  your  leave,  ma'am,"  said  I, 
"  are  they  trustworthy  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  We  are  all  very  kind  to  them,  and  they  are 
very  grateful  to  us." 

"  Indeed,  ma'am  ?    Now — Christian  George  King  ! " 

"  Very  much  attached  to  us  all.     Would  die  for  us." 

She  was,  as  in  my  uneducated  way  I  have  observed  very 
beautiful  women  almost  always  to  be,  so  composed,  that  her 
composure  gave  great  weight  to  what  she  said,  and  I  be- 
lieved it. 

Then  she  pointed  out  to  us  the  building  like  a  powder 
magazine,  and  explained  to  us  in  what  manner  the  silver  was 
brought  from  the  mine,  and  was  brought  over  from  the 
mainland,  and  was  stored  there.  The  Christopher  Columbus 
would  have  a  rich  lading,  she  said,  for  there  had  been  a 
great  yield  that  year,  a  much  richer  yield  than  usual,  and 
there  was  a  chest  of  jewels  beside  the  silver. 

When  we  had  looked  about  us,  and  were  getting  sheepish, 
through  fearing  we  were  troublesome,  she  turned  us  over  to  a 
young  woman,  English  born  but  West  India  bred,  who 
served  her  as  her  maid.  This  young  woman  was  the  widow 
of  a  non-commissioned  officer  in  a  regiment  of  the  line.  She 
had  got  married  and  widowed  at  St.  Vincent,  with  only  a  few 
months  between  the  two  events.  She  was  a  little  saucy  wo- 
man, with  a  bright  pair  of  eyes,  rather  a  neat  little  foot  and 
figure,  and  rather  a  little  turned-up  nose.  The  sort  of  young 
woman,  I  considered  at  the  time,  who  appeared  to  invite 
you  to  give  her  a  kiss,  and  who  would  have  slapped  your 
face  if  you  accepted  the  invitation. 

I  couldn't  make  out  her  name  at  first  ;  for,  when  she  gave 
it  in  answer  to  my  inquiry,  it  sounded  likeBeltot,  which  didn't 
sound  right.  But  when  we  became  better  acquainted — which 
was  while  Charker  and  I  were  drinking  sugar-cane  sangaree, 
which  she  made  in  a  most  excellent  manner — I  found  that  her 
Christian  name  was  Isabella,  which  they  shortened  into  Bell, 
and  that  the  name  of  the  deceased  non-commissioned  officer 
was  Tott.  Being  the  kind  of  neat  little  woman  it  was  natural 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  373 

to  make  a  toy  of — I  never  saw  a  woman  so  like  a  toy  in  my 
life — she  had  got  the  plaything  name  of  Belltott.  In  short, 
she  had  no  other  name  on  the  island.  Even  Mr.  Commis- 
sioner Pordage  (and  he  was  a  grave  one  !)  formally  addressed 
her  as  Mrs.  Belltott.  But  I  shall  come  to  Mr.  Commissioner 
Pordage  presently. 

The  name  of  the  captain  of  the  sloop  was  Captain  Maryon, 
and  therefore  it  was  no  news  to  hear  from  Mrs.  Belltott  that 
his  sister,  the  beautiful  unmarried  young  English  lady,  was 
Miss  Maryon.  The  novelty  was,  that  her  Christian  name  was 
Marion  too.  Marion  Ma'ryon.  Many  a  time  I  have  run  off 
those  two  names  in  my  thoughts,  like  a  bit  of  verse.  Oh 
many,  and  many,  and  many  a  time  ! 

We  saw  out  all  the  drink  that  was  produced,  like  good 
men  and  true,  and  then  took  our  leaves,  and  went  down  to 
the  beach.  The  weather  was  beautiful ;  the  wind  steady, 
low,  and  gentle  ;  the  island,  a  picture  ;  the  sea,  a  picture  ; 
the  sky,  a  picture.  In  that  country  there  are  two  rainy  sea- 
sons in  the  year.  One  sets  in  at  about  our  English  midsum- 
mer ;  the  other,  about  a  fortnight  after  our  English  Michael- 
mas. It  was  the  beginning  of  August  at  that  time  ;  the  first 
of  these  rainy  seasons  was  well  over  ;  and  every  thing  was  in 
its  most  beautiful  growth,  and  had  its  loveliest  look 
upon  it. 

"  They  enjoy  themselves  here,"  I  says  to  Charker,  turning 
surly.     "  This  is  better  than  private-soldiering." 

We  had  come  down  to  the  beach,  to  be  friendly  with  the 
boat's-crew  who  were  camped  and  hutted  there  ;  and  we  were 
approaching  toward  their  quarters  over  the  sand,  when 
Christian  George  King  comes  up  from  the  landing-place  at  a 
wolf's  trot,  crying,  "  Yup,  So- Jeer  !  "—which  was  that  Sambo 
pilot's  barbarous  way  of  saying,  Halloo,  Soldier  !  I  have 
stated  myself  to  be  a  man  of  no  learning,  and,  if  I  entertain 
certain  prejudices,  I  hope  allowance  may  be  made.  I  will 
now  confess  to  one.  It  may  be  a  right  one  or  it  may  be  a 
wrong  one  ;  but  I  never  did  like  natives,  except  in  the  form 
of  oysters. 

So,  when  Christian  George  King,  who  was  individually  un- 
pleasant to  me  besides,  comes  a-trotting  along  the  sand, 
clucking  "  Yup,  So-Jeer  !  "  I  had  a  thundering  good  mind 
to  let  fly  at  him  with  my  right.  I  certainly  should  have 
done,  but  that  it  would  have  exposed  me  to  reprimand. 

'-  Yup,  So-Jeer  !  '   says  he.     "  Bad  job." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  says  I, 


374         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"  Yup,  So-Jeer  !  "  says  he,  "  ship  leakee." 

"  Ship  leaky  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Iss,"  says  he,  with  a  nod  that  looked  as  if  it  were  jerked 
out  of  him  by  a  most  violent  hiccup — which  is  the  way  with 
those  savages. 

I  cast  my  eyes  at  Charker,  and  we  both  heard  the  pumps 
going  aboard  the  sloop,  and  saw  the  signal  run  up,  "  Come 
on  board  ;  hands  wanted  from  the  shore."  In  no  time  some 
of  the  sloop's  liberty-men  were  already  running  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  the  party  of  seamen,  under  orders  against 
the  pirates,  were  putting  off  to  the  Columbus  in  two  boats. 

"  Oh  Christian  George  King,  sar,  berry  sorry  !  "  says  that 
Sambo  vagabond,  then.  "  Christian  George  King  cry,  En- 
glish fashion  !  "  His  English  fashion  of  crying  was  to  screw 
his  black  knuckles  into  his  eyes,  howl  like  a  dog,  and  roll 
himself  on  his  back  on  the  sand.  It  was  trying  not  to  kick 
him,  but  I  gave  Charker  the  word,  '*  Double-quick,  Harry  !  " 
and  we  got  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  got  on  board  the 
sloop. 

By  some  means  or  other,  she  had  sprung  such  a  leak,  that 
no  pumping  would  keep  her  free  ;  and  what  between  the  two 
fears  "that  she  would  go  down  in  the  harbor,  and  that,  even 
if  she  did  not,  all  the  supplies  she  had  brought  for  the  little 
colony  would  be  destroyed  by  the  sea-water  as  it  rose  in  her, 
there  was  great  confusion.  In  the  midst  of  it,  Captain  Ma- 
ryon  was  heard  hailing  from  the  beach.  He  had  been  car- 
ried down  in  his  hammock,  and  looked  very  bad  ;  but  he 
insisted  on  being  stood  there  on  his  feet  ;  and  I  saw  him, 
myself,  come  off  in  the  boat,  sitting  upright  in  the  stern- 
sheets,  as  if  nothing  was  wrong  with  him. 

A  quick  sort  of  council  was  held,  and  Captain  Maryon 
soon  resolved  that  we  must  all  fall  to  work  to  get  the  cargo 
out,  and  when  that  was  done,  the  guns  and  heavy  matters 
must  be  got  out,  and  that  the  sloop  must  be  hauled  ashore 
and  careened,  and  the  leak  stopped.  We  were  all  mustered 
(the  pirate-chase  party  volunteering),  and  told  off  into  par- 
ties, with  so  many  hours  of  spell  and  so  many  hours  of  re- 
lief, and  we  all  went  at  it  with  a  will.  Christian  George 
King  was  entered  one  of  the  party  in  which  I  worked,  at  his 
own  request,  and  he  went  at  it  with  as  good  a  will  as  any  of 
the  rest.  He  went  at  it  with  so  much  heartiness,  to  say  the 
truth,  that  he  rose  in  my  good  opinion  almost  as  fast  as  the 
water  rose  in  the  ship.     Which  was  fast  enough,  and  faster. 

Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage  kept  in  a  red-and-black  ja- 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  375 

panned  box,  like  a  family  lump-sugar  box,  some  document 
of  other,  which  some  Sambo  chief  or  other  had  got  drunk 
and  spilled  some  ink  over  (as  well  as  I  could  understand  the 
matter),  and  by  that  means  had  given  up  lawful  possession 
of  the  island.  Through  having  hold  of  this  box,  Mr.  Pord- 
age  got  his  title  of  commissioner.  He  was  styled  consul  too, 
and  spoke  of  himself  as  ''government." 

He  was  a  stiff-jointed,  high-nosed  old  gentleman,  without 
an  ounce  of  fat  on  him,  of  a  very  angry  temper,  and  a  very 
yellow  complexion.  Mrs.  Commissioner  Pordage,  making 
allowance  for  difference  of  sex,  was  much  of  the  same.  Mr. 
Kitten,  a  small,  youngish,  bald,  botanical  and  mineralogical 
gentleman,  also  connected  with  the  mine — but  every  body 
there  was  that,  more  or  less — was  sometimes  called  by  Com- 
missioner Pordage,  his  vice-commissioner,  and  sometimes 
his  deputy-consul.  Or  sometimes  he  spoke  of  Mr.  Kitten, 
merely  as  being  "  under  government." 

The  beach  was  beginning  to  be  a  lively  scene  with  the 
preparations  for  careening  the  sloop,  and  with  cargo,  and 
spars,  and  rigging,  and  water-casks,  dotted  about  it,  and  with 
temporary  quarters  for  the  men  rising  up  there  out  of  such 
sails  and  odds  and  ends  as  could  be  best  set  on  one  side  to 
make  them,  when  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage  comes  down 
in  a  high  fluster,  and  asks  for  Captain  Maryon.  The  cap- 
tain, ill  as  he  was,  was  slung  in  his  hammock  betwixt  two 
trees,  that  he  might  direct  ;  and  he  raised  his  head,  and 
answered  for  himself. 

"  Captain  Maryon,"  cries  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage, 
"  this  is  not  official.     This  is  not  regular." 

"Sir,"  says  the  captain,  "it  hath  been  arranged  with  the 
clerk  and  supercargo,  that  you  should  be  communicated  with, 
and  requested  to  render  any  little  assistance  that  may  lie  in 
your  power.     I  am  quite  certain  that  hath  been  duly  done." 

"  Captain  Maryon,"  replies  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage, 
"  there  hath  been  no  written  correspondence.  No  docu  • 
ments  have  passed,  no  memoranda  have  been  made,  no  min- 
utes have  been  made,  no  entries  and  counter-entries  appear 
in  the  official  muniments.  This  is  indecent.  I  call  upon 
you,  sir,  to  desist,  until  all  is  regular,  or  government  will 
take  this  up." 

"  Sir,"  says  Captain  Maryon,  chafing  a  little,  as  he  looked 
out  of  his  hammock  ;  "between  the  chances  of  government 
taking  this  up,  and  my  ship  taking  herself  down,  I  much  pre- 
fer to  trust  myself  to  the  former/' 


376         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"  You  do,  sir?"  cries  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage. 

"  I  do,  sir,"  says  Captain  Maryon,  lying  down  again. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Kitten,"  says  the  commissioner,  "  send  up 
instantly  for  my  diplomatic  coat." 

He  was  dressed  in  a  linen  suit  at  that  moment  ;  but  Mr. 
Kitten  started  off  himself  and  brought  down  the  diplomatic 
coat,  which  was  a  blue  cloth  one,  gold-laced,  and  with  a 
crown  on  the  button. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Kitten,"  says  Pordage,  "  I  instruct  you  as 
vice-commissioner  and  deputy-consul  of  this  place,  to  de- 
mand of  Captain  Maryon,  of  the  sloop  Christopher  Colum- 
bus, whether  he  drives  me  to  the  act  of  putting  this  coat 
on  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Pordage,"  says  Captain  Maryon,  looking  out  of  his 
hammock  again,  "  as  I  can  hear  what  you  say,  I  can  answer 
it  without  troubling  the  gentleman.  I  should  be  sorry  that 
you  should  be  at  the  pains  of  putting  on  too  hot  a  coat  on 
my  account ;  but,  otherwise,  you  may  put  it  on  hind-side  be- 
fore, or  inside  out,  or  with  your  legs  in  the  sleeves,  or  your 
head  in  the  skirts,  for  any  objection  I  have  to  offer  to  your 
thoroughly  pleasing  self." 

"  Very  good,  Captain  Maryon,"  says  Pordage  in  a  tremen- 
dous passion.  "  Very  good,  sir.  Be  the  consequences  on 
your  own  head  !  Mr.  Kitten,  it  has  come  to  this,  help  me 
on  with  it." 

When  he  had  given  that  order,  he  walked  off  with  the 
coat,  and  all  our  names  were  taken,  and  I  was  afterward 
told  that  Mr.  Kitten  wrote  from  his  dictation  more  than  a 
bushel  of  large  paper  on  the  subject,  which  cost  more  be- 
fore it  was  done  with  than  ever  could  be  calculated,  and 
which  only  got  done  with  after  all,  by  being  lost. 

Our  work  went  on  merrily,  nevertheless,  and  the  Christo- 
pher Columbus,  hauled  up,  lay  helpless  on  her  side  like  a 
great  fish  out  of  water.  While  she  was  in  that  state,  there 
was  a  feast,  or  a  ball,  or  an  entertainment,  or  more  properly 
all  three  together,  given  us  in  honor  of  the  ship,  and  the 
ship's  company,  and  the  other  visitors.  At  that  assembly,  I 
believe,  I  saw  all  the  inhabitants  then  upon  the  island,  without 
any  exception.  I  took  no  particular  notice  of  more  than  a 
few,  but  I  found  it  very  agreeable  in  that  little  corner  of  the 
world  to  see  the  children  who  were  of  all  ages,  and  mostly 
very  pretty — as  they  mostly  are.  There  was  one  handsome 
elderly  lady,  with  very  dark  eyes  and  gray  hair,  that  I  in- 
quired about,     I  was  told  that  her  name  was  Mrs.  Venning  : 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  377 

and  her  married  daughter,  a  very  slight  thing,  was  pointed 
out  to  me  by  the  name  of  Fanny  Fisher.  Quite  a  child  she 
looked,  with  a  little  copy  of  herself  holding  to  her  dress  ; 
and  her  husband  just  come  back  from  the  mine,  exceeding 
proud  of  her.  They  were  a  good-looking  set  of  people  on 
the  whole,  but  I  didn't  like  them.  I  was  out  of  sorts  ;  in 
conversation  with  Charker,  I  found  fault  with  all  of  them. 
I  said  of  Mrs.  Venning,  she  was  proud  ;  of  Mrs.  Fisher, 
she  was  a  delicate  little  baby-fool.  What  did  I  think  of 
this  one  ?  Why,  he  was  a  fine  gentleman.  What  did  I  say  to 
that  one  ?  Why,  she  was  a  fine  lady.  What  could  you  expect 
them  to  be  (I  asked  Charker)  nursed  in  that  climate  with  the 
tropical  night  shining  for  them,  musical  instruments  playing 
to  them,  great  trees  bending  over  them,  soft  lamps  lighting 
them,  fire-flies  sparkling  in  among  them,  bright  flowers  and 
birds  brought  into  existence  to  please  their  eyes,  delicious 
drinks  to  be  had  for  the  pouring  out,  delicious  fruits  tobe 
got  for  the  picking,  and  every  one  dancing  and  murmuring 
happily  in  the  scented  air,  with  the  sea  breaking  low  on  the 
reef  for  a  pleasant  chorus. 

"  Fine  gentlemen  and  fine  ladies,  Harry  ?  "  I  says  to 
Charker.  "  Yes,  I  think  so  !  Dolls  !  Dolls  !  Not  the  sort 
of  stuff  for  wear,  that  comes  of  poor  private  soldiering  in 
the  Royal  Marines  !  " 

However,  I  could  not  gainsay  that  they  were  very  hos- 
pitable people,  and  that  they  treated  us  uncommonly  well. 
Every  man  of  us  was  at  the  entertainment,  and  Mrs.  Belltott 
had  more  partners  than  she  could  dance  with  ;  though  she 
danced  all  night,  too.  As  to  Jack  (whether  of  the  Christo- 
pher Columbus,  or  of  the  pirate  pursuit  party,  it  made  no 
difference),  he  danced  with  his  brother  Jack,  danced  with 
himself,  danced  with  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  trees,  the  pros- 
pect, any  thing.  I  didn't  greatly  take  to  the  chief  officer  of 
that'party,  with  his  bright  eyes,  brown  face,  and  easy  figure. 
I  didn't  much  like  his  way  when  he  first  happened  to  come 
where  we  were,  with  Miss  Maryon  on  his  arm.  "  Oh,  Cap- 
tain Carton,"  she  says,  "here  are  two  friends  of  mine  !  " 
He  says,  "  Indeed  ?  These  two  marines  ?  "—meaning 
Charker  and  self.  "  Yes,"  says  she,  "  I  showed  these  two 
friends  of  mine  when  they  first  came,  all  the  wonders  of 
Silver-Store."  He  gave  us  a  laughing  look,  and  says  he, 
"You  are  in  luck,  men.  I  would  be  disrated  and  go  before 
the  mast  to-morrow,  to  be  shown  the  way  upward  again  by 
such  a  guide.     You  are  in  luck,  men."     When  he  had  sa- 


J78         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

luted,  and  he  and  the  young  lady  had  waltzed  away,  I  said, 
"  You  are  a  pretty  fellow,  too,  to  talk  of  luck.  You  may  go 
to  the  devil  !  " 

Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage  and  Mrs.  Commissioner 
showed  among  the  company  on  that  occasion  like  the  King 
and  Queen  of  a  much  Greater  Britain  than  Great  Britain. 
Only  two  other  circumstances  in  that  jovial  night  made  much 
separate  impression  on  me.  One  was  this.  A  man  in  our 
draft  of  marines,  named  Tom  Packer,  a  wild,  unsteady  young 
fellow,  but  the  son  of  a  respectable  shipwright  in  Portsmouth 
Yard,  and  a  good  scholar  who  had  been  well  brought  up, 
comes  to  me  after  a  spell  of  dancing,  and  takes  me  aside  by 
the  elbow,  and  says,  swearing  angrily  : 

"  Gill  Davis,  I  hope  I  may  not  be  the  death  of  Sergeant 
Drooce  one  day  !  " 

Now,  I  knew  Drooce  had  always  borne  particularly  hard 
on  this  man,  and  I  knew  this  man  to  be  of  a  very  hot  tem- 
per ;  so  I  said  : 

"  Tut,  nonsense  !  don't  talk  so  to  me  !  If  there's  a  man  in 
the  corps  who  scorns  the  name  of  an  assassin,  that  man  and 
Tom  Packer  are  one." 

Tom  wipes  his  head,  being  in  a  mortal  sweat,  and  says 
he: 

"  I  hope  so,  but  I  can't  answer  for  myself  when  he  lords 
it  over  me,  as  he  has  just  now  done,  before  a  woman.  I  tell 
you  what,  Gill  !  Mark  my  words  !  It  will  go  hard  with 
Sergeant  Drooce,  if  ever  we  are  in  an  engagement  together, 
and  he  has  to  look  to  me  to  save  him.  Let  him  say  a  prayer 
then,  if  he  knows  one,  for  it's  all  over  with  him,  and  he  is  on 
his  death-bed.     Mark  my  words  !  " 

I  did  mark  his  words,  and  very  soon  afterward,  too,  as 
will  shortly  be  taken  down. 

The  other  circumstance  that  I  noticed  at  that  ball,  was, 
the  gayety  and  attachment  of  Christian  George  King.  The 
innocent  spirits  that  Sambo  pilot  was  in,  and  the  impossi- 
bility he  found  himself  under  of  showing  all  the  little  colony, 
but  especially  the  ladies  and  children,  how  fond  he  was  of 
them,  how  devoted  to  them,  and  how  faithful  to  them  for 
life  and  death,  for  present,  future,  and  everlasting,  made  a 
great  impression  on  me.  If  ever  a  man,  Sambo  or  no  Sambo, 
was  trustful  and  trusted,  to  what  may  be  called  quite  an 
infantine  and  sweetly  beautiful  extent,  surely,  I  thought  that 
morning  when  I  did  at  last  lie  down  to  rest,  it  was  that 
Sambo  pilot,  Christian  George  King. 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  379 

This  may  account  for  my  dreaming  of  him.  He  stuck  in 
my  sleep,  cornerwise,  and  I  couldn't  get  him  out.  He  was 
always  flitting  about  me,  dancing  round  me,  and  peeping  in 
over  my  hammock,  though  I  woke  and  dozed  off  again  fifty 
times.  At  last,  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  there  he  really  was, 
looking  in  at  the  open  side  of  the  little  dark  hut ;  which 
was  made  of  leaves  and  had  Charker's  hammock  slung  in  it 
as  well  as  mine. 

"  So-Jeer  !  "  says  he,  in  a  sort  of  a  low  croak.     "  Yup  !  " 

"  Hallo  !  "  says  I,  starting  up.  "  What  ?  You  are  there, 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Iss,"  says  he.     "  Christian  George  King  got  news." 

"  What  news  has  he  got  ?  " 

"  Pirates  out !  " 

I  was  on  my  feet  in  a  second.  So  was  Charker.  We  were 
both  aware  that  Captain  Carton,  in  command  of  the  boats, 
constantly  watched  the  mainland  for  a  secret  signal,  though, 
of  course,  it  was  not  known  to  such  as  us  what  the  signal 
was. 

Christian  George  King  had  vanished  before  we  touched 
the  ground.  But  the  word  was  already  passing  from  hut 
to  hut  to  turn  out  quietly,  and  we  knew  that  the  nimble  bar- 
barian had  got  hold  of  the  truth,  or  something  near  it. 

In  a  space  among  the  trees  behind  the  encampment  of  us 
visitors,  naval  and  military,  was  a  snugly-screened  spot, 
where  we  kept  the  stores  that  were  in  use,  and  did  our 
cookery.  The  word  was  passed  to  assemble  here.  It  was 
very  quickly  given,  and  was  given  (so  far  as  we  were  con- 
cerned) by  Sergeant  Drooce,  who  was  as  good  in  a  soldier 
point  of  view,  as  he  was  bad  in  a  tyrannical  one.  We  were 
ordered  to  drop  into  this  space,  quietly,  behind  the  trees, 
one  by  one.  As  we  assembled  here,  the  seamen  assembled 
too.  Within  ten  minutes,  as  I  should  estimate,  we  were  all 
here,  except  the  usual  guard  upon  the  beach.  The  beach 
(we  could  see  it  through  the  wood)  looked  as  it  always  had 
done  in  the  hottest  time  of  the  day.  The  guard  were  in  the 
shadow  of  the  sloop's  hull,  and  nothing  was  moving  but  the 
sea,  and  that  moved  very  faintly.  Work  had  always  been 
knocked  off  at  that  hour,  until  the  sun  grew  less  fierce,  and 
the  sea-breeze  rose  ;  so  that  its  being  holiday  with  us,  made 
no  difference,  just  then,  in  the  look  of  the  place.  But  I 
may  mention  that  it  was  a  holiday,  and  the  first  we  had  had 
since  our  hard  work  began.  Last  night's  ball  had  been 
given,  on  the  leak's  being  repaired,  and  the  careening  done. 


380  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

The  worst  of  the  work  was  over,  and  to-morrow  we  were  to 
begin  to  get  the  sloop  afloat  again. 

We  marines  were  now  drawn  up  here,  under  arms.  The 
chase-party  were  drawn  up  separate.  The  men  of  the  Colum- 
bus were  drawn  up  separate.  The  officers  stepped  out  into 
the  midst  of  the  three  parties,  and  spoke  so  all  might  hear. 
Captain  Carton  was  the  officer  in  command,  and  he  had  a 
spy-glass  in  his  hand.  His  coxswain  stood  by  him  with 
another  spy-glass,  and  with  a  slate  on  which  he  seemed  to 
have  been  taking  down  signals. 

"  Now  men  !  "  says  Captain  Carton  ;  "  I  have  to  let  you 
know,  for  your  satisfaction  :  Firstly,  that  there  are  ten  pirate- 
boats,  strongly-manned  and  armed,  lying  hidden  up  a  creek 
yonder  on  the  coast,  under  the  overhanging  branches  of  the 
dense  trees.  Secondly,  that  they  will  certainly  come  out 
this  night  when  the  moon  rises,  on  a  pillaging  and  murder- 
ing expedition,  of  which  some  part  of  the  main  land  is  the 
object.  Thirdly — don't  cheer,  men  ! — that  we  will  give 
chase,  and  if  we  can  get  at  them,  rid  the  world  of  them, 
please  God  !  " 

Nobody  spoke,  that  I  heard,  and  nobody  moved,  that  I 
saw.  Yet  there  was  a  kind  of  ring,  as  if  every  man  answered 
and  approved  with  the  best  blood  that  was  inside  of  him. 

"  Sir,"  says  Captain  Maryon,  "  I  beg  to  volunteer,  on  this 
service,  with  my  boats.  My  people  volunteer,  to  the  ship's 
boys." 

"  In  his  majesty's  name  and  service,"  the  other  answers, 
touching  his  hat,  "  I  accept  your  aid  with  pleasure.  Lieu- 
tenant Linderwood,  how  will  you  divide  your  men  ?  " 

I  was  ashamed — I  give  it  out  to  be  written  down  as  large 
and  plain  as  possible— I  was  heart  and  soul  ashamed  of  my 
thoughts  of  those  two  sick  officers,  Captain  Maryon  and 
Lieutenant  Linderwood,  when  I  saw  them,  then  and  there. 
The  spirit  of  these  two  gentlemen  beat  down  their  illness 
(and  very  ill  I  knew  them  to  be)  like  Saint  George  beating 
down  the  dragon.  Pain  and  weakness,  want  of  ease  and 
want  of  rest,  had  no  more  place  in  their  minds  than  fear 
itself.  Meaning  now  to  express  for  my  lady  to  write  down, 
exactly  what  I  felt  then  and  there,  I  felt  this  :  You  two 
brave  fellows  that  I  have  been  so  grudgeful  of,  I  know  that 
if  you  were  dying  you  would  put  it  off  to  get  up  and  do  your 
best,  and  then  you  would  be  so  modest  that  in  lying  down 
again  to  die,  you  would  hardly  say,  "  I  did  it !  " 

It  did  me  good.     It  really  did  me  good. 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  381 

But  to  go  back  to  where  I  broke  off.  Says  Captain  Car- 
ton to  Lieutenant  Lmderwood,  "  Sir,  how  will  you  divide 
your  men  ?  There  is  no  room  for  all ;  and  a  few  men 
should,  in  any  case,  be  left  here." 

There  was  some  debate  about  it.  At  last,  it  was  resolved 
to  leave  eight  marines  and  four  seamen  on  the  island,  be- 
sides the  sloop's  two  boys.  And  because  it  was  considered 
that  the  friendly  Sambos  would  only  want  to  be  commanded 
in  case  of  any  danger  (though  none  at  all  was  apprehended 
there),  the  officers  were  in  favor  of  leaving  the  two  non-com- 
missioned officers,  Drooce  and  Charker.  It  was  a  heavy 
disappointment  to  them,  just  as  my  being  one  of  the  left 
was  a  heavy  disappointment  to  me— then,  but  not  soon  after- 
ward. We  men  drew  lots  for  it,  and  I  drew  "  Ireland."  So 
did  Tom  Packer.  So,  of  course,  did  four  more  of  our  rank 
and  file. 

When  this  was  settled,  verbal  instructions  were  given  to 
all  hands  to  keep  the  intended  expedition  secret,  in  order  that 
the  women  and  children  might  not  be  alarmed,  or  the  expe- 
dition put  in  a  difficulty  by  more  volunteers.  The  assembly 
was  to  be  on  the  same  spot,  at  sunset.  Every  man  was  to 
keep  up  an  appearance,  meanwhile,  of  occupying  himself  in 
his  usual  way.  That  is  to  say,  every  man  excepting  four 
old  trusty  seamen,  who  were  appointed,  with  an  officer,  to 
see  to  the  arms  and  ammunition,  and  to  muffle  the  rollocks  of 
the  boats,  and  to  make  every  thing  as  trim  and  swift  and 
silent  as  it  could  be  made. 

The  Sambo  pilot  had  been  present  all  the  while,  m  case 
of  his  being  wanted,  and  had  said  to  the  officer  in  command, 
five  hundred  times  over  if  he  had  said  it  once,  that  Christian 
George  King  would  stay  with  the  so-jeers,  and  take  care  of 
the  booffer  ladies  and  the  booffer  childs— booffer  being  that 
native's 'expression  for  beautiful.  He  was  now  asked  a  few 
questions  concerning  the  putting  off  of  the  boats,  and  in  par- 
ticular whether  there  was  any  way  of  embarking  at  the  back 
of  the  island  :  which  Captain  Carton  would  have  half  liked 
to  do,  and  then  have  dropped  round  in  its  shadow  and 
slanted  across  to  the  main.  But,  "  No,"  says  Christian 
George  King.  "  No,  no,  no  !  Told  you  so,  ten  time.  _  No, 
no,  no  !  All  reef,  all  rock,  all  swim,  all  drown  ! "  Striking 
out  as  he  said  it,  like  a  swimmer  gone  mad,  and  turning  over 
on  his  back  on  dry  land,  and  spluttering  himself  to  death, 
in  a  manner  that  made  him  quite  an  exhibition. 

The  sun  went  down,  after  appearing  to  be   a  long  time 


3Z2  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

about  it,  and  the  assembly  was  called.  Every  man  answered 
to  his  name,  of  course,  and  was  at  his  post.  It  was  not  yet 
black  dark,  and  the  roll  was  only  just  gone  through,  when 
up  comes  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage  with  his  diplomatic 
coat  on. 

"  Captain  Carton,"  says  he,  "  sir,  what  is  this  ?" 

"  This,  Mr.  Commissioner  "  (he  was  very  short  with  him), 
"is  an  expedition  against  the  pirates.  It  is  a  secret  expedi- 
tion, so  please  to  keep  it  a  secret." 

"  Sir,"  says  Commissioner  Pordage,  "  I  trust  there  is  going 
to  be  no  unnecessary  cruelty  committed  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  returns  the  officer,   "I  trust  not." 

"  That  is  not  enough,  sir,"  cries  Commissioner  Pordage, 
getting  wroth.  "  Captain  Carton,  I  give  you  notice.  Gov- 
ernment requires  you  to  treat  the  enemy  with  great  delicacy, 
consideration,  clemency,  and  forbearance." 

"  Sir,"  says  Captain  Carton,  "  I  am  an  English  officer, 
commanding  English  men,  and  I  hope  I  am  not  likely  to 
disappoint  the  government's  just  expectations.  But  I  pre- 
sume you  know  that  these  villains  under  their  black  flag 
have  despoiled  our  countrymen  of  their  property,  burned 
their  homes,  barbarously  murdered  them  and  their  children, 
and  worse  than  murdered  their  wives  and  daughters  ? " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  Captain  Carton,"  answers  Pordage,  wav- 
ing his  hand  with  dignity  ;  "  perhaps  I  do  not.  It  is  not 
customary,  sir,  for  government  to  commit  itself." 

"It  matters  very  little,  Mr.  Pordage,  whether  or  no.  Be- 
lieving that  I  hold  my  commission  by  the  allowance  of  God, 
and  not  that  I  have  received  it  direct  from  the  devil,  I  shall 
certainly  use  it,  with  all  avoidance  of  unnecessary  suffering 
and  with  all  merciful  swiftness  of  execution,  to  exterminate 
these  people  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Let  me  recommend 
you  to  go  home,  sir,  and  to  keep  out  of  the  night-air." 

Never  another  syllable  did  that  officer  say  to  the  commis- 
sioner, but  turned  away  to  his  men.  The  commissioner 
buttoned  his  diplomatic  coat  to  the  chin,  said,  "  Mr.  Kitten, 
attend  me  ! "  gasped,  half  choked  himself,  and  took  himself 
off. 

It  now  fell  very  dark,  indeed.  I  have  seldom,  if  ever, 
seen  it  darker,  nor  yet  so  dark.  The  moon  was  not  due  un- 
til one  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  but  a  little  after  nine  when 
our  men  lay  down  where  they  were  mustered.  It  was  pre- 
tended that  they  were  to  take  a  nap,  but  every  body  knew 
that  po  nap  was  to  be  got  under  the  circumstances.    Though 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  3^3 

All  was  very  quiet,  there  was  a  restlessness  among  the  peo- 
ple ;  much  what  I  have  seen  among  the  people  on  a  race- 
course, when  the  bell  has  rung  for  the  saddling  for  a  great 
race  with  large  stakes  on  it. 

At  ten  they  put  off ;  only  one  boat  putting  off  at  a  time  ; 
another  following  in  five  minutes  ;  both  then  lying  on  their 
oars  until  another  followed.  Ahead  of  all,  paddling  his  own 
outlandish  little  canoe  without  a  sound,  went  the  Sambo 
pilot,  to  take  them  safely  outside  the  reef.  No  light  was 
shown  but  once,  and  that  was  in  the  commanding  officer's 
own  hand.  I  lighted  the  dark  lantern  for  him,  and  he  took 
it  from  me  when  he  embarked.  They  had  blue-lights  and 
such  like  with  them,  but  kept  themselves  as  dark  as  murder. 

The  expedition  got  away  with  wonderful  quietness,  and 
Christian  George  King  soon  came  back,  dancing  with  joy. 

"  Yup,  so-jeer,"  says  he  to  himself  in  a  very  objectionable 
kind  of  convulsions,  "  Christian  George  King,  sar,  berry  glad 
pirates  all  be  blown  a-pieces.     Yup  !  Yup  !  " 

My  reply  to  that  cannibal  was,  "  However  glad  you  may 
be,  hold  your  noise,  and  don't  dance  jigs  and  slap  your 
knees  about  it,  for  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  do  it." 

I  was  on  duty  then  ;  we  twelve  who  were  left,  being  di- 
vided into  four  watches  of  three  each,  three  hours'  spell.  I 
was  relieved  at  twelve.  A  little  before  that  time,  I  had 
challenged,  and  Miss  Maryon  and  Mrs.  Belltott  had  come 
in. 

"  Good  Davis,"  says  Miss  Maryon,  "  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Where  is  my  brother  ?  " 

I  told  her  what  was  the  matter,  and  where  her  brother 
was. 

"  Oh,  heaven  help  him  !  "  says  she,  clasping  her  hands  and 
looking  up — she  was  close  in  front  of  me,  and  she  looked 
most  lovely  to  be  sure  ;  *'  he  is  not  sufficiently  recovered, 
not  strong  enough  for  such  strife  !  " 

"  If  you  had  seen  him,  miss,"  I  told  her,  "  as  I  saw  him 
when  he  volunteered,  you  would  have  known  that  his  spirit 
is  strong  enough  for  any  strife.  It  will  bear  his  body, 
miss,  to  wherever  duty  calls  him.  It  will  always  bear  him 
to  an  honorable  life,  or  a  brave  death." 

"  Heaven  bless  you  !  "  says  she,  touching  my  arm.  "  I 
know  it.     Heaven  bless  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Belltott  surprised  me  by  trembling  and  saying  noth- 
ing. They  were  still  standing  looking  toward  the  sea  and 
listening  after   the   relief  had  come  round.     It  continuing 


iS4  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

very  dark,  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take  them  back.  MisS 
Maryon  thanked  me,  and  put  her  arm  in  mine,  and  I  did 
take  them  back.  I  have  now  got  to  make  a  confession  that 
will  appear  singular.  After  I  had  left  them,  I  laid  myself 
down  on  my  face  on  the  bench,  and  cried  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  frightened  birds  as  a  boy  at  Snorridge  Bottom, 
to  think  what  a  poor,  ignorant,  low-placed,  private  soldier  I 
was. 

It  was  only  for  a  half  minute  or  so.  A  man  can't  at  all 
times  be  quite  master  of  himself,  and  it  was  only  for  half  a 
minute  or  so.  Then  I  up  and  went  to  my  hut,  and  turned 
into  my  hammock,  and  fell  asleep  with  wet  eye-lashes,  and  a 
sore,  sore  heart.  Just  as  I  had  often  done  when  I  was  a 
child,  and  had  been  worse  used  than  usual. 

I  slept  (as  a  child  under  those  circumstances  might)  very 
sound,  and  yet  very  sore  at  heart  all  through  my  sleep.  I 
was  awoke  by  the  words,  "  He  is  a  determined  man."  I 
had  sprung  out  of  my  hammock,  and  had  seized  my  fire- 
lock, and  was  standing  on  the  ground,  saying  the  word  my- 
self, "He  is  a  determined  man."  But  the  curiosity  of  my 
state  was,  that  I  seemed  to  be  repeating  them  after  some- 
body, and  to  have  been  wonderfully  startled  by  hearing 
them. 

As  soon  as  I  came  to  myself,  I  went  out  of  the  hut,  and 
away  to  where  the  guard  was.     Charker  challenged  : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"A  friend." 

"  Not  Gill  ? "  says  he,  as  he  shouldered  his  piece. 

"Gill,"  says  I. 

"  Why,  what  the  deuce  do  you  do  out  of  your  hammock  ?  " 
says  he. 

"  Too  hot  for  sleep,"  says  I  ;  "is  all  right  ? " 

"  Right  !  "  says  Charker,  "  yes,  yes  ;  all's  right  enough 
here  ;  what  should  be  wrong  here  ?  It's  the  boats  that  we 
want  to  know  of.  Except  for  fire-flies  twinkling  about,  and 
the  lonesome  splashes  of  great  creatures  as  they  drop  into 
the  water,  there's  nothing  going  on  here  to  ease  a  man's  mind 
from  the  boats." 

The  moon  was  above  the  sea,  and  had  risen,  I  should  say, 
some  half  an  hour.  As  Charker  spoke,  with  his  face  toward 
the  sea,  I,  looking  landward,  suddenly  laid  my  right  hand  on 
his  breast,  and  said,  "  Don't  move.  Don't  turn.  Don't 
raise  your  voice  !     You  never  saw  a  Maltese  face  here  ?  " 

"  No.     What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asks  staring  at  me. 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  385 

"  Nor  yet  an  English  face,  with  one  eye  and  a  patch 
across  the  nose*?  " 

"  No.     What  ails  you  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

I  had  seen  both,  looking  at  us  round  the  stem  of  a  cocoa-nut. 
tree,  where  the  moon  struck  them.  I  had  seen  that  Sambo 
pilot,  with  one  hand  laid  on  the  stem  of  the  tree,  drawing 
them  back  into  the  heavy  shadow.  I  had  seen  their  naked 
cutlasses  twinkle  and  shine,  like  bits  of  moonshine  in  the 
water  that  had  got  blown  ashore  among  the  trees  by  the 
light  wind.  I  had  seen  it  all,  in  a  moment.  And  I  saw  in 
a  moment  (as  any  man  would),  that  the  signaled  move  of 
the  pirates  on  the  mainland  was  a  plot  and  a  feint  ;  that  the 
leak  had  been  made  to  disable  the  sloop  ;  that  the  boats  had 
been  tempted  away,  to  leave  the  island  unprotected  ;  that 
the  pirates  had  landed  by  some  secret  way  at  the  back  ; 
and  that  Christian  George  King  was  a  double-dyed  traitor, 
and  a  most  infernal  villain. 

I  considered,  still  all  in  one  and  the  same  moment,  that 
Charker  was  a  brave  man,  but  not  quick  with  his  head  ;  and 
that  Sergeant  Drooce,  with  a  much  better  head,  was  close 
by.  All  I  said  to  Charker  was,  "  I  am  afraid  we  are  be- 
trayed. Turn  your  back  full  to  the  moonlight  on  the  sea, 
and  cover  the  stem  of  the  cocoa-nut  tree  which  will  then  be 
right  before  you,  at  the  height  of  a  man's  heart.  Are  you 
right?" 

"  I  am  right,"  says  Charker,  turning  instantly,  and  falling 
into  the  position  with  a  nerve  of  iron  ;  "  and  right  ain't  left. 
Is  it,  Gill  ?  " 

A  few  seconds  brought  me  to  Sergeant  Drooce'shut.  He 
was  fast  asleep,  and  being  a  heavy  sleeper,  I  had  to  lay  my 
hand  upon  him  to  rouse  him.  The  instant  I  touched  him  he 
came  rolling  out  of  his  hammock,  and  upon  me  like  a  tiger. 
And  a  tiger  he  was,  except  that  he  knew  what  he  was  up  to, 
in  his  utmost  heat,  as  well  as  any  man. 

I  had  to  struggle  with  him  pretty  hard  to  bring  him  to  his 
senses,  panting  all  the  while  (for  he  gave  me  a  breather), 
"  Sergeant,  I  am  Gill  Davis  !  Treachery  !  Pirates  on  the 
island  !  " 

The  last  words  brought  him  round,  and  he  took  his  hands 
off.  "  I  have  seen  two  of  them  within  this  minute,"  said  I. 
And  so  I  told  him  what  I  had  told  Harry  Charker. 

His  soldierly,  though  tyrannical,  head  was  clear  in  an  in- 
stant. He  didn't  waste  one  word,  even  of  surprise.  "  Order 
the  guard,"   says  he,  "  to  draw  off  quietly  into  the  fort." 


386  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

(They  called  the  inclosure  I  have  before  mentioned,  the  fort, 
though  it  was  not  much  of  that.)  "  Then  get  you  to  the  fort 
as  quick  as  you  can,  rouse  up  every  soul  there,  and  fasten 
the  gate.  I  will  bring  in  all  those  who  are  up  at  the  Signal 
Hill.  If  we  are  surrounded  before  we  can  join  you,  you  must 
make  a  sally  and  cut  us  out  if  you  can.  The  word  among 
our  men  is,  '  Women  and  children  ! '  " 

He  burst  away,  like  fire  going  before  the  wind  over  dry 
reeds.  He  roused  up  the  seven  men  who  were  off  duty,  and 
had  them  bursting  away  with  him,  before  they  knew  they 
were  not  asleep.  I  reported  orders  to  Charker,  and  ran  to 
the  fort,  as  I  have  never  run  at  any  other  time  in  all  my  life  ; 
no,  not  even  in  a  dream. 

The  gate  was  not  fast,  and  had  no  good  fastening  ;  only  a 
double  wooden  bar,  a  poor  chain,  and  a  bad  lock.  Those  I 
secured  as  well  as  they  could  be  secured  in  a  few  seconds  by 
one  pair  of  hands,  and  so  ran  to  that  part  of  the  building 
where  Miss  Maryon  lived.  I  called  to  her  loudly  by  her 
name  until  she  answered.  I  then  called  loudly  all  the  names 
I  knew — Mrs.  Macey  (Miss  Maryon's  married  sister),  Mr. 
Macey,  Mrs.  Venning,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  even  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pordage..  Then  I  called  out,  "  All  you  gentlemen  here, 
get  up  and  defend  the  place  !  We  are  caught  in  a  trap. 
Pirates  have  landed.     We  are  attacked  ! " 

At  the  terrible  word  "  pirates  !  " — for  those  villains  had 
done  such  deeds  in  those  seas  as  never  can  be  told  in  writing, 
and  can  scarcely  be  so  much  as  thought  of — cries  and 
screams  rose  up  from  every  part  of  the  place.  Quickly  lights 
moved  about  from  window  to  window,  and  the  cries  moved 
about  with  them,  and  men,  women,  and  children  came  flying 
down  into  the  square.  I  remarked  to  myself,  even  then, 
what  a  number  of  things  I  seemed  to  see  at  once.  I  noticed 
Mrs.  Macey  coming  toward  me,  carrying  all  her  three 
children  together.  I  noticed  Mr.  Pordage,  in  the  greatest 
terror,  in  vain  trying  to  get  on  his  diplomatic  coat  ;  and  Mr. 
Kitten  respectfully  tying  his  pocket  handkerchief  over  Mrs. 
Pordage's  nightcap.  I  noticed  Mrs.  Belltott  run  out  scream- 
ing, and  shrink  upon  the  ground  near  me,  and  cover  her  face 
in  her  hands,  and  lie,  all  of  a  bundle,  shivering.  But  what 
I  noticed  with  the  greatest  pleasure  was,  the  determined  eyes 
with  which  those  men  of  the  mine  that  I  had  thought  fine 
gentlemen,  came  round  me  with  what  arms  they  had  ;  to  the 
full  as  cool  and  resolute  as  I  could  be,  for  my  life — ay,  and 
fpr  my  soul,  too,  into  the  bargain  ! 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  387 

The  chief  person  being  Mr.  Macey,  I  told  him  how  the 
three  men  of  the  guard  would  be  at  the  gate  directly,  if  they 
were  not  already  there,  and  how  Sergeant  Drooce  and  the 
other  seven  were  gone  to  bring  in  the  outlying  part  of  the 
people  of  Silver-Store.  I  next  urged  him,  for  the  love  of  all 
who  were  dear  to  him,  to  trust  no  Sambo,  and,  above  all,  if 
he  could  get  any  good  chance  at  Christian  George  King,  not 
to  lose  it,  but  to  put  him  out  of  the  world. 

"  I  will  follow  your  advice  to  the  letter,  Davis,"  says  he  ; 
"what  next?" 

My  answer  was,  "  I  think,  sir,  I  would  recommend  you 
next  to  order  down  such  heavy  furniture  and  lumber  as  can 
be  moved,  and  make  a  barricade  within  the  gate." 

"  That's  good  again,"  says  he  ;  "  will  you  see  it  done  ?  " 

"  I'll  willingly  help  to  do  it,"  says  I,  "  unless  or  until  my 
superior,  Sergeant  Drooce,  gives  me  other  orders." 

He  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and  having  told  off  some  of 
his  companions  to  help  me,  bestirred  himself  to  look  to  the 
arms  and  ammunition.  A  proper  quick,  brave,  steady,  ready 
gentleman  ! 

One  of  their  three  little  children  was  deaf  and  dumb. 
Miss  Maryon  had  been  from  the  first  with  all  the  children, 
soothing  them,  and  dressing  them  (poor  little  things,  they 
had  been  brought  out  of  their  beds),  and  making  them 
believe  that  it  was  a  game  of  play,  so  that  some  of  them 
were  now  even  laughing.  I  had  been  working  hard  with 
the  others  at  the  barricade,  and  had  got  up  a  pretty 
good  breastwork  within  the  gate.  Drooce  and  the  seven 
had  come  back,  bringing  in  the  people  from  the  Signal 
Hill,  and  had  worked  along  with  us  ;  but  I  had  not  so  much 
as  spoken  a  word  to  Drooce,  nor  had  Drooce  so  much  as 
spoken  a  word  to  me,  for  we  were  both  too  busy.  The  breast- 
work was  now  finished,  and  I  found  Miss  Maryon  at  my  side 
with  a  child  in  her  arms.  Her  dark  hair  was  fastened  round 
her  head  with  a  band.  She  had  a  quantity  of  it,  and  it  looked 
even  richer  and  more  precious,  put  up  hastily  out  of  her  way, 
than  I  had  seen  it  look  when  it  was  carefully  arranged.  She 
was  very  pale,  but  extraordinarily  quiet  and  still. 

"  Dear  good  Davis,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  waiting  to 
speak  one  word  to  you." 

I  turned  to  her  directly.  If  I  had  received  a  musket-ball 
in  the  heart,  and  she  had  stood  there,  I  almost  believe  I 
should  have  turned  to  her  before  I  dropped. 

"  This  pretty  little  creature,"  said  she,  kissing  the  child  in 


383  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS 

her  arms,  who  was  playing  with  her  hair  and  trying  to  pull  it 
down,  "  can  not  hear  what  we  say — can  hear  nothing.  I 
trust  you  so  much,  and  have  such  great  confidence  in  you, 
that  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise." 

"  What  is  it,  miss  ?  " 

"  That  if  we  are  defeated,  and  you  are  absolutely  sure  of 
my  being  taken,  you  will  kill  me." 

"  I  shall  not  be  alive  to  do  it,  miss.  I  shall  have  died  in 
your  defense  before  it  comes  to  that.  They  must  step  across 
my  body  and  lay  hands  on  you." 

"  But  if  you  are  alive,  you  brave  soldier."  How  she  looked 
at  me  !  "  And  if  you  can  not  save  me  from  the  pirates  liv- 
ing, you  will  save  me  dead.     Tell  me  so." 

Well  !  I  told  her  I  would  do  that  at  the  last,  if  all  else 
failed.  She  took  my  hand — my  rough,  coarse  hand — and 
put  it  to  her  lips.  She  put  it  to  the  child's  lips,  and  the 
child  kissed  it.  I  believe  I  had  the  strength  of  half  a  dozen 
men  in  me,  from  that  moment  until  the  fight  was  over. 

All  this  time,  Mr.  Commissioner  Pordage  had  been  wanting 
to  make  a  proclamation  to  the  pirates  to  lay  down  their  arms 
and  go  away  ;  and  every  body  had  been  hustling  him  about 
and  tumbling  over  him,  while  he  was  calling  for  pen  and  ink 
to  write  it  with.  Mrs.  Pordage,  too,  had  some  curious  ideas 
about  the  British  respectability  of  her  nightcap  (which  had 
so  many  frills  to  it,  growing  in  layers  one  inside  another,  as 
if  it  was  a  white  vegetable  of  the  artichoke  sort),  and  she 
wouldn't  take  the  nightcap  off,  and  would  be  angry  when  it 
got  crushed  by  the  other  ladies  who  were  handing  things 
about,  and,  in  short,  she  gave  as  much  trouble  as  her  hus- 
band did.  But  as  we  were  now  forming  for  the  defense  of 
the  place,  they  were  both  poked  out  of  the  way  with  no  cere- 
mony. The  children  and  ladies  were  got  into  the  little 
trench  which  surrounded  the  silver-house  (we  were  afraid  of 
leaving  them  in  any  of  the  light  buildings,  lest  they  should 
be  set  on  fire),  and  we  made  the  best  disposition  we  could. 
There  was  a  pretty  good  store,  in  point  of  amount,  of  toler- 
able swords  and  cutlasses.  Those  were  issued.  There  were 
also,  perhaps  a  score  or  so  of  spare  muskets.  Those  were 
brought  out.  To  my  astonishment,  little  Mrs.  Fisher  that  I 
had  taken  for  a  doll  and  a  baby,  was  not  only  very  active  in 
that  service,  but  volunteered  to  load  the  spare  arms. 

"  lor  I  understand  it  well,"  says  she,  cheerfully,  without  a 
shake  in  her  voice. 

"  I  am  a  soldier's  daughter  and  a  sailor's  sister,  and  I  un« 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.       .   389 

rferstand  it  too,"  says  Miss  Maryon,  just  in  the  same 
way. 

Steady  and  busy  behind  where  I  stood,  those  two  beauti- 
ful and  delicate  young  women  fell  to  handling  the  guns,  ham- 
mering the  flints,  looking  to  the  locks,  and  quietly  directing 
others  to  pass  up  powder  and  bullets  from  hand  to  hand,  as 
unflinching  as  the  best  of  tried  soldiers. 

Sergent  Drooce  had  brought  in  word  that  the  pirates  were 
very  strong  in  number — over  a  hundred,  was  his  estimate — 
and  that  they  were  not,  even  then,  all  landed  ;  for  he  had 
seen  them  in  a  very  good  position  on  the  further  side  of  the 
Signal  Hill,  evidently  waiting  for  the  rest  of  their  men  to 
come  up.  In  the  present  pause,  the  first  we  had  had  since 
the  alarm,  he  was  telling  this  over  again  to  Mr.  Macey,  when 
Mr.  Macey  suddenly  cried  out  :  u  The  signal !  Nobody  has 
thought  of  the  signal  !  " 

We  knew  of  no  signal,  so  we  could  not  have  thought  of  it. 

"  What  signal  may  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  says  Sergeant  Drooce, 
looking  sharp  at  him. 

"  There  is  a  pile  of  wood  upon  the  Signal  Hill.  If  it  could 
be  lighted — which  never  has  been  done  yet — it  would  be  a 
signal  of  distress  to  the  mainland." 

Charker  cries,  directly  :  "  Sergeant  Drooce,  dispatch  me 
on  that  duty.  Gi\re  me  the  two  men  who  were  on  guard  with 
me  to-night,  and  I'll  light  the  fire,  if  it  can  be  done." 

"  And  if  it  can't,  corporal — "  Mr.  Macey  strikes  in. 

"  Look  at  these  ladies  and  children,  sir  !  "  says  Charker. 
"  I'd  sooner  light  myself,  than  not  try  any  chance  to  save 
them." 

We  give  him  a  hurrah  ! — it  burst  from  us,  come  of  it  what 
might — and  he  got  his  two  men,  and  was  let  out  at  the  gate, 
and  crept  away.  I  had  no  sooner  come  back  to  my  place  from 
being  one  of  the  party  to  handle  the  gate,  than  Miss  Maryon 
said  in  a  low  voice  behind  me  : 

"  Davis,  will  you  look  at  this  powder.     This  is  not  right  ?  " 

I  turned  my  head.  Christain  George  King  again,  and 
treachery  again  !  Sea  water  had  been  conveyed  into  the 
magazine,  and  every  grain  of  powder  was  spoiled  ! 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  Sergeant  Drooce,  when  I  had  told 
\iim,  without  causing  a  movement  in  a  muscle  of  his  face  : 
'  look  to  your  pouch,  my  lad.  You  Tom  Packer,  look  to 
your  pouch,  confound  you  !  Look  to  your  pouches,  all  you 
marines." 

The  same  artful  savage  had  got  at   them,  somehow    or 


390  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

another,  and  the  cartridges  were  all  unserviceable.  "  Hum !  " 
says  the  sergeant,  "  Look  to  your  loading,  men.  You  are 
right  so  far  ?  " 

Yes  ;  we  were  right  so  far. 

"  Well,  my  lads,  and  gentleman  all,"  says  the  sergeant, 
"  this  will  be  a  hand-to-hand  affair,  and  so  much  the  better." 

He  treated  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  stood  up, 
square-shouldered  and  broad-chested,  in  the  light  of  the 
moon — which  was  now  very  bright — as  cool  as  if  he  \va  - 
waiting  for  a  play  to  begin.  He  stood  quiet,  and  we  all  stood 
quiet,  for  the  matter  of  something  like  half  an  hour.  I  took 
notice  from  such  whispered  talk  as  there  was,  how  little  we 
that  the  silver  did  not  belong  to,  thought  about  it,  and  how 
much  the  people  that  it  did  belong  to,  thought  about  it.  At 
the  end  of  the  half  hour  it  was  reported  from  the  gate  that 
Charker  and  the  two  were  falling  back  on  us,  pursued  by 
about  a  dozen. 

"  Sally  !  Gate-party,  under  Gill  Davis,"  says  the  sergeant, 
"  and  bring  'em  in  !     Like  men  now  !  " 

We  were  not  long  about  it,  and  we  brought  them  in. 
"  Don't  take  me,"  says  Charker,  holding  me  round  the  neck, 
and  stumbling  down  at  my  foot  when  the  gate  was  fast, 
"  don't  take  me  near  the  ladies  or  the  children,  Gill.  They 
had  better  not  see  death,  till  it  can't  be  helped.  They'll  see 
it  soon  enough." 

"  Harry!  "  I  answered,  holding  up  his  head.    "  Comrade  !  " 

He  was  cut  to  pieces.  The  signal  had  been  secured  by 
the  first  pirate  party  that  landed  ;  his  hair  was  all  singed 
off,  and  his  face  was  blackened  with  running  pitch  from  a 
torch. 

He  made  no  complaint  of  pain,  or  of  anything.  "  Good- 
by,  old  chap,"  was  all  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I've  got  my 
death.     And  death  ain't  life.     Is  it,  Gill  ?  " 

Having  helped  to  lay  his  poor  body  on  one  side,  I  went 
back  to  my  post.  Sergeant  Drooce  looked  at  me,  with  his 
eye-brows  a  little  lifted.  I  nodded.  "  Close  up  here,  men 
and  gentlemen  all !  "  said  the  sergeant.  "  A  place  too  many, 
in  the  line." 

The  pirates  were  so  close  upon  us  at  this  time,  that  the 
foremost  of  them  were  already  before  the  gate.  More  and 
more  came  up  with  a  great  noise,  and  shouting  loudly. 
When  we  believed  from  the  sound  that  they  were  all  there, 
we  gave  three  English  cheers.  The  poor  little  children 
joined,  and  were  so  fully  convinced  of  our  being  at  play, 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  391 

that  they  enjoyed  the  noise,  and  were  heard  clapping  their 
hands  in  the  silence  that  followed. 

Our  disposition  was  this,  beginning  with  the  rear.  Mrs. 
Venning,  holding  her  daughter's  child  in  her  arms,  sat  on  the 
steps  of  the  little  square  trench  surrounding  the  silver-house 
encouraging  and  directing  those  women  and  children  as  she 
might  have  done  in  the  happiest  and  easiest  time  of  her  life. 
Then,  there  was  an  armed  line,  under  Mr.  Macey,  across  the 
width  of  the  inclosure,  facing  that  way  and  having  their 
backs  toward  the  gate,  in  order  that  they  might  watch  the 
walls  and  prevent  our  being  taken  by  surprise.  Then  there 
was  a  space  of  eight  or  ten  feet  deep,  in  which  the  spare 
arms  were,  and  in  which  Miss  Maryon  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  their 
hands  and  dresses  blackened  with  the  spoiled  gunpowder, 
worked  on  their  knees,  tying  such  things  as  knives,  old  bayo- 
nets, and  spear-heads,  to  the  muzzles  of  the  useless  mus- 
kets. Then,  there  was  a  second  armed  line,  under  Sergeant 
Drooce,  also  across  the  width  of  the  inclosure,  but  facing  to 
the  gate.  Then  came  the  breastwork  we  had  made,  with  a 
zig-zag  way  though  it  for  me  and  my  little  party  to  hold 
good  in  retreating,  as  long  as  we  could,  when  we  were 
driven  from  the  gate.  We  all  knew  that  it  was  impossible 
to  hold  the  place  long,  and  that  our  only  hope  was  in  the 
timely  discovery  of  the  plot  by  the  boats,  and  in  their  com- 
ing back. 

I  and  my  men  were  now  thrown  forward  to  the  gate.  From 
a  spy-hole,  I  could  see  the  whole  crowd  of  pirates.  There 
were  Malays  among  them,  Dutch,  Maltese,  Greeks,  Sambos, 
Negroes  and  convict  Englishmen  from  the  West  India  Islands  ; 
among  the  last,  him  with  the  one  eye  and  the  patch  across  the 
nose.  There  were  some  Portuguese,  too,  and  a  few  Spaniards. 
The  captain  was  a  Portuguese  ;  a  little  man  with  very  large 
ear-rings  under  a  very  broad  hat,  and  a  great  bright  shawl 
twisted  about  his  shoulders.  They  were  all  strongly  armed, 
but  like  a  boarding  party,  with  pikes,  swords,  cutlasses,  and 
axes.  I  noticed  a  good  many  pistols,  but  not  a  gun  of  any 
kind  among  them.  This  gave  me  to  understand  that  they 
had  considered  that  a  continued  roll  of  musketry  might  per- 
haps have  been  heard  on  the  mainland  ;  also,  that  for  the 
reason  that  fire  would  be  seen  from  the  mainland  they  would 
not  set  the  fort  in  flames  and  roast  us  alive  ;  which  was  one 
of  their  favorite  ways  of  carrying  on.  I  looked  about  for 
Christian  George  King,  and  if  I  had  seen  him  I  am  much 
mistaken  if  he  would  not  have   received  my  one   round  of 


392  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

ball  cartridge  in  his  head.  But  no  Christian  George  King 
was  visible. 

A  sort  of  a  wild  Portuguese  demon,  who  seemed  either 
fierce-mad  or  fierce-drunk — but  they  all  seemed  one  or  the 
other — came  forward  with  the  black  flag,  and  gave  it  a  wave 
or  two.  After  that,  the  Portuguese  captain  called  out  in 
shrill  English,  "  I  say  !  you  English  fools  !  Open  the  gate  ! 
surrender  !  " 

As  we  kept  close  and  quiet,  he  said  something  to  his  men 
which  I  didn't  understand,  and  when  he  had  said  it,  the  one- 
eyed  English  rascal  with  the  patch  (who  had  stepped  out 
when  he  began),  said  it  again  in  English.  It  was  only  this. 
"  Boys  of  the  black  flag,  this  is  to  be  quickly  done.  Take 
all  the  prisoners  you  can.  If  they  don't  yield,  kill  the  chil- 
dren to  make  them.  Forward  !  "  Then  they  all  came  on 
at  the  gate,  and,  in  another  half  minute  were  smashing  and 
splitting  it  in. 

We  struck  at  them  through  the  gaps  and  shivers,  and  we 
dropped  many  of  them,  too  ;  but  their  very  weight  would 
have  carried  such  a  gate,  if  they  had  been  unarmed.  I  soon 
found  Sergeant  Drooce  at  my  side,  forming  us  six  remaining 
marines  in  line — Tom  Packer  next  to  me — and  ordering  us 
to  fall  back  three  paces,  and,  as  they  broke  in,  to  give  them 
our  one  little  volley  at  short  distance.  "  Then,"  says  he, 
"  receive  them  behind  your  breastwork  on  the  bayonet,  and 
at  least  let  every  man  of  you  pin  one  of  the  cursed  cockcha- 
fers through  the  body  !  " 

We  checked  them  by  our  fire,  slight  as  it  was,  and  we 
checked  them  at  the  breastwork.  However,  they  broke  over 
it  like  swarms  of  devils — they  were,  really  and  truly,  more 
devils  than  men — and  then  it  was  hand  to  hand,  indeed. 

We  clubbed  our  muskets  and  laid  about  us  ;  even  then, 
those  two  ladies — always  behind  me — were  steady  and  ready 
with  the  arms.  I  had  a  lot  of  Maltese  and  Malays  upon  me, 
and,  but  for  a  broad-sword  that  Miss  Maryon's  own  hand  put 
in  mine,  should  have  got  my  end  in  them.  But  was  that 
all  ?  No.  I  saw  a  heap  of  banded  dark  hair  and  a  white 
dress  come  thrice  between  me  and  them,  under  my  own 
raised  right  arm,  which  each  time  might  have  destroyed  the 
wearer  of  the  white  dress  ;  and  each  time  one  of  the^lot  went 
down,  struck  dead. 

Drooce  was  armed  with  a  broad-sword  too,  and  did  such 
things  with  it,  that  there  was  a  cry,  in  half-a-dozen  languages, 
of  "  Kill  that  sergeant!  "  as  I  know,  by  the  cry  being  raised 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  393 

in  English,  and  taken  up  in  other  tongues.  I  had  received  a 
severe  cut  across  the  left  arm  a  few  moments  before,  and 
should  have  known  nothing  of  it,  except  supposing  that 
somebody  had  struck  me  a  smart  blow,  if  I  had  not  felt  weak 
and  seen  myself  covered  with  spouting  blood,  and,  at  the 
same  instant  of  time,  seen  Miss  Maryon  tearing  her  dress 
and  binding  it  with  Mrs.  Fisher's  help  round  the  wound. 

They  called  to  Tom  Packer,  who  was  scouring  by,  to  stop 
and  guard  me  for  one  minute,  while  I  was  bound,  or  I  should 
bleed  to  death  in  trying  to  defend  myself.  Tom  stopped 
directly,  with  a  good  saber  in  his  hand. 

In  that  same  moment — all  things  seem  to  happen  in  that 
same  moment,  at  such  a  time — half-a-dozen  had  rushed 
howling  at  Sergeant  Drooce.  The  sergeant,  stepping  back 
against  the  wall,  stopped  one  howl  forever  with  such  a 
terrible  blow,  and  waited  for  the  rest  to  come  on,  with  such 
a  wonderfully  unmoved  face,  that  they  stopped  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  See  him  now  !  "  cried  Tom  Packer.  "  Now,  when  I  could 
cut  him  out  !     Gill r     Did  I  tell  you  to  mark  my  word  ? " 

I  implored  Tom  Packer  in  the  Lord's  name,  as  well  as  I 
could  in  my  faintness,  to  go  to  the  sergeant's  aid. 

"  I  hate  and  detest  him,"  says  Tom,  moodily  wavering. 
"  Still  he  is  a  brave  man."  Then  he  calls  out,  "  Sergeant 
Drooce,  Sergeant  Drooce  !  Tell  me  you  have  driven  me  too 
hard,  and  are  sorry  for  it." 

"No.     I  won't." 

,l  Sergeant  Drooce  !  "  cries  Tom,  in  a  kind  of  agony.  "  I 
have  passed  my  word  that  I  would  never  save  you  from  death, 
if  I  could,  but  would  leave  you  to  die.  Tell  me  you  have 
driven  me  too  hard  and  are  sorry  for  it,  and  that  shall  go  for 
nothing." 

One  of  the  group  laid  the  sergeant's  bald  bare  head  open. 
The  sergeant  laid  him  dead. 

"  I  tell  you,"  says  the  sergeant,  breathing  a  little  short, 
and  waiting  for  the  next  attack,  "  No.  I  won't.  If  you  are 
not  man  enough  to  strike  for  a  fellow-soldier  because  he 
wants  help,  and  because  of  nothing  else,  I'll  go  into  the 
other  world  and  look  for  a  better  man." 

Tom  swept  upon  them,  and  cut  him  out.  Tom  and  he 
fought  their  way  through  another  knot  of  them,  and  sent 
them  flying,  and  came  over  to  where  I  was  beginning  again 
to  feel,  with  inexpressible  joy,  that  I  had  got  a  sword  in  my 
band. 


394  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

They  had  hardly  come  to  us,  when  I  heard,  above  all  the 
other  noises,  a  tremendous  cry  of  women's  voices.  I  also 
saw  Miss  Maryon,  with  quite  a  new  face,  suddenly  clap  her 
two  hands  over  Mrs.  Fisher's  eyes.  I  looked  toward  the  sil- 
ver-house, and  saw  Mrs.  Venning — standing  upright  on  the 
top  of  the  steps  of  the  trench,  with  her  gray  hair  and  her 
dark  eyes — hide  her  daughter's  child  behind  her,  among  the 
folds  of  her  dress,  strike  a  pirate  with  the  other  hand,  and 
fall,  shot  by  his  pistol. 

The  cry  arose  again,  and  there  was  a  terrible  and  confus- 
ing rush  of  the  women  into  the  midst  of  the  struggle.  In 
another  moment,  something  came  tumbling  down  upon  me 
that  I  thought  was  the  wall.  It  was  a  heap  of  Sambos  who 
had  come  over  the  wall  ;  and  of  four  men  who  clung  to  my 
legs  like  serpents,  one  who  clung  to  my  right  leg  was  Chris- 
tain  George  King. 

"  Yup,  so-jeer,"  says  he,  "  Christian  George  King,  sar, 
berry  glad  so-jeer  a  prisoner.  Christian  George  King  been 
waiting  for  so-jeer  sech  long  time.     Yup,  yup  !  " 

What  could  I  do,  with  five-and-twenty  of  them  on  me, 
but  be  tied  hand  and  foot  ?  So  I  was  tied  hand  and  foot. 
It  was  over  now — boats  not  come  back — all  lost  !  When  I 
was  fast  bound  and  was  put  up  against  the  wall,  the  one-eyed 
English  convict  came  up  with  the  Portuguese  captain,  to 
have  a  look  at  me. 

"  See  !  "  says  he,  "  here's  the  determined  man  !  If  you 
had  slept  sounder,  last  night,  you'd  have  slept  your  soundest 
last  night,  my  determined  man." 

The  Portuguese  captain  laughed  in  a  cool  way,  and  with 
the  flat  of  his  cutlass,  hit  me  crosswise,  as  if  I  was  the  bough 
of  a  tree  that  he  played  with  :  first  on  the  face,  and  then 
across  the  chest  and  the  wounded  arm.  I  looked  him  steady 
in  the  face  without  tumbling  while  he  looked  at  me,  I  am 
happy  to  say  ;  but,  when  they  went  away,  I  fell,  and  lay 
there. 

The  sun  was  up,  when  I  was  roused  and  told  to  come 
down  to  the  beach  and  be  embarked.  I  was  full  of  aches 
and  pains,  and  could  not  at  first  remember  ;  but  I  re- 
membered quite  soon  enough.  The  killed  were  lying  about 
all  over  the  place,  and  the  pirates  were  burying  their  dead, 
and  taking  away  their  wounded  on  hastily-made  litters,  to 
the  back  of  the  island.  As  for  us  prisoners,  some  of  their 
boats  had  come  round  to  the  usual  harbor,  to  carry  us  off. 
We  looked  a  wretched  few,  I    thought,  when  I  got  down 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  395 

there  ;  still  it  was  another  sign  that  we  had  fought  well  and 
made  the  enemy  suffer. 

The  Portuguese  captain  had  all  the  women  already  em- 
barked in  the  boat  he  himself  commanded,  which  was  just 
putting  off  when  I  got  down.  Miss  Maryon  sat  on  one  sifje 
of  him,  and  gave  me  a  moment's  look,  as  full  of  quiet  cour- 
age, and  pity,  and  confidence,  as  if  it  had  been  an  hour  Ion?. 
On  the  other  side  of  him  was  poor  little  Mrs.  Fisher,  weep- 
ing for  her  child  and  her  mother.  I  was  shoved  into  the 
same  boat  with  Drooce  and  Packer,  and  the  remainder  of 
our  party  of  marines  :  of  whom  we  had  lost  two  pri- 
vates, besides  Charker,  my  poor,  brave  comrade.  We 
all  made  a  melancholy  passage,  under  the  hot  sun, 
over  to  the  mainland.  There  we  landed  in  a  soli- 
tary place,  and  were  mustered  on  the  sea  sand.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Macey  and  their  children  were  among  us,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pordage,  Mr.  Kitten,  Mr.  Fisher,  and  Mrs.  Belltott.  We 
mustered  only  fourteen  men,  fifteen  women,  and  seven  chil- 
dren. Those  were  all  that  remained  of  the  English  who  had 
laid  down  to  sleep  that  night,  unsuspecting  and  happy,  on  the 
Island  of  Silver-Store. 

[The  second  chapter,  which  was  not  written  by  Mr.  Dick- 
ens, describes  the  prisoners  (twenty-two  women  and  chil- 
dren) taken  into  the  interior  by  the  pirate  captain,  who 
makes  them  the  material  guarantee  for  the  precious  metal  and 
jewels  left  on  the  island  ;  declaring  that,  if  the  latter  be 
wrested  by  English  ships  from  the  pirates  in  charge,  he  will 
murder  the  captives.  From  their  "  Prison  in  the  Woods," 
however  (this  being  the  title  of  the  second  chapter),  they 
escape  by  means  of  rafts  down  the  river  ;  and  the  sequel  is 
told  in  a  third  and  concluding  chapter  by  Mr.  Dickens.] 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    RAFTS    ON    THE    RIVER. 

We  contrived  to  keep  afloat  all  that  night,  and,  the  stream 
running  strong  with  us,  to  glide  a  long  way  down  the  river. 
But  we  found  the  night  to  be  a  dangerous  time  for  such  navi- 
gation, on  account  of  the  eddies  and  rapids,  and  it  was  there- 
fore settled  next  day  that  in  future  we  would  bring  to  at  sun- 
set, and  encamp  on  the  shore.     As  we  knew  of  no  boats  that 


396  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

the  pirates  possessed,  up  at  the  prison  in  the  woods,  we  set- 
tled always  to  encamp  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream,  sg 
as  to  have  the  breadth  of  the  river  between  our  sleep  and 
them.  Our  opinion  was  that  if  they  were  acquainted  with 
any  nearer  way  by  land  to  the  mouth  of  this  river,  they  would 
come  up  it  in  force  and  retake  us  or  kill  us,  according  as 
they  could  ;  but  that  was  not  the  case,  and  if  the  river  ran 
by  none  of  their  secret  stations,  we  might  escape. 

When  I  say  we  settled  this  or  that,  I  do  not  mean  that  we 
planned  any  thing  with  any  confidence  as  to  what  might  hap- 
pen an  hour  hence.  So  much  had  happened  in  one  night, 
and  such  great  changes  had  been  violently  and  suddenly 
made  in  the  fortunes  of  many  among  us,  that  we  had  gotten 
better  used  to  uncertainty,  in  a  little  while,  than  I  dare  say 
most  people  do  in  the  course  of  their  lives. 

The  difficulties  we  soon  got  into,  through  the  off-settings 
and  point-currents  of  the  stream,  make  the  likelihood  of  our 
being  drowned,  alone — to  say  nothing  of  our  being  retaken 
— as  broad  and  plain  as  the  sun  at  noonday  to  all  of  us. 
But  we  all  worked  hard  at  managing  the  rafts,  under  the  di- 
rection of  the  seamen  (of  our  own  skill,  I  think  we  never 
could  have  prevented  them  from  oversetting),  and  we  also 
worked  hard  at  making  good  the  defects  in  their  first  hasty 
construction — which  the  water  soon  found  out.  While  we 
humbly  resigned  ourselves  to  going  down,  if  it  was  the  will 
of  Our  Father  that  was  in  heaven,  we  humbly  made  up  our 
minds  that  we  would  all  do  the  best  that  was  in  us. 

And  so  we  held  on,  gliding  with  the  stream.  It  drove  us 
to  this  bank,  and  it  drove  us  to  that  bank,  and  it  turned  us, 
and  whirled  us  ;  but  yet  it  carried  us  on.  Sometimes  much 
too  slowly  ;  sometimes  much  too  fast,  but  yet  it  carried  us  on. 

My  little  deaf  and  dumb  boy  slumbered  a  good  deal  now, 
and  that  was  the  case  with  all  the  children.  They  caused 
very  little  trouble  to  any  one.  They  seemed,  in  my  eyes,  to 
get  more  like  one  another,  not  only  in  quiet  manner,  but  in 
the  face,  too.  The  motion  of  the  raft  was  usually  so  much 
the  same,  the  scene  was  usually  so  much  the  same,  the  sound 
of  the  soft  wash  and  ripple  of  the  water  was  usually  so  much 
the  same,  that  they  were  made  drowsy,  as  they  might  have 
been  by  the  constant  playing  of  one  tune.  Even  on  the 
grown  people,  who  worked  hard  and  felt  anxiety,  the  same 
thing  produced  something  of  the  same  effect.  Every  day 
was  so  like  the  other  that  I  soon  lost  count  of  the  days  my- 
self, and  had  to  ask  Miss  Maryon,  for  instance,  whether  this 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  397 

was  the  third  or  fourth  ?  Miss  Maryon  had  a  pocket-book 
and  pencil,  and  she  kept  the  log  ;  that  is  to  say  she  entered 
up  a  clear  little  journal  of  the  time,  and  of  the  distance  our 
seamen  thought  we  had  made,  each  night. 

So,  as  I  say,  we  kept  afloat  and  glided  on.  All  day  long, 
and  every  day,  the  water,  and  the  woods,  and  sky  ;  all  day 
long,  and  every  day,  the  constant  watching  of  both  sides  of 
the  river,  and  far  ahead  at  every  bold  turn  and  sweep  it 
made,  for  any  signs  of  pirate-boats  or  pirate-dwellings.  So, 
as  I  say,  we  kept  afloat  and  glided  on.  The  days  melting 
themselves  together,  to  that  degree,  that  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve my  ears  when  I  asked  "  How  many  now,  miss  ?  "  and 
she  answered,  "  Seven." 

To  be  sure,  poor  Mr.  Pordage  had,  by  about  now,  got  his 
diplomatic  coat  into  such  a  state  as  never  was  seen.  What 
with  the  mud  of  the  river,  what  with  the  water  of  the  river, 
what  with  the  sun,  and  the  dews,  and  the  tearing  boughs, 
and  the  thickets,  it  hung  about  him  in  discolored  shreds  like  a 
mop.  The  sun  had  touched  him  a  bit.  He  had  taken  to  always 
polishing  one  particular  button  which  just  held  on  to  his  left 
wrist,  and  to  always  calling  for  stationery.  I  suppose  that 
man  called  for  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  tape  and  sealing-wax, 
upward  of  one  thousand  times  in  four-and-twenty  hours. 
He  had  an  idea  that  we  should  never  get  out  of  that  river 
unless  we  were  written  out  of  it  in  a  formal  memorandum  ; 
and  the  more  we  labored  at  navigating  the  rafts,  the  more 
he  ordered  us  not  to  touch  them  at  our  peril,  and  the  more 
he  sat  and  roared  for  stationery. 

Mrs.  Pordage,  similarly,  persisted  in  wearing  her  nightcap. 
I  doubt  if  any  one  but  ourselves,  who  had  seen  the  progress  of 
that  article  of  dress,  could  by  this  time  have  told  what  it 
was  meant  for.  It  had  got  so  limp  and  ragged  that  she 
couldn't  see  out  of  her  eyes  for  it.  It  was  so  dirty,  that 
whether  it  was  vegetable  matter  out  of  a  swamp,  or  weeds 
out  of  the  river,  or  an  old  porter's-knot  from  England,  I 
don't  think  any  new  spectator  could  have  said.  Yet  this 
unfortunate  old  woman  had  a  notion  that  it  was  not  only 
vastly  genteel,  but  that  it  was  the  correct  thing  as  to  propri- 
ety. And  she  really  did  carry  herself  over  the  other  ladies 
who  had  no  nightcaps,  and  who  were  forced  to  tie  up  their 
hair  how  they  could,  in  a  superior  manner  that  was  perfectly 
amazing. 

I  don't  know  what  she  looked  like,  sitting  in  that  blessed 
nightcap,  on  a  log  of  wood  outside  the  hut  or  cabin  upon  our 


398  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

raft.  She  would  have  rather  resembled  a  fortune-teller  in 
one  of  the  picture-books  that  used  to  be  in  the  shop  win- 
dows in  my  boyhood,  except  for  her  stateliness.  But,  Lord 
bless  my  heart,  the  dignity  with  which  she  sat  and  moped, 
with  her  head  in  that  bundle  of  tatters,  was  like  nothing- 
else  in  the  world  !  She  was  not  on  speaking  terms  with 
more  than  three  of  the  ladies.  Some  of  them  had,  what  she 
called,  '  taken  precedence  '  of  her — in  getting  into,  or  out 
of,  that  miserable  little  shelter  !— and  others  had  not  called 
to  pay  their  respects,  or  something  of  that  kind.  So,  there 
she  sat,  in  her  own  state  and  ceremony,  while  her  husband 
sat  on  the  same  log  of  wood,  ordering  us  one  and  all  to 
let  the  raft  go  to  the  bottom,  and  to  bring  him  stationery. 

What  with  this  noise  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Commissioner 
Pordage,  and  what  with  the  cries  of  Sergeant  Drooce  on  the 
raft  astern  (which  were  sometimes  more  than  Tom  Packer 
could  silence),  we  often  made  our  slow  way  down  the  river, 
any  thing  but  quietly.  Yet  that  it  was  of  great  importance 
that  no  ears  should  be  able  to  hear  us  from  the  woods  on 
the  banks,  could  not  be  doubted.  We  were  looked  for,  to  a 
certainty,  and  we  might  be  re-taken  at  any  moment.  It  was 
an  anxious  time  ;  it  was,  indeed,  indeed,  an  anxious  time. 

On  the  seventh  night  of  our  voyage  on  the  rafts,  we  made 
fast,  as  usual,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  to  that  from 
which  we  had  started,  in  as  dark  a  place  as  we  could  pick 
out.  Our  little  encampment  was  soon  made,  and  supper 
was  eaten,  and  the  children  fell  asleep.  The  watch  was 
set,  and  every  thing  made  orderly  for  the  night.  Such  a 
starlight  night,  with  such  blue  in  the  sky,  and  such  black 
in  the  place  of  heavy  shade  on  the  banks  of  the  great  stream  ! 

Those  two  ladies,  Miss  Maryon  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  had 
always  kept  near  me  since  the  night  of  the  attack.  Mr. 
Fisher,  who  was  untiring  in  the  work  of  our  raft,  had  said 
to  me  : 

"  My  dear  little  childless  wife  has  grown  so  attached  to 
you,  Davis,  and  you  are  such  a  gentle  fellow,  as  well  as  such 
a  determined  one  ;  "  our  party  had  adopted  that  last  expres- 
sion from  the  one-eyed  English  pirate,  and  I  repeat  what 
Mr.  Fisher  said,  only  because  he  said  it  ;  "  that  it  takes  a 
load  off  my  mind  to  leave  her  in  your  charge." 

I  said  to  him  :  "  Your  lady  is  in  far  better  charge  than 
mine,  sir,  having  Miss  Maryon  to  take  care  of  her  ;  but 
you  may  rely  upon  it,  that  I  will  guard  them  both — faith- 
ful and  true." 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  399 

Says  he  :  "  I  do  rely  upon  it,  Davis,  and  I  heartily  wish 
all  the  silver  on  our  old  island  was  yours." 

That  seventh  starlight  night,  as  I  have  said,  we  made 
our  camp,  and  got  our  supper,  and  set  our  watch,  and  the 
children  fell  asleep.  It  was  solemn  and  beautiful  in  those 
wild  and  solitary  parts,  to  see  them,  every  night  before  they 
lay  down,  kneeling  under  the  bright  sky,  saying  their  little 
prayers  at  women's  laps.  At  that  time  we  men  all  un- 
covered, and  mostly  kept  at  a  distance.  When  the  innocent 
creatures  rose  up,  we  murmured  "  Amen  !  "  all  together. 
For,  though  we  had  not  heard  what  they  said,  we  knew  it 
must  be  good  for  us. 

At  that  time,  too,  as  was  only  natural,  those  poor  mothers 
in  our  company,  whose  children  had  been  killed,  shed  many 
tears.  I  thought  the  sight  seemed  to  console  them  while  it 
made  them  cry  ;  but  whether  I  was  right  or  wrong  in  that, 
they  wept  very  much.  On  this  seventh  night,  Mrs.  Fisher 
had  cried  for  her  lost  darling  until  she  cried  herself  asleep. 
She  was  lying  on  a  little  couch  of  leaves  and  such-like 
(I  made  the  best  little  couch  I  could  for  them  every  night), 
and  Miss  Maryon  had  covered  her,  and  sat  by  her  holding 
her  hand.  The  stars  looked  down  upon  them.  As  for  me, 
I  guarded  them. 

"  Davis  !  "  says  Miss  Maryon.  (I  am  not  going  to  say 
what  a  voice  she  had.     I  couldn't  if  I  tried.) 

"  I  am  here,  miss." 

"  The  river  sounds  as  if  it  were  swollen  to-night." 

"  We  all  think,  miss,  that  we  are  coming  near  the  sea." 

"  Do  you  believe,  now,  we  shall  escape  ? " 

"I  do  now,  miss,  really  believe  it."  I  had  always  said  I 
did  ;  but,  I  had  in  my  own  mind  been  doubtful. 

"  How  glad  you  will  be,  my  good  Davis,  to  see  England 
again  !  " 

I  have  another  confession  to  make  that  will  appear  singu- 
lar. When  she  said  these  words,  something  rose  in  my 
throat  ;  and  the  stars  I  looked  away  at,  seemed  to^reak  into 
sparkles  that  fell  down  my  face  and  burned  it. 

"  England  is  not  much  to  me,  miss,  except  as  a  name." 

"Oh,  so  true  an  Englishman  should  not  say  that  ! — Are 
you  not  well  to-night,  Davis  ?  "  Very  kindly,  and  with  a 
quick  change. 

"Quite  well,  miss." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  Your  voice  sounds  altered  in  my  hear 
ing." 


4oo  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"No,  miss,  I  am  a  stronger  man  than  ever.  But  En- 
gland is  nothing  to  me." 

Miss  Maryon  sat  silent  for  so  long  a  while,  that  I  be- 
lieved she  had  done  speaking  to  me  for  one  time.  How- 
ever, she  had  not ;  for  by  and  by  she  said  in  a  distinct, 
clear  tone  : 

"  No,  good  friend  :  you  must  not  say  that  England  is  noth- 
ing to  you.  It  is  to  be  much  to  you  yet — every  thing  to 
you.  You  have  to  take  back  to  England  the  good  name  you 
have  earned  here,  and  the  gratitude  and  attachment  and  re- 
spect you  have  won  here  ;  and  you  have  to  make  some 
good  English  girl  very  happy  and  proud,  by  marrying  her  ; 
and  I  shall  one  day  see  her,  I  hope,  and  make  her  happier 
and  prouder  still,  by  telling  her  what  noble  services  her  hus- 
band's were  in  South  America,  and  what  a  noble  friend  he 
was  to  me  there." 

Though  she  spoke  these  kind  words  in  a  cheering  manner, 
she  .spoke  them  compassionately.  I  said  nothing.  It  will 
appear  to  be  another  strange  confession,  that  I  paced  to  and 
fro,  within  call,  all  that  night,  a  most  unhappy  man,  reproach- 
ing myself  all  the  night  long.  "  You  are  as  ignorant  as  any 
man  alive  ;  you  are  as  obscure  as  any  man  alive  ;  you  are  as 
poor  as  any  man  alive  ;  you  are  no  better  than  the  mud 
under  your  foot."  That  was  the  way  in  which  I  went  on 
against  myself  until  the  morning. 

With  the  day,  came  the  day's  labor.  What  I  should 
have  done  without  the  labor,  I  don't  know.  We  were 
afloat  again  at  the  usual  hour,  and  were  again  making 
our  way  down  the  river.  It  was  broader  and  clearer  of 
obstructions  than  it  had  been,  and  it  seemed  to  flow  faster. 
This  was  one  of  Drooce's  quiet  days  ;  Mr.  Pordage,  besides 
being  sulky,  had  almost  lost  his  voice  ;  and  we  made  good 
way,  and  with  little  noise. 

There  was  always  a  seaman  forward  on  the  raft,  keeping  a 
bright  look-out.  Suddenly,  in  the  full  heat  of  the  day,  when 
the  children  were  slumbering,  and  the  very  trees  and  reeds 
appeared  to  be  slumbering,  this  man — it  was  Short — holds 
up  his  hand,  and  cries  with  great  caution  :  "Avast !  Voices 
ahead  !  " 

We  held  on  against  the  stream  as  soon  as  we  could 
bring  her  up,  and  the  other  raft  followed  suit.  At  first, 
Mr.  Macey,  Mr.  Fisher,  and  myself,  could  hear  nothing  ; 
though  both  the  seamen  aboard  of  us  agreed  that  they 
could  hear  voices  and  oars.     After  a  little  pause,  however, 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  4oi 

tve  united  in  thinking  that  we  could  hear  the  sound  of 
voices,  and  the  dip  of  oars.  But  you  can  hear  a  long  ways 
in  those  countries,  and  there  was  a  bend  of  the  river  before 
us,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  except  such  waters  and  such 
banks  as  we  were  now  in  the  eighth  day  (and  might,  for  the 
matter  of  our  feelings,  have  been  in  the  eightieth)  scanning 
with  anxious  eyes. 

It  was  soon  decided  to  put  a  man  ashore,  who  should 
creep  through  the  wood,  see  what  was  coming,  and  warn 
the  rafts.  The  rafts  in  the  meantime  to  keep  the  middle 
of  the  stream.  The  man  to  be  put  ashore,  and  not  to 
swim  ashore,  as  the  first  thing  could  be  more  quickly  done 
than  the  second.  The  raft  conveying  him,  to  get  back  into 
mid-stream,  and  to  hold  on  along  with  the  other,  as  well  as 
it  could,  until  signaled  by  the  man.  In  case  of  danger,  the 
man  to  shift  for  himself  until  it  should  be  safe  to  take  him 
aboard  again.     I  volunteered  to  be  the  man. 

We  knew  that  the  voices  and  oars  must  come  up  slowly 
against  the  stream  ;  and  our  seamen  knew,  by  the  set  of 
the  stream,  under  which  bank  they  would  come.  I  was  put 
ashore  accordingly.  The  raft  got  off  well,  and  I  broke  into 
the  wood. 

Steaming  hot  it  was,  and  a  tearing  place  to  get  through. 
So  much  the  better  for  me,  since  it  was  something  to  contend 
against  and  do.  I  cut  off  the  bend  of  the  river,  at  a  great 
saving  of  space,  came  to  the  water's  edge  again,  and  hid  my- 
self, and  waited.  I  could  now  hear  the  dip  of  the  oars  very 
distinctly  ;   the  voices  had  ceased. 

The  sound  came  on  in  a  regular  tone,  and  as  I  lay  hidden, 
I  fancied  the  tune  so  played  to  be,  "  Chris'en — George — 
King  !  Chris'en — George — King  !  Chris'en — George — 
King  !  "  over  and  over  again,  always  the  same,  with  the 
pauses  always  at  the  same  places.  I  had  likewise  time  to 
make  up  my  mind  that  if  these  were  the  pirates,  I  could  and 
would  (barring  my  being  shot)  swim  off  to  my  raft,  in  spite 
of  my  wound,  the  moment  I  had  given  the  alarm,  and  hold 
my  old  post  by  Miss  Maryon. 

"  Chris'en — George — King*!  Chris'en — George  —  King  ! 
Chris'en — George — King  !  "  coming  up,  now,  very  near. 

I  took  a  look  at  the  branches  about  me,  to  see  where  a 
shower  of  bullets  would  be  most  likely  to  do  me  least  hurt  ; 
and  I  took  a  look  back  at  the  track  I  had  made  in  forcing 
my  way  in  ;  and  now  I  was  wholly  prepared  and  fully  ready 
for  them. 


4o2  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

"  Chris'en — George — King  !  Chris'en — George  —  King  ! 
Chris'en — George — King  !  "     Here  they  were  ! 

Who  were  they  ?  The  barbarous  pirates,  scum  of  all  na- 
tions, headed  by  such  men  as  the  hideous  little  Portuguese 
monkey  and  the  one-eyed  English  convict  with  the  gash  across 
his  face,  that  ought  to  have  gashed  his  wicked  head  off  ?  The 
worst  men  in  the  world  picked  out  from  the  worst,  to  do  the 
cruelest  and  most  atrocious  deeds  that  ever  stained  it  ?  The 
howling,  murdering,  black-flag  waving,  mad  and  drunken 
crowd  of  devils  that  had  overcome  us  by  numbers  and  by 
treachery  ?  No.  These  were  English  men  in  English  boats — 
good  blue-jackets  and  red-coats — marines  that  I  knew  myself, 
and  sailors  that  knew  our  seamen  !  At  the  helm  of  the  first 
boat,  Captain  Carton,  eager  and  steady.  At  the  helm  of  the 
second  boat,  Captain  Maryon,  brave  and  bold.  At  the  helm  of 
the  third  boat,  an  old  seaman  with  determination  carved  into 
his  watchful  face,  like  the  figure-head  of  a  ship.  Every  man 
doubly  and  trebly  armed  from  head  to  foot.  Every  man 
lying  to  at  his  work,  with  a  will  that  had  all  his  heart  and 
soul  in  it.  Every  man  looking  out  for  any  trace  of  friend  or 
enemy,  and  burning  to  be  the  first  to  do  good,  or  avenge 
evil.  Every  man  with  his  face  on  fire  when  he  saw  me,  his 
countryman  who  had  been  taken  prisoner,  and  hailed  me 
with  a  cheer,  as  Captain  Carton's  boat  ran  in  and  took  me  on 
board. 

I  reported,  "  All  escaped,  sir  !     All  well,  all  here  !  " 

God  bless  me — and  God  bless  them — what  a  cheer  !  It 
turned  me  weak,  as  I  was  passed  on  from  hand  to  hand  to 
the  stern  of  the  boat;  every  hand  patting  me  or  grasping 
me  in  some  way  or  other,  in  the  moment  of  my  going  by. 

"  Hold  up,  my  brave  fellow,"  says  Captain  Carton,  clap- 
ping me  on  the  shoulder  like  a  friend,  and  giving  me  a  flask. 

Put  your  lips  to  that,  and  they'll  be  red  again.  Now,  boys, 
give  way  !  " 

The  banks  flew  by  us  as  if  the  mightiest  stream  that  ever 
ran  was  with  us  ;  and  so  it  was,  I  am  sure,  meaning  the 
stream  to  those  men's  ardor  and  spirit.  The  banks  flew  by 
us,  and  we  came  in  sight  of  the  rafts — the  banks  flew  by  us, 
and  we  came  alongside  of  the  rafts — the  banks  stopped  ;  and 
there  was  a  tumult  of  laughing  and  crying,  and  kissing  and 
shaking  of  hands,  and  catching  up  of  children  and  setting 
of  them  down  again,  and  a  wild  hurry  of  thankfulness  and 
joy  that  melted  every  one  and  softened  all  hearts. 

I  had  taken  notice,  in  Captain  Carton's  boat,  that  there 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  4oj 

was  a  curious  and  quite  new  sort  of  fitting  onboard.  It  was 
a  kind  of  a  little  bower  made  of  flowers,  and  it  was  set  up 
behind  the  captain,  and  betwixt  him  and  the  rudder.  Not 
only  was  this  arbor,  so  to  call  it,  neatly  made  of  flowers,  but 
it  was  ornamented  in  a  singular  way.  Some  of  the  men  had 
taken  the  ribbons  and  buckles  off  their  hats,  and  hung  them 
among  the  flowers  ;  others  had  made  festoons  and  streamers 
of  their  handkerchiefs,  and  hung  them  there  ;  others  had  in- 
termixed such  trifles  as  bits  of  glass  and  shining  fragments 
of  lockets  and  tobacco-boxes  with  the  flowers  ;  so  that  alto- 
gether it  was  a  very  bright  and  lively  object  in  the  sunshine. 
But  why  there,  or  what  for,  I  did  not  understand. 

Now,  as  soon  as  the  first  bewilderment  was  over,  Captain 
Carton  gave  the  order  to  land  for  the  present.  But  this  boat 
of  his,  with  two  hands  left  in  her,  immediately  set  off  again 
when  the  men  were  out  of  her,  and  kept  off,  some  yards 
from  the  shore.  As  she  floated  there,  with  the  two  hands 
gently  backing  water  to  keep  her  from  going  down  the  stream, 
this  pretty  little  arbor  attracted  many  eyes.  None  of  the 
boat's  crew,  however,  had  any  thing  to  say  about  it,  except 
that  it  was  the  captain's  fancy. 

The  captain — with  the  women  and  children  clustering 
round  him,  and  the  men  of  all  ranks  grouped  outside  them, 
and  all  listening — stood  telling  how  the  expedition,  deceived 
by  its  bad  intelligence,  had  chased  the  light  pirate  boats  all 
that  fatal  night,  and  had  still  followed  in  their  wake  next 
day,  and  had  never  suspected  until  many  hours  too  late  that 
the  great  pirate  body  had  drawn  off  in  the  darkness  when 
the  chase  began,  and  shot  over  to  the  island.  He  stood 
telling  how  the  expedition,  supposing  the  whole  array  of 
armed  boats  to  be  ahead  of  it,  got  tempted  into  shallows  and 
went  aground  ;  but  not  without  having  its  revenge  upon  the 
two  decoy-boats,  both  of  which  it  had  come  up  with,  over- 
hand, and  sent  to  the  bottom  with  all  on  board.  He  stood 
telling  how  the  expedition,  fearing  then  that  the  case  stood 
as  it  did,  got  afloat  again,  by  great  exertion,  after  the  loss  of 
four  more  tides,  and  returned  to  the  island,  where  they 
found  the  sloop  scuttled  and  the  treasure  gone.  He  stood 
telling  how  my  officer,  Lieutenant  Linderwood,  was  left  upon 
the  island,  with  as  strong  a  force  as  could  be  got  together 
hurriedly  from  the  mainland,  and  how  the  three  boats  we 
saw  before  us  were  manned  and  armed  and  had  come  away, 
exploring  the  coast  and  inlets,  in  search  of  any  tidings  of  us. 
He  stood  telling  all  this,  with  his  face  to  the  river  ;  and,  as 


4o4         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONE&S. 

he  stood  telling  it,  the  little  arbor  of  flowers  floated  in  the 
sunshine  before  all  the  faces  there. 

Leaning  on  Captain  Carton's  shoulder,  between  him  and 
Miss  Maryon,  was  Mrs.  Fisher,  her  head  drooping  on  her  arm. 
She  asked  him,  without  raising  it,  when  he  had  told  so 
much,  whether  he  had  found  her  mother  ? 

"  Be  comforted  !  She  lies,"  said  the  captain  gently,  "  un- 
der the  cocoa-nut  trees  on  the  beach." 

"  And  my  child,  Captain  Carton,  did  you  find  my  child, 
too  ?     Does  my  darling  rest  with  my  mother  ?  " 

"No.  Your  pretty  child  sleeps,"  said  the  captain,  "un- 
der a  shade  of  flowers." 

His  voice  shook;  but  there  was  something  in  it  that  struck 
all  the  hearers.  At  that  moment  there  sprung  from  the  arbor 
in  his  boat  a  little  creature,  clapping  her  hands  and  stretch- 
ing out  her  arms  crying,  "  Dear  papa  !  dear  mamma  !  I  am 
not  killed.  I  am  saved.  I  am  coming  to  kiss  you.  Take 
me  to  them,  good,  good,  kind  sailors  !  " 

Nobody  who  saw  that  scene  has  ever  forgotten  it,  I  am 
sure,  or  ever  will  forget  it.  The  child  had  kept  quite  still, 
where  her  brave  grandmamma  had  put  her  (first  whispering 
in  her  ear,  "  Whatever  happens  to  me,  do  not  stir,  my 
dear  !  "),  and  had  remained  quiet  until  the  fort  was  de- 
serted ;  she  had  then  crept  out  of  the  trench,  and  gone  into 
her  mother's  house  ;  and  there,  alone  on  the  solitary  island, 
in  her  mother's  room,  and  asleep  on  her  mother's  bed,  the 
captain  had  found  her.  Nothing  could  induce  her  to  be 
parted  from  him  after  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  he 
had  brought  her  away  with  him,  and  the  men  had  made  the 
bower  for  her.  To  see  those  men  now,  was  a  sight.  The 
joy  of  the  women  was  beautiful;  the  joy  of  those  women 
who  had  lost  their  own  children,  was  quite  sacred  and  di- 
vine ;  but  the  ecstasies  of  Captain  Carton's  boat's  crew, 
when  their  pet  was  restored  to  her  parents,  were  wonderful 
for  the  tenderness  they  showed  in  the  midst  of  roughness. 
As  the  captain  stood  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  the 
child's  own  little  arms  now  clinging  round  his  neck,  now 
round  her  father's,  now  round  her  mother's,  now  round  some 
one  who  pressed  up  to  kiss  her,  the  boat's  crew  shook  hands 
with  one  another,  waved  their  hats  over  their  heads,  laughed, 
sang,  cried,  danced — and  all  among  themselves,  without 
wanting  to  interfere  with  any  body — in  a  manner  never  to  be 
represented.  At  last,  I  saw  the  coxswain  and  another,  two 
very  hard-faced  men,  with  grizzled  heads,  who  had  been  the 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  405 

heartiest  of  the  hearty  all  along,  close  with  one  another,  get 
each  of  them  the  other's  head  under  his  arm,  and  pummel 
away  at  it  with  his  fist  as  hard  as  he  could  in  his  excess  of 
joy. 

When  we  had  well  rested  and  refreshed  ourselves — and 
very  glad  we  were  to  have  some  of  the  heartening  things  to 
eat  and  drink  that  had  come  up  in  the  boats — we  recom- 
menced our  voyage  down  the  river :  rafts,  and  boats,  and 
all.  I  said  to  myself,  it  was  a  very  different  kind  of  voyage 
now,  from  what  it  had  been  ;  and  I  fell  into  my  proper  place 
and  station  among  my  fellow-soldiers. 

But  when  we  halted  for  the  night,  I  found  that  Miss  Ma- 
ryon  had  spoken  to  Captain  Carton  concerning  me.  For, 
the  captain  came  straight  up  to  me,  and  says  he,  "  My  brave 
fellow,  you  have  been  Miss  Maryon's  body-guard  all  along, 
and  you  shall  remain  so.  Nobody  shall  supersede  you  in  the 
distinction  and  pleasure  of  protecting  that  young  lady."  I 
thanked  his  honor  in  the  fittest  words  I  could  find,  and  that 
night  I  was  placed  on  my  old  post  of  watching  the  place 
where  she  slept.  More  than  once  in  the  night,  I  saw  Captain 
Carton  come  out  into  the  air,  and  stroll  about  there,  to  see 
that  all  was  well.  I  have  now  this  other  singular  confession 
to  make,  that  I  saw  him  with  a  heavy  heart.  Yes  ;  I  saw 
him  with  a  heavy,  heavy  heart. 

In  the  day-time,  I  had  the  like  post  in  Captain  Carton's 
boat.  I  had  a  special  station  of  my  own,  behind  Miss 
Maryon,  and  no  hands  but  hers  ever  touched  my  wound. 
(It  has  been  healed  these  many  long  years  ;  but  no  other 
hands  have  ever  touched  it).  Mr.  Pordage  was  kept  toler- 
ably quiet  now,  with  pen  and  ink,  and  began  to  pick  up  his 
senses  a  little.  Seated  in  the  second  boat,  he  made  docu- 
ments with  Mr.  Kitten,  pretty  well  all  day  ;  and  he  generally 
handed  in  a  protest  about  something  whenever  he  stopped. 
The  captain,  however,  made  so  very  light  of  these  papers, 
that  it  grew  into  a  saying  among  the  men,  when  one  of  them 
wanted  a  match  for  his  pipe,  "  Hand  us  over  a  protest, 
Jack  !  "  As  to  Mrs.  Pordage,  she  still  wore  the  nightcap, 
and  she  now  had  cut  all  the  ladies  on  account  of  her  not 
having  been  formally  and  separately  rescued  by  Captain 
Carton  before  any  body  else.  The  end  of  Mr.  Pordage,  to 
bring  to  an  end  all  I  knew  about  him,  was,  that  he  got  grea\. 
compliments  at  home  for  his  conduct  on  these  trying  occa- 
sions, and  that  he  died  of  yellow  jaundice,  a  governor  and  a 
K.  C.  B. 


4o6         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

Sergeant  Drooce  had  fallen  from  a  high  fever  into  a  low 
one.  Tom  Packer — the  only  man  who  could  have  pulled 
the  sergeant  through  it — kept  hospital  aboard  the  old  raft, 
and  Mrs.  Belltott,  as  brisk  as  ever  again  (but  the  spirit  of 
that  little  woman,  when  things  tried  it,  was  not  equal  to  ap- 
pearances), was  head-nurse  under  his  directions.  Before  we 
got  down  to  the  Musquito  coast,  the  joke  had  been  made  by- 
one  of  our  men,  that  we  should  see  her  gazetted  Mrs.  Tom 
Packer,  vice  Belltott  exchanged. 

When  we  reached  the  coast,  we  got  native  boats  as  substi- 
tutes for  the  rafts  ;  and  we  rowed  along  under  the  land  ;  and 
in  that  beautiful  climate,  and  upon  that  beautiful  water,  the 
blooming  days  were  like  enchantment.  Ah  !  They  were 
running  away,  faster  than  any  sea  or  river,  and  there  was  no 
tide  to  bring  them  back.  We  were  coming  very  near  the 
settlement  where  the  people  of  Silver-Store  were  to  be  left, 
and  from  which  we  marines  were  under  orders  to  return  to 
Belize. 

Captain  Carton  had,  in  the  boat  by  him,  a  curious  long 
barreled  Spanish  gun,  and  he  had  said  to  Miss  Maryon  one 
day  that  it  was  the  best  of  guns,  and  had  turned  his  head 
to  me  and  said  : 

"  Gill  Davis,  load  her  fresh  with  a  couple  of  slugs,  against 
a  chance  of  showing  how  good  she  is." 

So  I  had  discharged  the  gun  over  the  sea,  and  had  loaded 
her,  according  to  orders,  and  there  it  had  lain  at  the  cap- 
tain's feet,  convenient  to  the  captain's  hand. 

The  last  day  but  one  of  our  journey  was  an  uncommonly 
hot  day.  We  started  very  early  ;  but  there  was  no  cool  air 
on  the  sea  as  the  day  got  on,  and  by  noon  the  heat  was 
really  hard  to  bear,  considering  that  there  were  women  and 
children  to  bear  it.  Now  we  happened  to  open,  just  at  that 
time,  a  very  pleasant  little  cove  or  bay,  where  there  was  a 
deep  shade  from  a  great  growth  of  trees.  Now  the  captain, 
therefore,  made  the  signal  to  the  other  boats  to  follow  him  in 
and  lie  by  a  while. 

The  men  who  were  off  duty  went  ashore  and  lay  down, 
but  were  ordered,  for  caution's  sake,  not  to  stray,  and  to 
keep  within  view.  The  others  rested  on  their  oars  and 
dozed.  Awnings  had  been  made  of  one  thing  and  another, 
in  all  the  boats,  and  the  passengers  found  it  cooler  to  be 
under  them  in  the  shade,  when  there  was  room  enough,  than 
to  be  in  the  thick  woods.  So  the  passengers  were  all  afloat, 
and  mostly  sleeping.     I  kept  my  post  behind  Miss  Maryon, 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  407 

and  she  was  on  Captain  Carton's  right  in  the  boat,  and  Mrs. 
Fisher  sat  on  her  right  again.  The  captain  had  Mrs.  Fisher's 
daughter  on  his  knee.  He  and  the  two  ladies  were  talking 
about  the  pirates,  and  were  talking  softly  ;  partly  because 
people  do  talk  softly  under  such  indolent  circumstances,  and 
partly  because  the  little  girl  had  gone  off  asleep. 

I  think  I  have  before  given  it  out  for  my  lady  to  write 
down,  that  Captain  Carton  had  a  fine  bright  eye  of  his  own. 
All  at  once  he  darted  me  a  side  look,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Steady — don't  take  on — I  see  something  !  " — and  gave  the 
child  into  her  mother's  arms.  That  eye  of  his  was  so  easy 
to  understand,  that  I  obeyed  it  by  not  so  much  as  looking 
either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left  out  of  a  corner  of  my  own, 
or  changing  my  attitude  the  least  trifle.  The  captain  went 
on  talking  in  the  same  mild  and  easy  way  ;  but  began — with 
his  arms  resting  across  his  knees,  and  his  head  a  little  hang- 
ing forward,  as  if  the  heat  were  rather  too  much  for  him — 
began  to  play  with  the  Spanish  gun. 

"  They  had  laid  their  plans,  you  see,"  says  the  captain, 
taking  up  the  Spanish  gun  across  his  knees,  and  looking, 
lazily,  at  the  inlaying  on  the  stock,  "  with  a  great  deal  of 
art ;  and  the  corrupt  or  blundering  local  authorities  were  so 
easily  deceived  ; "  he  ran  his  left  hand  idly  along  the  barrel, 
but  I  saw,  with  my  breath  held,  that  he  covered  the  action 
of  cocking  the  gun  with  his  right — "so  easily  deceived  that 
they  summoned  us  out  to  come  into  the  trap.  But  my  in- 
tention as  to  future  operations "     In  a  flash  the  Spanish 

gun  was  at  his  bright  eye,  and  he  fired. 

All  started  up  ;  innumerable  echoes  repeated  the  sound 
of  the  discharge  ;  a  cloud  of  bright-colored  birds  flew  out  of 
the  woods  screaming  ;  a  handful  of  leaves  were  scattered  in 
the  place  where  the  shot  had  struck  ;  a  crackling  of  branches 
was  heard,  and  some  lithe  but  heavy  creature  sprang  into 
the  air,  and  fell  forward,  head  down,  over  the  muddy  bank. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  cries  Captain  Maryon  from  his  boat.  All 
silent  then,  but  the  echoes  rolling  away. 

"  It  is  a  traitor  and  a  spy,"  said  Captain  Carton,  handing 
me  the  gun  to  load  again.  "  And  I  think  the  other  name  of 
the  animal  is  Christian  George  King  !  " 

Shot  through  the  heart.  Some  of  the  people  ran  round  to 
the  spot,  and  drew  him  out,  with  the  slime  and  wet  trickling 
down  his  face  ;  but  his  face  itself  would  never  stir  any  more 
to  the  end  of  time. 

"  Leave  him  hanging  to  that  tree,"  cried  Captain  Carton ; 


4o8  PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

his  boat's  crew  giving  way,  and  he  leaping  ashore.  "  But 
first  into  this  wood,  every  man  in  his  place.  And  boats  ! 
Out  of  gunshot  !  " 

It  was  a  quick  change,  well  meant  and  well  made,  though 
it  ended  in  disappointment.  No  pirates  were  there  ;  no  one 
but  the  spy  was  found.  It  was  supposed  that  the  pirates, 
unable  to  retake  us,  and  expecting  a  great  attack  upon 
them  to  be  the  consequence  of  our  escape,  had  made  from 
the  ruins  in  the  forest,  taken  to  their  ship  along  with  the 
treasure,  and  left  the  spy  to  pick  up  what  intelligence  he 
could.  In  the  evening  we  went  away,  and  he  was  left  hang- 
ing to  the  tree,  all  alone,  with  the  red  sun  making  a  kind  of 
a  dead  sunset  on  his  black  face. 

Next  day  we  gained  the  settlement  on  the  Musquito  coast 
for  which  we  were  bound.  Having  staid  there  to  refresh 
seven  days,  and  having  been  much  commended,  and  highly 
spoken  of,  and  finely  entertained,  we  marines  stood  under 
orders  to  march  from  the  town-gate  (it  was  neither  much  of 
a  town  nor  much  of  a  gate),  at  five  in  the  morning. 

My  officer  had  joined  us  before  then.  When  we  turned 
out  at  the  gate,  all  the  people  were  there  ;  in  the  front  of 
them  all  those  who  had  been  our  fellow-prisoners,  and  all 
the  seamen. 

"  Davis,"  says  Lieutenant  Linderwood.  "  Stand  out,  my 
friend  ! " 

I  stood  out  from  the  ranks,  and  Miss  Maryon  and  Captain 
Carton  came  up  to  me. 

"  Dear  Davis,"  says  Miss  Maryon,  while  the  tears  fell  fast 
down  her  face,  "your  grateful  friends,  in  most  unwillingly 
taking  leave  of  you,  ask  the  favor  that,  while  you  bear  away 
with  you  their  affectionate  remembrance,  which  nothing  can 
ever  impair,  you  will  also  take  this  purse  of  money — far  more 
valuable  to  you,  we  all  know,  for  the  deep  attachment  and 
thankfulness  with  which  it  is  offered,  than  for  its  own  con- 
tents, though  we  hope  those  may  prove  useful  to  you,  too,  in 
after  life." 

I  got  out,  in  answer,  that  I  thankfully  accepted  the  attach- 
ment and  affection,  but  not  the  money.  Captain  Carton 
looked  at  me  very  attentively,  and  stepped  back,  and  moved 
away.  I  made  him  my  bow  as  he  stepped  back,  t<?  thank 
him  for  being  so  delicate. 

"No,  miss,"  said  I,  "I  think  it  would  break  my  heart  to 
accept  of  money.     But,  if  you  could  condescend  to  give  to 


PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS.  4O9 

a  man  so  ignorant  and  common  as  myself,  any  little  thing 
you  have  worn — such  as  a  bit  of  ribbon — " 

She  took  a  ring  from  her  finger,  and  put  it  in  my  hand. 
And  she  rested  her  hand  in  mine,  while  she  said  these  words  : 

"  The  brave  gentlemen  of  old — but  not  one  of  them  was 
braver,  or  had  a  nobler  nature  than  you — took  such  gifts 
from  ladies,  and  did  all  their  good  actions  for  the  givers' 
sakes.  If  you  will  do  yours  for  mine,  I  shall  think  with 
pride  that  I  continue  to  have  some  share  in  the  life  of  a 
gallant  and  generous  man." 

For  the  second  time  in  my  life,  she  kissed  my  hand.  I 
made  so  bold,  for  the  first  time,  as  to  kiss  hers  ;  and  I  tied 
the  ring  to  my  breast,  and  I  fell  back  to  my  place. 

Then,  the  horse-litter  went  out  at  the  gate  with  Sergeant 
Drooce  in  it  ;  and  the  horse-litter  went  out  at  the  gate  with 
Mrs.  Relltott  in  it ;  and  Lieutenant  Linderwood  gave  the 
word  of  command,  "  Quick  march  !  "  and,  cheered  and  cried 
for,  we  went  out  of  the  gate  too,  marching  along  the  level 
plain  toward  the  serene  blue  sky,  as  if  we  were  marching 
straight  to  heaven. 

When  I  have  added  here  that  the  pirate  scheme  was  blown 
to  shivers,  by  the  pirate-ship  which  had  the  treasure  on  board 
being  so  vigorously  attacked  by  one  of  his  majesty's  cruisers, 
among  the  West  India  Keys,  and  being  so  swiftly  boarded 
and  carried,  that  nobody  suspected  any  thing  about  the  scheme 
until  three-fourths  of  the  pirates  were  killed,  and  the  other 
fourth  were  in  irons,  and  the  treasure  was  recovered  ;  I  come 
to  the  last  singular  confession  I  have  got  to  make. 

It  is  this.  1  well  knew  what  an  immense  and  hopeless 
distance  there  was  between  me  and  Miss  Maryon  ;  I  well 
knew  that  I  was  no  fitter  company  for  her  than  I  was  for 
the  angels  ;  I  well  knew  that  she  was  as  high  above  my 
reach  as  the  sky  over  my  head  ;  and  yet  I  loved  her.  What 
put  it  in  my  low  heart  to  be  so  daring,  or  whether  such  a 
thing  ever  happened  before  or  since,  as  that  a  man  so  unin- 
structed  and  obscure  as  myself  got  his  unhappy  thoughts 
lifted  up  to  such  a  height,  while  knowing  very  well  how 
presumptuous  and  impossible  to  be  realized  they  were,  I  am 
unable  to  say  ;  still,  the  suffering  to  me  was  just  as  great  as 
if  I  had  been  a  gentleman.  I  suffered  agony — agony.  I 
suffered  hard,  and  I  suffered  long.  I  thought  of  her  last 
words  to  me,  however,  and  I  never  disgraced  them.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  those  dear  words  I  think  I  should  have 
lost  myself  in  despair  and  recklessness. 


416         PERILS  OF  CERTAIN  PRISONERS. 

The  ring  will  be  found  lying  on  my  heart,  of  course,  and 
will  be  laid  with  me  wherever  I  am  laid.  I  am  getting  on 
in  years  now,  though  I  am  able  and  hearty.  I  was  recom- 
mended for  promotion,  and  every  thing  was  done  to  reward 
me  that  could  be  done  ;  but  my  total  want  of  all  learning 
stood  in  my  way,  and  1  found  myself  so  completely  out  of 
the  road  to  it,  that  I  could  not  conquer  any  learning,  though 
I  tried.  I  was  long  in  the  service,  and  I  respected  it,  and 
was  respected  in  it,  and  the  service  is  dear  to  me  at  this 
present  hour. 

At  this  present  hour,  when  I  give  this  out  to  my  lady  to 
be  written  down,  all  my  old  pain  has  softened  away,  and  I 
am  as  happy  as  a  man  can  be,  at  this  present  fine  old  country- 
house  of  Admiral  Sir  George  Carton,  Baronet.  It  was  my 
Lady  Carton  who  herself  sought  me  out,  over  a  great  many 
miles  of  the  wide  world,  and  found  me  in  hospital  wounded, 
and  brought  me  here.  It  is  my  Lady  Carton  who  writes 
down  my  words.  My  lady  was  Miss  Maryon.  And  now, 
that  I  conclude  what  I  had  to  tell,  I  see  my  lady's  honored 
gray  hair  droop  over  her  face,  as  she  leans  a  little  lower  at 
her  desk  ;  and  I  fervently  thank  her  for  being  so  tender  as  I 
see  she  is,  toward  the  past  pain  and  trouble  of  her  po©r> 
old,  faithful,  humble  soldier. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE, 

[1859.] 

IN   TWO   CHAPTERS.* 


THE    MORTALS   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

Under  none  of  the  accredited  ghostly  circumstances,  and 
environed  by  none  of  the  conventional  ghostly  surroundings, 
did  I  first  make  acquaintance  with  the  house  which  is  the 
subject  of  this  Christmas  piece.  I  saw  it  in  the  day-light, 
with  the  sun  upon  it.  There  was  no  wind,  no  rain,  no  light- 
ning, no  thunder,  no  awful  or  unwonted  circumstance  of 
any  kind,  to  heighten  its  effect.  More  than  that  :  I  had 
come  to  it  direct  from  a  railway  station  ;  it  was  not  more 
than  a  mile  distant  from  the  railway  station  ;  and,  as  I  stood 
outside  the  house,  looking  back  upon  the  way  1  had  come, 
I  could  see  the  goods  train  running  smoothly  along  the 
embankment  in  the  valley.  I  will  not  say  that  every  thing 
was  utterly  common-place,  because  I  doubt  if  any  thing 
can  be  that,  except  to  utterly  common-place  people — and 
there  my  vanity  steps  in  ;  but  I  will  take  it  on  myself  to  say 
that  any  body  might  see  the  house  as  I  saw  it,  any  fine  au- 
tumn morning. 

The  manner  of  lighting  on  it  was  this  : 

I  was  traveling  toward  London  out  of  the  north,  intend- 
ing to  stop  by  the  way  to  look  at  the  house.  My  health  re- 
quired a  temporary  residence  in  the  country  ;  and  a  friend 
of  mine  who  knew  that,  and  who  had  happened  to  drive 
past  the  house,  had  written  to  me  to  suggest  it  as  a  likely 
place.     I  had  got  into  the  train  at  midnight,  and  had  fallen 

*  The  original  has  eight  chapters,  which  will  be  found  in  All  the  Year  Round,  vol. 
ii.,  old  series  ;  but  those  not  printed  here,  excepting  a  page  at  the  close,  were  not  written 
by  Mr.  Dickens. 


4i2  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

asleep,  and  had  woke  up  and  had  sat  looking  out  of  window 
at  the  brilliant  northern  lights  in  the  sky,  and  had  fallen 
asleep  again,  and  had  woke  up  again  to  find  the  night 
gone,  with  the  usual  discontented  conviction  on  me  that  I 
hadn't  been  asleep  at  all.; — upon  which  question,  in  the 
first  imbecility  of  that  condition,  I  am  ashamed  to  believe 
that  I  would  have  done  wager  by  battle  with  the  man  who 
sat  opposite  me.  That  opposite  man  had  had,  through  the 
night — as  that  opposite  man  always  has — several  legs  too 
many,  and  all  of  them  too  long.  In  addition  to  this  unreason- 
able conduct  (which  was  only  to  be  expected  of  him)  he  had 
had  a  pencil  and  a  pocket-book,  and  had  been  perpetually 
listening  and  taking  notes.  It  had  appeared  to  me  that  these 
aggravating  notes  related  to  the  jolts  and  bumps  of  the  car- 
riage, and  I  should  have  resigned  myself  to  his  taking  thern, 
under  a  general  supposition  that  he  was  in  the  civil-engineer- 
ing way  of  life,  if  he  had  not  sat  staring  straight  over  my 
head  whenever  he  listened.  He  was  a  goggle-eyed  gentle- 
man of  a  perplexed  aspect,  and  his  demeanor  became  un- 
bearable. 

It  was  a  cold,  dead  morning  (the  sun  not  being  up  yet), 
and  when  I  had  out-watched  the  paling  light  of  the  fires  of 
the  iron  country,  and  the  curtain  of  heavy  smoke  that  hung 
at  once  between  me  and  the  stars  and  between  me  and  the 
day,  I  turned  to  my  fellow-traveler  and  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  do  you  observe  any  thing  par- 
ticular in  me  ?  "  For,  really,  he  appeared  to  be  taking  down 
either  my  traveling  cap  or  my  hair,  with  a  minuteness  that 
was  a  liberty. 

The  goggle-eyed  gentleman  withdrew  his  eyes  from  be- 
hind me,  as  if  the  back  of  the  carriage  were  a  hundred  miles 
off,  and  said,  with  a  lofty  look  of  compassion  for  my  insig- 
nificance : 

"  In  you,  sir  ?— B." 

"  B,  sir  ?  "  said  I,  growing  warm. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  sir."  returned  the  gentle- 
man ;  "pray,  let  me  listen — 0.'r 

He  enunciated  this  vowel  after  a  pause,  and  noted  it 
down. 

At  first  I  was  alarmed,  for  an  express  lunatic  and  no  com- 
munication with  the  guard,  is  a  serious  position.  The  thought 
came  to  my  relief  that  the  gentleman  might  be  what  is  pop- 
ularly called  a  Rapper  ;  one  of  a  sect  for  (some  of)  whom  I 
have  the  highest  respect,  but  whom  I  don't  believe   in.     I 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  413 

was  going  to  ask  him  the  question,  when  he  took  the  bread 
out  of  my  mouth. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  the  gentleman,  contemptuously, 
"if*  I  am  too  much  in  advance  of  common  humanity  to 
trouble  myself  at  all  about  it.  I  have  passed  the  night — as 
indeed  I  pass  the  whole  of  my  time  now — in  spiritual  inter- 
course." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I,  something  snappishly. 

"  The  conferences  of  the  night  began,"  continued  the  gen- 
tleman, turning  several  leaves  of  his  note-book,  "  with  this 
message  :  '  Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners.'  " 

"Sound,"  said  1  ;  "but,  absolutely  new?" 

"  New  from  spirits,"  returned  the  gentleman. 

I  could  only  repeat  my  rather  snappish  "  Oh  !  "  and  ask 
if  I  might  be  favored  with  the  last  communication  ? 

" '  A  bird  in  the  hand,'  "  said  the  gentleman,  reading  his 
last  entry  with  great  solemnity,  " '  is  worth  two  in  the 
bosh."' 

"  Truly  I  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  I  ;  "but  shouldn't 
it  be  bush  ?  " 

"  It  came  to  me  bosh,"  returned  the  gentleman. 

The  gentleman  then  informed  me  that  the  spirit  of  Socra- 
tes had  delivered  this  special  revelation  in  the  course  of  the 
night.  "  My  friend,  I  hope  you  are  pretty  well.  There  are 
two  in  this  railway  carriage.  How  do  you  do  ?  There  are 
seventeen  thousand  four  hundred  and  seventy-nine  spirits 
here,  but  you  can  not  see  them.  Pythagoras  is  here.  He 
is  not  at  liberty  to  mention  it,  but  hopes  you  like  traveling." 
Galileo  likewise  had  dropped  in,  with  this  scientific  intelli- 
gence. "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  amico.  Come  St  1  ?  Water 
will  freeze  when  it  is  cold  enough.  Addio  !  "  In  the  course 
of  the  night,  also,  the  following  phenomena  had  occurred. 
Bishop  Butler  had  insisted  on  spelling  his  name,  "  Bubler," 
for  which  offense  against  orthography  and  good  manners  he 
had  been  dismissed  as  out  of  temper.  John  Milton  (sus- 
pected of  willful  mystification)  had  repudiated  the  author- 
ship of  Paradise  Lost,  and  had  introduced,  as  joint  authors 
of  that  poem,  two  unknown  gentlemen,  respectively  named 
Grungers  and  Scadgingtone.  And  Prince  Arthur,  nephew  of 
King  John  of  England,  had  described  himself  as  tolerably 
comfortable  in  the  seventh  circle,  where  he  was  learning  to 
paint  on  velvet,  under  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Trimmer  and 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

If  this  should  meet  the  eye  of  the  gentleman  who  favored 


4i4  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

me  with  these  disclosures,  I  trust  he  will  excuse  my  confess^ 
ing  that  the  sight  of  the  rising  sun,  and  the  contemplation 
of  the  magnificent  order  of  the  vast  universe,  made  me  im- 
patient of  them.  In  a  word,  I  was  so  impatient  of  them, 
that  I  was  mightily  glad  to  get  out  at  the  next  station,  and 
to  exchange  these  clouds  and  vapors  for  the  free  air  of 
heaven. 

By  that  time  it  was  a  beautiful  morning.  As  I  walked 
away  among  such  leaves  as  had  already  fallen  from  the 
golden,  brown,  and  russet  trees  ;  and  as  I  looked  around  rue 
on  the  wonders  of  creation,  and  thought  of  the  steady,  un- 
changing, and  harmonious  laws  by  which  they  are  sustained; 
the  gentleman's  spiritual  intercourse  seemed  to  me  as  poor  a 
piece  of  journey-work  as  ever  this  world  saw.  In  which 
heathen  state  of  mind,  I  came  within  view  of  the  house,  and 
stopped  to  examine  it  attentively. 

It  was  a  solitary  house  standing  in  a  sadly  neglected  gar- 
den, a  pretty  even  square  of  some  two  acres.  It  was  a  house 
of  about  the  time  of  George  the  Second  ;  as  stiff,  as  cold,  as 
formal,  and  in  as  bad  taste,  as  could  possibly  be  desired  by 
the  most  loyal  admirer  of  the  whole  quartet  of  Georges.  It 
was  uninhabited,  but  had,  within  a  year  or  two,  been  cheaply 
repaired  to  render  it  habitable  ;  I  say  cheaply,  because  the 
work  had  been  done  in  a  surface  manner,  and  was  already 
decaying  as  to  the  paint  and  plaster,  though  the  colors  were 
fresh.  A  lopsided  board  drooped  over  the  garden  wall,  an- 
nouncing that  it  was  "  To  let  on  very  reasonable  terms,  well 
furnished."  It  was  much  too  closely  and  heavily  shadowed 
by  trees,  and  in  particular,  there  were  six  tall  poplars  before 
the  front  windows,  which  were  excessively  melancholy,  and 
the  site  of  which  had  been  extremely  ill  chosen. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  it  was  an  avoided  house — a  house 
that  was  shunned  by  the  village,  to  which  my  eye  was  guided 
by  a  church  spire  some  half  a  mile  off — a  house  that  nobody 
would  take.  And  the  natural  inference  was,  that  it  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  haunted  house. 

No  period  within  the  four-and-twenty  hours  of  day  and 
night  is  so  solemn  to  me,  as  the  early  morning.  In  the  sum- 
mer-time, I  often  rise  very  early,  and  repair  to  my  room  to  do 
a  day's  work  before  breakfast,  and  I  am  always  on  those 
occasions  deeply  impressed  by  the  stillness  and  solitude 
around  me.  Besides  that  there  is  something  awful  in  the 
being  surrounded  by  familiar  faces  asleep — in  the  knowl- 
edge that  those  who  are  dearest  to  us  and  to  whom  we  *«* 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  415 

dearest,  are  profoundly  unconscious  of  us  in  an  impassive 
state,  anticipative  of  that  mysterious  condition  to  which 
we  are  all  tending — the  stopped  life,  the  broken  threads 
of  yesterday,  the  deserted  seat,  the  closed  book,  the  un- 
finished but  abandoned  occupation,  all  are  images  of 
death.  The  tranquillity  of  the  hour  is  the  tranquillity  of 
death.  The  color  and  the  chill  have  the  same  association. 
Even  a  certain  air  that  familiar  household  objects  take 
upon  them  when  they  first  emerge  from  the  shadows  of  the 
night  into  the  morning,  of  being  newer,  and  as  they  used  to 
be  long  ago,  has  its  counterpart  in  the  subsidence  of  the 
worn  face  of  maturity  or  age,  in  death,  into  the  old  youth- 
ful look.  Moreover,  I  once  saw  the  apparition  of  my  father, 
at  this  hour.  He  was  alive  and  well,  and  nothing  ever  came 
of  it,  but  I  saw  him  in  the  daylight,  sitting  with  his  back 
toward  me,  on  a  seat  that  stood  beside  my  bed.  His  head 
resting  on  his  hand,  and  whether  he  was  slumbering  or  griev- 
ing, I  could  not  discern.  Amazed  to  see  him  there,  I  sat 
up,  moved  my  position,  leaned  out  of  bed,  and  watched  him. 
As  he  did  not  move,  I  spoke  to  him  more  than  once.  As  he 
did  not  move  then,  I  became  alarmed  and  laid  my  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  as  I  thought — and  there  was  no  such  thing. 

For  all  these  reasons,  and  for  others  less  easily  and  briefly 
stateable,  I  find  the  early  morning  to  be  my  most  ghostly 
time.  Any  house  would  be  more  or  less  haunted,  to  me,  in 
the  early  morning ;  and  a  haunted  house  could  scarcely 
address  me  to  greater  advantage  than  then. 

I  walked  on  into  the  village,  with  the  desertion  of  this 
house  upon  my  mind,  and  I  found  the  landlord  of  the  lit- 
tle inn  sanding  his  door-step.  I  bespoke  breakfast,  and 
broached  the  subject  of  the  house. 

"  Is  it  haunted  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  landlord  looked  at  me,  shook  his  head,  and  answered, 
"I  say  nothing." 

"Then  it  is  haunted?" 

"  Well  !  "  cried  the  landlord,  in  an  outburst  of  frankness 
that  had  the  appearance  of  desperation — "  I  wouldn't  sleep 
in  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  wanted  to  have  all  the  bells  in  a  house  ring,  with 
nobody  to  ring  'em  ;  and  all  the  doors  in  a  house  bang,  with 
nobody  to  bang  'em  ;  and  all  sorts  of  feet  treading  about, 
with  no  feet  there  ;  why  then,"  said  the  landlord,  "  I'd  sleep 
in  that  house." 


4i6  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

"  Is  any  thing  seen  there  ?" 

The  landlord  looked  at  me  again,  and  then,  with  his 
former  appearance  of  desperation,  called  down  his  stable- 
yard  for  "  Ikey  !  " 

The  call  produced  a  high-shouldered  young  fellow,  with 
a  round  red  face,  a  short  crop  of  sandy  hair,  a  very  broad, 
humorous  mouth,  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a  great  sleeved 
waistcoat  of  purple  bars,  with  mother-of-pearl  buttons,  that 
seemed  to  be  growing  upon  him,  and  to  be  in  a  fair  way — 
if  it  were  not  pruned — of  covering  his  head  and  overrunning 
hib  boots. 

"  This  gentleman  wants  to  know,"  said  the  landlord,  "  if 
any  thing's  seen  at  the  Poplars." 

"  'Ooded  woman  with  a  howl,"  said  Ikey,  in  a  state  of 
great  freshness. 

"  Do  you  mean  a  cry  ?  " 

"  I  mean  a  bird,  sir." 

"  A  hooded  woman  with  an  owl.  Dear  me  !  Did  you 
ever  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  see  the  howl." 

"  Never  the  woman  ?  " 

"  Not  so  plain  as  the  howl,  but  they  always  keeps 
together." 

"  Has  any  body  ever  seen  the  woman  as  plainly  as  the 
owl." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  sir  !    Lots." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Lord  bless  you,  sir  !    Lots." 

"  The  general  dealer  opposite,  for  instance,  who  is  open- 
ing his  shop  ?  " 

"Perkins?  Bless  you,  Perkins  wouldn't  go  a-nigh  the 
place.  No  !  "  observed  the  young  man,  with  considerable 
feeling  ;  "  he  an't  over  wise,  an't  Perkins,  but  he  an't  such 
a  fool  as  that." 

(Here,  the  landlord  murmured  his  confidence  in  Perkins's 
knowing  better.) 

"  Who  is — or  who  was — the  hooded  woman  with  the  owl  ? 
Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Well  !  "  said  Ikey,  holding  up  his  cap  with  one  hand 
while  he  scratched  his  head  with  the  other,  "  they  say,  in 
general,  that  she  was  murdered,  and  the  howl  he  'ooted  the 
while." 

This  very  concise  summary  of  the  facts  was  all  I  could 
learn;  except  that  a  young  man,  as  hearty  and  likely  a  young 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  417 

man  as  ever  I  see,  had  been  took  with  fits  and  held  down 
in  'em,  after  seeing  the  hooded  woman.  Also,  that  a  per- 
sonage, dimly  described  as  "  a  bold  chap,  a  sort  of  one- 
eyed  tramp,  answering  to  the  name  of  Joby,  unless  you 
challenged  him  as  Greenwood,  and  then  he  said,  '  Why  not  ? 
and  even  if  so,  mind  your  own  business,'  "  had  encountered 
the  hooded  woman  a  matter  of  five  or  six  times.  But  I  was 
not  materially  assisted  by  these  witnesses,  inasmuch  as  the 
first  was  in  California,  and  the  last  was,  as  Ikey  said  (and 
he  was  confirmed  by  the  landlord),  Anywheres. 

Now,  although  I  regard  with  a  hushed  and  solemn  fear  the 
mysteries  between  which  and  this  state  of  existence  is  inter- 
posed the  barrier  of  the  great  trial  and  change  that  fall  on 
all  the  things  that  live,  and  although  I  have  not  the  audacity 
to  pretend  that  I  know  any  thing  of  them,  I  can  no  more 
reconcile  the  mere  banging  of  doors,  ringing  of  bells,  creak- 
ing of  boards,  and  such-like  insignificances,  with  the 
majestic  beauty  and  pervading  analogy  of  all  the  divine 
rules  that  I  am  permitted  to  understand,  than  I  had  been 
able,  a  little  while  before,  to  yoke  the  spiritual  intercourse  of 
my  fellow-traveler  to  the  chariot  of  the  rising  sun.  More- 
over, 1  had  lived  in  two  haunted  houses — both  abroad.  In 
one  of  these,  an  old  Italian  palace,  which  bore  the  reputation 
of  being  very  badly  haunted  indeed,  and  which  had  recently 
been  twice  abandoned  on  that  account,  I  lived  eight  months 
most  tranquilly  and  pleasantly,  notwithstanding  that  the 
house  had  a  score  of  mysterious  bed-rooms,  which  were 
never  used,  and  possessed,  in  one  large  room  in  which  I  sat 
reading,  times  out  of  number  at  all  hours,  and  next  to  which 
I  slept,  a  haunted  chamber  of  the  first  pretensions.  I  gently 
hinted  these  considerations  to  the  landlord.  And  as  to  this 
particular  house  having  a  bad  name,  I  reasoned  with  him, 
Why,  how  many  things  had  bad  names  undeservedly,  and 
how  easy  it  was  to  give  bad  names,  and  did  he  not  think 
that  if  he  and  I  were  persistently  to  whisper  in  the  village 
that  any  weird-looking  old  drunken  tinker  of  the  neighbor- 
hood had  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  he  would  come  in  time 
to  be  suspected  of  that  commercial  venture  !  All  this  wise 
talk  was  perfectly  ineffective  with  the  landlord,  I  am  bound 
to  confess,  and  was  as  dead  a  failure  as  ever  I  made  in  my 
life. 

To  cut  this  part  of  the  story  short,  I  was  piqued  about  the 
haunted  house,  and  was  already  half  resolved  to  take  it.  So 
after  breakfast,  I  got  the  keys  from  Perkins's  brother-m-la\v 


4i8  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

(a  whip  and  harness  maker,  who  keeps  the  post-office,  and 
is  under  submission  to  a  most  rigorous  wife  of  the  Doubly 
Seceding  Little  Emmanuel  persuasion),  and  went  up  to  the 
house,  attended  by  my  landlord  and  by  Ikey. 

Within,  I  found  it,  as  I  had  expected,  transcendently 
dismal.  The  slowly  changing  shadows  waved  on  it  from  the 
heavy  trees,  were  doleful  in  the  last  degree  ;  the  house  was 
ill-placed,  ill-built,  ill-planned,  and  ill-fitted.  It  was  damp, 
it  was  not  free  from  dry  rot,  there  was  a  flavor  of  rats  in  it, 
and  it  was  the  gloomy  victim  of  that  indescribable  decay 
which  settles  on  all  the  work  of  man's  hands  whenever  it  is 
not  turned  toman's  account.  The  kitchens  and  offices  were 
too  large,  and  remote  from  each  other.  Above  stairs  and 
below,  waste  tracts  of  passage  intervened  between  patches 
of  fertility  represented  by  rooms  ;  and  there  was  a  moldy 
old  well  with  a  green  growth  upon  it,  hiding  like  a  murder- 
ous trap  near  the  bottom  of  the  back-stairs,  under  the  double 
row  of  bells.  One  of  these  bells  was  labeled,  on  a  black 
ground  in  faded  white  letters,  Master  B.  This,  they  told 
me,  was  the  bell  that  rang  the  most. 

"  Who  was  Master  B.  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  it  known  what  he 
did  while  the  owl  hooted  ?  " 

"  Rang  the  bell,"  said  Ikey. 

I  was  rather  struck  by  the  prompt  dexterity  with  which 
this  young  man  pitched  his  fur  cap  at  the  bell,  and  rang  it 
himself.  It  was  a  loud,  unpleasant  bell,  and  made  a  very 
disagreeable  sound.  The  other  bells  were  inscribed  accord- 
ing to  the  names  of  the  rooms  to  which  their  wires  were 
conducted  :  as  "  Picture  Room,"  "  Double  Room,"  "  Clock 
Room,"  and  the  like.  Following  Master  B.'s  bell  to  its 
source,  I  found  that  young  gentleman  to  have  had  but  indif- 
ferent third-class  accommodation  in  a  triangular  cabin  under 
the  cock-loft,  with  a  corner  fireplace  which  Master  B.  must 
have  been  exceedingly  small  if  he  were  ever  able  to  warm 
himself  at,  and  a  corner  chimney-piece  like  a  pyramidal 
staircase  to  the  ceiling  for  Tom  Thumb.  The  papering  of 
one  side  of  the  room  had  dropped  down  bodily,  with  frag- 
ments of  plaster  adhering  to  it,  and  almost  blocked  up  the 
door.  It  appeared  that  Master  B.,  in  his  spiritual  condition, 
always  made  a  point  of  pulling  the  paper  down.  Neither  the 
landlord  nor  Ikey  could  suggest  why  he  made  such  a  fool  of 
himself. 

Except  that  the  house  had  an  immensely  large  rambling  loft 
at  top,  I  made  no  other  discoveries.    It  was  moderately  well 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  419 

furnished,  but  sparely.  Some  of  the  furniture — say,  a  third 
— was  as  old  as  the  -house  ;  the  rest  was  of  various  periods 
within  the  last  half  century.  I  was  referred  to  a  corn-chand- 
ler in  the  market-place  of  the  county  town  to  treat  for  the 
house.     I  went  that  day,  and  I  took  it  for  six  months. 

It  was  just  the  middle  of  October  when  I  moved  in  with 
my  maiden  sister  (I  venture  to  call  her  eight-and-thirty,  she 
is  so  very  handsome,  sensible,  and  engaging).  We  took  with 
us,  a  deaf  stable-man,  my  bloodhound  Turk,  two  women 
servants,  and  a  young  person  called  an  Odd  Girl.  I  have 
reason  to  record  of  the  attendant  last  enumerated,  who  was 
one  of  the  Saint  Lawrence's  Union  Female  Orphans,  that 
she  was  a  fatal  mistake  and  a  disastrous  engagement. 

The  year  was  dying  early,  the  leaves  were  falling  fast,  it  was 
a  raw,  cold  day  when  we  took  possession,  and  the  gloom  of  the 
house  was  most  depressing.  The  cook  (an  amiable  woman, 
but  of  a  weak  turn  of  intellect)  burst  into  tears  on  beholding 
the  kitchen,  and  requested  that  her  silver  watch  might  be 
delivered  over  to  her  sister  (2  Tuppintock's  Gardens,  Liggs's 
Walk,  Clapham  Rise),  in  the  event  of  any  thing  happening 
to  her  from  the  damp.  Streaker,  the  housemaid,  feigned 
cheerfulness,  but  was  the  greater  martyr.  The  Odd  Girl, 
who  had  never  been  in  the  country,  alone  was  pleased,  and 
made  arrangements  for  sowing  an  acorn  in  the  garden  out- 
side the  scullery  window,  and  rearing  an  oak. 

We  went,  before  dark,  through  all  the  natural — as  op- 
posed to  supernatural — miseries  incidental  to  our  state. 
Dispiriting  reports  ascending  (like  the  smoke)  from  the 
baserrent  in  volumes,  and  descending  from  the  upper  rooms. 
There  was  no  rolling-pin,  there  was  no  salamander  (which 
failed  to  surprise  me,  for  I  don't  know  what  it  is),  there 
was  nothing  in  the  house  ;  what  there  was,  was  broken  ; 
the  last  people  must  have  lived  like  pigs  ;  what  could  the 
meaning  of  the  landlord  be  ?  Through  these  distresses, 
the  Odd  Girl  was  cheerful  and  exemplary.  But  within 
four  hours  after  dark,  we  had  got  into  a  supernatural 
groove,  and  the  Odd  Girl  had  "  seen  eyes,"  and  was  in 
hysterics. 

My  sister  and  I  had  agreed  to  keep  the  haunting  strictly 
to  ourselves,  and  my  impression  was,  and  still  is,  that  I  had 
not  left  Ikey,  when  he  helped  to  unload  the  cart,  alone  with 
the  women,  or  any  one  of  them,  for  one  minute.  Nevertheless, 
hs  I  say,  the  Odd  Girl  had  "  seen  eyes  "  (no  other  explana- 
v>n  could  ever  be  drawn  from  her),  before  nine,  and  by  ten 


420  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

o'clock  had  had  as  much  vinegar  applied  to  her  as  would 
pickle  a  handsome  salmon. 

I  leave  a  discerning  public  to  judge  of  my  feelings,  when 
under  these  untoward  circumstances,  at  about  half-past  ten 
o'clock  Master  B.'s  bell  began  to  ring  in  a  most  infuriated 
manner,  and  Turk  howled  until  the  house  resounded  with  his 
lamentations ! 

I  hope  I  may  never  again  be  in  a  state  of  mind  so  un- 
christian as  the  mental  frame  in  which  I  lived  for  some 
weeks  respecting  the  memory  of  Master  B.  Whether  his 
bell  was  rung  by  rats,  or  mice,  or  bats,  or  wind,  or  what 
other  accidental  vibration,  or  sornetimes  by  one  cause,  some- 
times another,  and  sometimes  by  collusion,  I  don't  know  ; 
but  certain  it  is,  that  it  did  ring  two  nights  out  of  three,  until 
I  conceived  the  happy  idea  of  twisting  Master  B.'s  neck 
— in  other  words,  breaking  his  bell  short  off — and  silencing 
that  young  gentleman,  as  to  my  experience  and  belief,  for- 
ever. 

But,  by  that  time,  the  Odd  Girl  had  developed  such  im- 
proving powers  of  catalepsy,  that  she  had  become  a  shining 
example  of  that  very  inconvenient  disorder.  She  would  stif- 
fen, like  a  Guy  Fawkes,  endowed  with  unreason,  on  the  most 
irrelevant  occasions.  I  would  address  the  servants  in  a  lucid 
manner,  pointing  out  to  them  that  I  had  painted  Master  B.'s 
room  and  balked  the  paper,  and  taken  Master  B.'s  bell  away 
and  balked  the  ringing,  and  if  they  could  suppose  that  that 
confounded  boy  had  lived  and  died,  to  clothe  himself  with 
•ao  better  behavior  than  would  most  unquestionably  have 
brought  him  and  the  sharpest  particles  of  a  birch-broom 
mto  close  acquaintance  in  the  present  imperfect  state  of  exist- 
ence, could  they  also  suppose  a  mere  poor  human  being, 
such  as  I  was,  capable  by  those  contemptible  means  of 
counteracting  and  limiting  the  powers  of  the  disembodied 
spirits  of  the  dead,  or  of  any  spirits? — I  say  I  would  become 
emphatic  and  cogent,  not  to  say  rather  complacent,  in  such 
an  address,  when  it  would  all  go  for  nothing  by  reason  of 
the  Odd  Girl's  suddenly  stiffening  from  the  toes  upward,  and 
glaring  among  us  like  a  parochial  petrification. 

Streaker,  the  housemaid,  too,  had  an  attribute  of  a  most 
discomfiting  nature.  I  am  unable  to  say  whether  she  was 
of  an  unusually  lymphatic  temperament,  or  what  else  was 
the  matter  with  her,  but  this  young  woman  became  a  mere 
distillery  for  the  production  of  the  largest  and  most  trans- 
parent tears  I  ever  met  with.     Combined   with  these  char- 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  4« 

acteristics,  was  a  peculiar  tenacity  of  hold  in  those  speci . 
mens,  so  that  they  didn't  fall,  but  hung  upon  her  face  and 
nose.  In  this  condition,  and  mildly  and  deplorably  shaking 
her  head,  the  silence  would  throw  me  more  heavily  than  the 
Admirable  Crichton  could  have  done  in  a  verbal  disputation 
for  a  purse  of  money.  Cook,  likewise,  always  covered  me 
with  confusion  as  with  a  garment,  by  neatly  winding  up  the 
session  with  the  protest  that  the  'ouse  was  wearing  her  out, 
and  by  meekly  repeating  her  last  wishes  regarding  her  silver 
watch. 

As  to  our  nightly  life,  the  contagion  of  suspicion  and 
fear  was  among  us,  and  there  is  no  such  _  con- 
tagion under  the  sky.  Hooded  woman  ?  According  to 
the  accounts,  we  were  in  a  perfect  convent  of  hooded 
women.  Noises  ?  With  that  contagion  down  stairs,  I  my- 
self have  sat  in  the  dismal  parlor,  listening,  until  I  have 
heard  so  many  and  such  strange  noises,  that  they  would 
have  chilled  my  blood  if  I  had  not  warmed  it  by  dashing 
out  to  make  discoveries.  Try  this  in  bed,  in  the  dead  of  the 
night  ;  try  this  at  your  own  comfortable  fireside,  in  the  light 
of  the  night.  You  can  fill  any  house  with  noises,  if  you 
will,  until  you  have  a  noise  for  every  nerve  in  your  nervous 
system. 

I  repeat  :  the  contagion  of  suspicion  and  fear  was  among 
us,  and  there  is  no  such  contagion  under  the^  sky.  The 
women  (their  noses  in  a  chronic  state  of  excoriation  from 
smelling-salts),  were  always  primed  and  loaded  for  a  swoon, 
and  ready  to  go  off  with  hair-triggers.  The  two  elder  de- 
tached the  Odd  Girl  on  all  expeditions  that  were  considered 
doubly  hazardous,  and  she  always  established  the  reputa- 
tion of  such  adventures  by  coming  back  cataleptic.  If  cook 
or  Streaker  went  overhead  after  dark,  we  knew  we  should 
presently  hear  a  bump  on  the  ceiling  ;  and  this  took  place 
so  constantly,  that  it  was  as  if  a  fighting  man  were  engaged 
to  go  about  the  house,  administering  a  touch  of  his  art 
which  I  believe  is  called  the  auctioneer,  to  every  domestic 
he  met  with. 

It  was  in  vain  to  do  any  thing.  It  was  in  vain  to  be 
frightened,  for  the  moment,  in  one's  own  person,  by  a  real 
owl,  and  then  to  show  the  owl.  It  was  in  vain  to  discover, 
by  striking  an  accidental  discord  on  the  piano,  that  Turk 
always  howled  at  particular  notes  and  combinations.  It 
was  in  vain  to  be  a  Rhadamanthus  with  the  bells,  and  if  an 
unfortunate  bell  rang  without  leave,  to  have  it  down  ir^xor- 


422  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

ably  and  silence  it.  It  was  in  vain  to  fire  up  chimneys,  let 
torches  down  the  well,  charge  furiously  into  suspected 
rooms  and  recesses.  We  changed  servants,  and  it  was  no 
better.  The  new  set  ran  away,  and  a  third  set  came,  and  it 
was  no  better.  At  last,  our  comfortable  housekeeping  got 
to  be  so  disorganized  and  wretched,  that  I  one  night 
dejectedly  said  to  my  sister  :  "  Patty,  I  begin  to  despair  of 
our  getting  people  to  go  on  with  us  here,  and  I  think  we 
must  give  this  up." 

My  sister,  who  is  a  woman  of  immense  spirit,  replied, 
"  No,  John,  don't  give  it  up.  Don't  be  beaten,  John.  There 
is  another  way." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  said  I. 

"  John,"  returned  my  sister,  "if  we  are  not  to  be  driven 
out  of  this  house,  and  that  for  no  reason  whatever,  that  is 
apparent  to  you  or  me,  we  must  help  ourselves  and  take  the 
house  wholly  and  solely  into  our  own  hands." 

"  But  the  servants,"  said  I. 

"  Have  no  servants,"  said  my  sister,  boldly. 

Like  most  people  in  my  grade  of  life,  I  had  never  thought 
of  the  possibility  of  going  on  without  those  faithful  obstruc- 
tions. The  notion  was  so  new  to  me  when  suggested,  that  I 
looked  very  doubtful. 

"  We  know  they  come  here  to  be  frightened  and  infect 
one  another,"  said  my  sister. 

_  "  With  the  exception  of  Bottles,"  I  observed,  in  a  medita- 
tive tone. 

(The  deaf  stable-man.  I  kept  him  in  my  service,  and  still 
keep  him,  as  a  phenomenon  of  moroseness  not  to  be  matched 
in  England.) 

"  To  be  sure,  John,"  assented  my  sister  ;  "  except  Bottles. 
And  what  does  that  go  to  prove  ?  Bottles  talks  to  nobody, 
and  hears  nobody  unless  he  is  absolutely  roared  at,  and  what 
alarm  has  Bottles  ever  given,  or  taken  !     None." 

This  was  perfectly  true  ;  the  individual  in  question  hav- 
ing retired,  every  night  at  ten  o'clock,  to  his  bed  over  the 
coach-house,  with  no  other  company  than  a  pitchfork  and  a 
pail  of  water.  That  the  pail  of  water  would  have  been  over 
me,  and  the  pitchfork  through  me,  if  I  had  put  myself  with- 
out announcement  in  Bottles's  way  after  that  minute,  I  had 
deposited  in  my  own  mind  as  a  fact  worth  remembering. 
Neither  had  Bottles  ever  taken  the  least  notice  of  any  of 
our  many  uproars.  An  imperturbable  and  speechless  man. 
he  had  sat  at  his  supper,  with  Streaker  present  in  a  swoor^ 


THfi  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  423 

and  the  Odd  Girl  marble,  and  had  only  put  another  potato 
in  his  cheek,  or  profited  by  the  general  misery  to  help  him- 
self to  beefsteak  pie. 

"  And  so,"  continued  my  sister,  "  I  exempt  Bottles.  And 
considering,  John,  that  the  house  is  too  large,  and  perhaps 
too  lonely,  to  be  kept  well  in  hand  by  Bottles,  you,  and  me, 
I  propose  that  we  cast  about  among  our  friends  for  a  cer- 
tain selected  number  of  the  most  reliable  and  willing — form 
a  society  here  for  three  months — wait  upon  ourselves  and 
one  another — live  cheerfully  and  socially — and  see  what 
happens." 

I  was  so  charmed  with  my  sister,  that  I  embraced  her  on 
the  spot,  and  went  into  her  plan  with  the  greatest  ardor. 

We  were  then  in  the  third  week  of  November  ;  but  we 
took  our  measures  so  vigorously,  and  were  so  well  seconded 
by  the  friends  in  whom  we  confided,  that  there  was  still  a 
week  of  the  month  unexpired,  when  our  party  all  came 
down  together  merrily,  and  mustered  in  the  haunted  house. 

I  will  mention,  in  this  place,  two  small  changes  that  I  made 
while  my  sister  and  I  were  yet  alone.  It  occurring  to  me  as 
not  improbable  that  Turk  howled  in  the  house  at  night,  partly 
because  he  wanted  to  get  out  of  it,  I  stationed  him  in  his  kennel 
outside,  but  unchained  ;  and  I  seriously  warned  the  village 
that  any  man  who  came  in  his  way  must  not  expect  to  leave 
him  without  a  rip  in  his  own  throat.  I  then  casually  asked 
Ikey  if  he  were  a  judge  of  a  gun  ?  On  his  saying,  "Yes, 
sir,  I  knows  a  good  gun  when  I  sees  her,"  I  begged  the 
favor  of  his  stepping  up  to  the  house  and  looking  at   mine. 

"  She's  a  true  one,  sir,"  said  lkey,  after  inspecting  a 
double-barreled  rifle  that  I  bought  in  New  York  a  few  years 
ago.     "  No  mistake  about  her,  sir." 

"  Ikey,"  said  I,  "don't  mention  it;  I  have  seen  some- 
thing in  this  house." 

"  No,  sir  ? "  he  whispered,  greedily  opening  his  eyes. 
"  'Ooded  lady,  sir  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  I.  "  It  was  a  figure  rather 
like  you." 

"  Lord,  sir  !  " 

"  Ikey  !  "  said  I,  shaking  hands  with  him  warmly,  I  may 
say  affectionately,  "  if  there  is  any  truth  in  these  ghost 
stories,  the  greatest  service  I  can  do  you  is  to  fire  at  that 
figure.  And  I  promise  you,  by  heaven  and  earth,  I  will  do 
it  with  this  gun  if  I  see  it  again  !  " 

The  young  man  thanked  me,  and  took  his  leave  with  some 


424  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

little  precipitation,  after  declining  a  glass  of  liquor.  I  ir% 
parted  my  secret  to  him  because  I  had  never  quite  for- 
gotten his  throwing  his  cap  at  the  bell  ;  because  I  had,  on 
another  occasion,  noticed  something  very  like  a  fur  cap, 
lying  not  far  from  the  bell,  one  night  when  it  had  burst  out 
ringing  ;  and  because  I  had  remarked  that  we  were  at  our 
ghostliest  whenever  he  came  up  in  the  evening  to  comfort 
the  servants.  Let  me  do  Ikey  no  injustice.  He  was  afraid 
of  the  house,  and  believed  in  its  being  haunted  ;  and  yet  he 
would  play  false  on  the  haunting  side,  so  surely  as  he  got 
an  opportunity.  The  Odd  Girl's  case  was  exactly  similar. 
She  went  about  the  house  in  a  state  of  real  terror,  and  yet 
lied  monstrously  and  willfully,  and  invented  many  of  the 
alarms  she  spread,  and  made  many  of  the  sounds  we  heard. 
I  had  my  eye  on  the  two,  and  I  know  it.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary for  me,  here,  to  account  for  this  preposterous  state  of 
mind  ;  I  content  myself  with  remarking  that  it  is  familiarly 
known  to  every  intelligent  man  who  has  had  fair  medical, 
legal,  or  other  watchful  experience,  that  it  is  as  well  estab- 
lished and  as  common  a  state  of  mind  as  any  with  which 
observers  are  acquainted,  and  that  it  is  one  of  the  first  ele- 
ments, above  all  others,  rationally  to  be  suspected  in,  and 
strictly  looked  for,  and  separated  from,  any  question  of  this 
kind. 

To  return  to  our  party.  The  first  thing  we  did  when  we 
were  all  assembled,  was,  to  draw  lots  for  bedrooms.  That 
done,  and  every  bedroom,  and  indeed,  the  whole  house, 
having  been  minutely  examined  by  the  whole  body,  we  al- 
lotted the  various  household  duties,  as  if  we  had  been  on  a 
gipsy  party,  or  a  yachting  party,  or  a  hunting  party,  or  were 
shipwrecked.  I  then  recounted  the  floating  rumors  con- 
cerning the  hooded  lady,  the  owl,  and  Master  B.,  with 
others  still  more  filmy,  which  had  floated  about  during  our 
occupation,  relative  to  some  ridiculous  old  ghost  of  the 
female  gender  who  went  up  and  down,  carrying  the  ghost 
of  a  round  table  ;  and  also  to  an  impalpable  jackass,  whom 
nobody  was  ever  able  to  catch.  Some  of  these  ideas  I 
really  believed  our  people  had  communicated  to  one  another 
in  some  diseased  way,  without  conveying  them  in  words. 
We  then  gravely  called  one  another  to  witness  that  we  were 
not  there  to  be  deceived,  or  to  deceive — which  we  consid- 
ered pretty  much  the  same  thing — and  that,  with  a  serious 
sense  of  responsibility,  we  would  be  strictly  true  to  one 
another,  and  would  strictly  follow  out  the  truth.     The  un- 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  425 

derstanding  was  established,  that  any  one  who  heard 
unusual  noises  in  the  night,  and  who  wished  to  trace  them, 
should  knock  at  my  door  ;  lastly,  that  on  the  twelfth  night, 
the  last  night  of  holy  Christmas,  all  our  individual  experi- 
ences since  that  then  present  hour  of  our  coming  together 
in  the  haunted  house,  should  be  brought  to  light  for  the 
good  of  all  ;  and  that  we  would  hold  our  peace  on  the  sub- 
ject till  then,  unless  on  some  remarkable  provocation  to 
break  silence. 

We  were  in  number  and  in  character,  as  follows  : 
First — to  get  my  sister  and  myself  out  of  the  way— there 
were  we  two.     In  the   drawing   of  lots,  my  sister  drew  her 
own   room,   and   I  drew   Master  B.'s.     Next  there  was  our 
first  cousin  John   Herschel,  so  called  after  the  great  astron- 
omer,   than   whom   I   suppose   a  better  man  at  a  telescope 
does  not  breathe.     With  him  was  his  wife,  a  charming  creat- 
ure  to  whom  he  had  been  married  in  the  previous  spring. 
I  thought  it  (under  the  circumstances)  rather  imprudent  to 
bring  her,  because   there   is   no   knowing  what  even  a  false 
alarm  may  do   at  such   a  time  ;  but   I  suppose  he  knew  his 
own  business  best,  and  I  must  say  that  if  she  had  been  my 
wife,  I   could  never  have    left    her    endearing  and    bright 
face'behind.     They  drew  the   clock  room.     Alfred  Starling, 
an  uncommonly  agreeable  young  fellow,  of  eight  and  twenty, 
for  whom  I  have  the   greatest  liking,  was    in    the  double 
room  ;  mine,  usually,   and  designated  by  that  name   from 
having  a  dressing-room   within  it,  with  two  large  and  cum- 
bersome windows,  which  no  wedges  /was  ever  able  to  make, 
would  keep  from  shaking,  in  any  weather,  wind  or  no  wind. 
Alfred  is  a  young  fellow  who  pretends  to  be"  fast  "  (another 
■  word  for  loose,  as  I  understand  the  term),  but  who  is  much 
too  good  and  sensible  for  that  nonsense,   and  who  would 
have  distinguished  himself  before  now,  if  his  father  had  not 
unfortunately  left  him  a  small  independence  of  two  hundred 
a  year,  on  the  strength  of  which  his  only  occupation  in  life 
has  been  to  spend  six.     I  am  in   hopes,   however,   that  his 
banker  may  break,  or  that  he  may  enter  into  some  specula- 
tion guaranteed  to  pay  twenty  per  cent.  ;  for  I  am  convinced 
that  if  he  could  only  be  ruined,  his  fortune  is  made.     Belinda 
Bates,  bosom  friend  of  my   sister,  and   a  most   intellectual, 
amiable,   and    delightful  girl,  got   the   picture   room.     She 
has  a  fine  genius  for  poetry,  combined   with   real  business 
earnestness,    and    "  goes    in  "—to    use    an    expression    of 
Alfred's— for  Woman's  Mission,  Woman's  Rights,  Woman  s 


426  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

Wrongs,  and  every  thing  that  is  woman's  with  a  capital  W, 
or  is  not  and  ought  to  be,  or  is  and  ought  not  to  be. 
"  Most  praiseworthy,  my  dear,  and  heaven  prosper  you  !  " 
I  whispered  to  her  on  the  first  night  of  my  taking  leave  of 
her  at  the  picture-room  door,  "  but  don't  overdo  it.  And 
in  respect  of  the  great  necessity  there  is,  my  darling,  for 
more  employments  being  within  reach  of  woman  than  our 
civilization  has  as  yet  assigned  to  her,  don't  fly  at  the 
unfortunate  men,  even  those  men  who  are  at  first  sight  in 
your  way,  as  if  they  were  the  natural  oppressors  of  your  sex  ; 
for,  trust  me,  Belinda,  they  do  sometimes  spend  their  wages 
among  wives-  and  daughters,  sisters,  mothers,  aunts,  and 
grandmothers  ;  and  the  play  is,  really,  not  all  Wolf  and 
Red  Riding-Hood,  but  has  other  parts  in  it."  However,  I 
digress. 

Belinda,  as  I  have  mentioned,  occupied  the  picture  room. 
We  had  but  three  other  chambers  :  the  corner  room,  the 
cupboard  room,  and  the  garden  room.  My  old  friend 
Jack  Governor,  "  Slung  his  hammock,"  as  he  called  it,  in 
the  corner  room.  I  have  always  regarded  Jack  as  the 
finest-looking  sailor  that  ever  sailed.  He  is  gray  now,  but 
as  handsome  as  he  was  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago — nay, 
handsomer.  A  portly,  cheery,  well-built  figure  of  a  broad- 
shouldered  man,  with  a  frank  smile,  a  brilliant  dark  eye, 
and  a  rich  dark  eyebrow.  I  remember  those  under  darker 
hair,  and  they  look  all  the  better  for  their  silver  setting. 
He  has  been  wherever  his  Union  namesake  flies,  has  Jack, 
and  I  have  met  old  shipmates  of  his,  away  in  the  Med- 
iterranean and  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  who  have 
beamed  and  brightened  at  the  casual  mention  of  his  name, 
and  have  cried,  "  You  know  Jack  Governor  ?  Then  you 
know  a  prince  of  men  !  "  That  he  is  !  And  so  unmis- 
takably a  naval  officer,  that  if  you  were  to  meet  him  coming 
out  of  an  Esquimaux  snow-hut  in  seal  skin,  you  would  be 
vaguely  persuaded  he  was  in  full  naval  uniform. 

Jack  once  had  that  bright,  clear  eye  of  his  on  my  sister  ; 
but  it  fell  out  that  he  married  another  lady  and  took  her  to 
South  America,  where  she  died.  This  was  a  dozen  years 
ago  or  more.  He  brought  down  with  him  to  our  haunted 
house  a  little  cask  of  salt  beef  ;  for  he  is  always  convinced 
that  all  salt  beef  not  of  his  own  pickling,  is  mere  carrion,  and 
invariably,  when  he  goes  to  London,  packs  a  piece  in  his 
portmanteau.  He  had  also  volunteered  to  bring  with  him 
one  "  Nat  Beaver,"  an  old  comrade  of  his,  captain  of  amer- 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  427 

chantman.  Mr.  Beaver,  with  a  thick-set,  wooden  face  and 
figure,  and  apparently  as  hard  as  a  block  all  over,  proved 
to  be  an  intelligent  man,  with  a  world  of  watery  experiences 
in  him,  and  great  practical  knowledge.  At  times  there  was 
a  curious  nervousness  about  him,  apparently  the  lingering 
result  of  some  old  illness  ;  but  it  seldom  lasted  many 
minutes.  He  got  the  cupboard  room,  and  lay  there  next 
to  Mr.  Undery,  my  friend  and  solicitor,  who  came  down, 
in  an  amateur  capacity,  "  to  go  through  with  it,"  as  he  said, 
and  who  plays  whist  better  than  the  whole  Law  List,  from 
the  red  cover  at  the  beginning  to  the  red  cover  at  the 
end. 

I  never  was  happier  in  my  life,  and  I  believe  it  was  the 
universal  feeling  among  us.  Jack  Governor,  always  a  man 
of  wonderful  resources,  was  chief  cook,  and  made  some  of 
the  best  dishes  I  ever  ate,  including  unapproachable  curries. 
My  sister  was  pastry-cook  and  confectioner.  Starling  and  I 
were  cook's  mate,  turn  and  turn  about,  and  on  special 
occasions  the  chief  cook  "  pressed  "  Mr.  Beaver.  We  had 
a  great  deal  of  out-door  sport  and  exercise,  but  nothing  was 
neglected  within,  and  there  was  no  ill- humor  or  misunder- 
standing among  us,  and  our  evenings  were  so  delightful  that 
we  had  at  least  one  good  reason  for  being  reluctant  to  go  to 
bed. 

We  had  a  few  night  alarms  in  the  beginning.  On  the  first 
night,  I  was  knocked  up  by  Jack  with  a  most  wonderful 
ship's  lantern  in  his  hand,  like  the  gill  of  some  monster  of 
the  deep,  who  informed  me  that  he  was  "  going  aloft  to  the 
main-truck,"  to  have  the  weathercock  down.  It  was  a 
stormy  night,  and  I  remonstrated  ;  but  Jack  called  my  atten- 
tion to  its  making  a  sound  like  a  cry  of  despair,  and  said  some- 
body would  be  "  hailing  a  ghost  "  presently,  if  it  wasn't  done. 
So,  up  to  the  top  of  the  house,  where  I  could  hardly  stand  for 
the  wind,  we  went,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Beaver  ;  and  there 
Jack,  lantern  and  all,  with  Mr.  Beaver  after  him,  swarmed  up 
to  the  top  of  a  cupola  some  two  dozen  feet  above  the  chimneys, 
and  stood  upon  nothing  particular,  coolly  knocking  the 
weathercock  off,  until  they  both  got  into  such  good  spirits  with 
r^e  wind  and  the  height,  that  I  thought  they  would  never  come 
down.  Another  night,  they  turned  out  again,  and  had  a 
chimney-cowl  off.  Another  night,  they  cut  a  sobbing  and 
gulping  water-pipe  away.  Another  night,  they  found  out 
something  else.  On  several  occasions,  they  both,  in  the 
coolest  manner,  simultaneously  dropped  out  of  their  respec? 


428  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

tive  bedroom  windows,  hand  over  hand  by  their  counter- 
panes, to  "  overhaul  "  something  mysterious  in  the  garden. 
The  engagement  among  us  was  faithfully  kept,  and  nobody 
revealed  any  thing.  All  we  know  was,  if  any  one's  room  were 
haunted,  no  one  looked  the  worse  for  it. 


THE  GHOST  IN  MASTER  B.'S  ROOM. 

When  I  established  myself  in  the  triangular  garret  which 
had  gained  so  distinguished  a  reputation,  my  thoughts 
naturally  turned  to  Master  B.  My  speculations  about  him 
were  uneasy  and  manifold.  Whether  his  Christian  name  was 
Benjamin,  Bissextile  (from  his  having  been  born  in  leap 
year),  Bartholomew,  or  Bill.  Whether  the  initial  letter  be- 
longed to  his  family  name,  and  that  was  Baxter,  Black, 
Brown,  Barker,  Buggins,  Baker,  or  Bird.  Whether  he  was 
a  foundling,  and  had  been  baptized  B.  Whether  he  was  a 
lion-hearted  boy,  and  B.  was  short  for  Briton,  or  for  Bull. 
Whether  he  could  possibly  have  been  kith  and  kin  to  an 
illustrious  lady  who  brightened  my  own  childhood,  and  had 
come  of  the  blood  of  the  brilliant  Mother  Bunch. 

With  these  profitless  meditations  I  tormented  myself  much. 
I  also  carried  the  mysterious  letter  into  the  appearance  and 
pursuits  of  the  deceased  ;  wondering  whether  he  dressed  in 
Blue,  wore  Boots  (he  couldn't  have  been  Bald),  was  a  boy  of 
Brains,  liked  Books,  was  good  at  Bowling,  had  any  skill  as  a 
Boxer,  even  in  his  Buoyant  Boyhood  Bathed  from  a  Bathing- 
machine  at  Bognor,  Bangor,  Bournemouth,  Brighton,  or 
Broadstairs,  like  a  Bounding  Billiard  Ball. 

So,  from  the  first  I  was  haunted  by  the  letter  B. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  remarked  that  I  never  by  any 
hazard  had  a  dream  of  Master  B.,  or  any  thing  belonging  to 
him.  But  the  instant  I  awoke  from  sleep,  at  whatever  hour 
of  the  night,  my  thoughts  took  him  up,  and  roamed  away, 
trying  to  attach  his  initial  letter  to  something  that  would  fit 
it  and  keep  it  quiet. 

For  six  nights  I  had  been  worried  thus  in  Master  B.'s 
room,  when  I  began  to  perceive  that  things  were  going 
wrong. 

The  first  appeal  ance  that  presented  itself  was  early  in  the 
morning,  when  it  was  but  just  daylight  and  no  more.  I  was 
standing  shaving  at  my  glass,  when  I  suddenly  discovered, 
to  my  consternation  and  amazement,  that  I  was  shaving— 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  429 

not    myself — I    am    fifty — but   a   boy.      Apparently    Mas- 
ter B.  ? 

I  trembled  and  looked  over  my  shoulder  ;  nothing  there. 
I  looked  again  in  the  glass,  and  distinctly  saw  the  features 
and  expression  of  a  boy,  who  was  shaving  not  to  get  rid  of 
a  beard,  but  to  get  one.  Extremely  troubled  in  my  mind,  I 
took  a  few  turns  in  the  room,  and  went  back  to  the  looking- 
glass,  resolved  to  steady  my  hand  and  complete  the  opera- 
tion in  which  I  had  been  disturbed.  Opening  my  eyes, 
which  I  had  shut  while  recovering  my  firmness,  I  now  met 
in  the  glass,  looking  straight  at  me,  the  eyes  of  a  young  man 
of  four  or  five  and-twenty.  Terrified  by  this  new  ghost,  I 
closed  my  eyes,  and  make  a  strong  effort  to  recover  myself. 
Opening  them  again,  I  saw,  shaving  his  cheek  in  the  glass, 
my  father,  who  has  long  been  dead.  Nay,  I  even  saw  my 
grandfather  too,  whom  I  never  did  see  in  my  life. 

Although  naturally  much  affected  by  these  remarkable 
visitations,  I  determined  to  keep  my  secret  until  the  time 
agreed  upon  for  the  present  general  disclosure.  Agitated 
by  a  multitude  of  curious  thoughts  I  retired  to  my  room, 
that  night,  prepared  to  encounter  some  new  experience  of  a 
spectral  character.  Nor  was  my  preparation  needless,  for, 
waking  from  an  uneasy  sleep  at  exactly  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  what  were  my  feelings  to  find  that  I  was  sharing 
my  bed  with  the  skeleton  of  Master  B. 

I  sprang  up,  and  the  skeleton  sprang  up  also.  I  then 
heard  a  plaintive  voice  saying,  "  Where  am  I  ?  What  is  be- 
come of  me?"  and,  looking  hard  in  that  direction,  perceived 
the  ghost  of  Master  B. 

The  young  specter  was  dressed  in  an  obsolete  fashion  ;  or 
rather,  was  not  so  much  dressed  as  put  into  a  case  of  inferior 
pepper-and-salt  cloth,  made  horrible  by  means  of  shining 
buttons.  I  observed  that  these  buttons  went,  in  a  double 
row  over  each  shoulder  of  the  young  ghost,  and  appeared  to 
descend  his  back.  He  wore  a  frill  round  his  neck.  His 
right  hand  (which  I  distinctly  noticed  to  be  inky)  was  laid 
upon  his  stomach  ;  connecting  this  action  with  some  feeble 
pimples  on  his  countenance,  and  his  general  air  of  nausea,  I 
concluded  this  ghost  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  boy  who  had 
habitually  taken  a  great  deal  too  much  medicine. 

"  Where  am  I  ? "  said  the  little  specter,  in  a  pathetic  voice. 
"  And  why  was  I  born  in  the  calomel  days,  and  why  did  I 
have  all  that  calomel  given  me  ? " 

I  replied,  with  sincere  earnestness,  that  upon  my  soul  I 
couldn't  tell  him. 


430  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

"Where  is  my  little  sister,"  said  the  ghost,  "and  where  my 
angelic  little  wife,  and  where  is  the  boy  I  went  to  school 
with  ? " 

I  entreated  the  phantom  to  be  comforted,  and  above  all 
things  to  take  heart  respecting  the  loss  of  the  boy  he  went 
to  school  with.  I  represented  to  him  that  probably  that  boy 
never  did,  within  human  experience,  come  out  well,  when 
discovered.  I  urged  that  I  myself  had,  in  later  life,  turned 
up  several  boys  whom  I  went  to  school  with,  and  none  of 
them  had  at  all  answered.  I  expressed  my  humble  belief 
that  the  boy  never  did  answer.  I  represented  that  he  was  a 
mystic  character,  a  delusion,  and  a  snare.  I  recounted  how, 
the  last  time  I  found  him,  I  found  him  at  a  dinner  party  be- 
hind a  wall  of  white  cravat,  with  an  inconclusive  opinion  on 
every  possible  subject,  and  a  power  of  silent  boredom  abso- 
lutely Titanic.  I  related  how,  on  the  strength  of  our  hav- 
ing been  together  at  "  Old  Doylance's,"  he  had  asked  him- 
self to  breakfast  with  me  (a  social  offense  of  the  largest 
magnitude)  ;  how,  fanning  my  weak  embers  of  belief  in 
Doylance's  boys,  I  had  let  him  in  ;  and  how  he  had  proved 
to  be  a  fearful  wanderer  about  the  earth,  pursuing  the  race 
of  Adam  with  inexplicable  notions  concerning  the  currency, 
and  with  a  proposition  that  the  Bank  of  England  should,  on 
pain  of  being  abolished,  instantly  strike  off  and  circulate, 
God  knows  how  many  thousand  millions  of  ten-and-six- 
penny  notes. 

The  ghost  heard  me  in  silence,  and  with  a  fixed  stare. 
<l  Barber  !  "  it  aposthropized  me  when  I  finished. 

"  Barber?"   1  repeated — for  I  am  not  of  that  profession. 

"  Condemned,"  said  the  ghost,  "  to  shave  a  constant  change 
of  customers — now  me — now  a  young  man — now  thyself  as 
thou  art — now  thy  father — now  thy  grandfather  ;  condemned, 
too,  to  lie  down  with  a  skeleton  every  night,  and  to  rise  with 
it  every  morning — " 

(I  shuddered  on  hearing  this  dismal  announcement.) 

"  Barber  !     Pursue  me  !  " 

I  had  felt,  even  before  the  words  were  uttered,  that  I  was 
under  a  spell  to  pursue  the  phantom.  I  immediately  did  so, 
and  was  in  Master  B.'s  room  no  longer. 

Most  people  know  what  long  and  fatiguing  night-journeys 
had  been  forced  upon  the  witches  who  used  to  confess,  and 
who,  no  doubt,  told  the  exact  truth — particularly  as  they 
were  always  assisted  with  leading  questions,  and  the  torture 
was  always  ready.     I  asseverate  that,  during  my  occupation 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  43^ 

of  Master  B.'s  room,  I  was  taken  by  the  ghost  that  haunted 
it,  on  expeditions^  fully  as  long  and  wild  as  any  of  those. 
Assuredly,  I  was  presented  to  no  old  man  with  a  goat's 
horns  and  tail  (something  between  Pan  and  an  old-clothes- 
man), holding  conventional  receptions,  as  stupid  as  those  of 
real  life  and  less  decent ;  but  I  came  upon  other  things 
which  appeared  to  me  to  have  more  meaning. 

Confident  that  I  speak  the  truth  and  shall  be  believed,  I 
declare  without  hesitation,  that  I  followed  the  ghost,  in  the 
first  instance  on  a  broom  stick,  and  afterward  on  a  rocking- 
horse.  The  very  smell  of  the  animal's  paint — especially 
when  I  brought  it  out,  by  making  him  warm — I  am  ready  to 
swear  to.  I  followed  the  ghost,  afterward,  in  a  hackney 
coach — an  institution  with  the  peculiar  smell  of  which  the 
present  generation  is  unacquainted,  but  to  which  I  am  again 
ready  to  swear  as  a  combination  of  stable,  dog  with  the 
mange,  and  very  old  bellows.  (In  this,  I  appeal  to  previous 
generations  to  confirm  or  refute  me.)  I  pursued  the  phan- 
tom on  a  headless  donkey— at  least,  upon  a  donkey  who  was 
so  interested  in  the  state  of  his  stomach  that  his  head  was 
always  down  there,  investigating  it  ;  on  ponies,  expressly 
born  to  kick  up  behind  ;  on  roundabouts  and  swings,  from 
fairs  ;  in  the  first  cab — another  forgotten  institution,  where 
the  fare  regularly  got  into  bed,  and  was  tucked  up  with  the 
driver.  Not  to  trouble  you  with  a  detailed  account  of  all 
my  travels  in  pursuit  of  the  ghost  of  Master  B.,  which  were 
longer  and  more  wonderful  than  those  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor, 
I  will  confine  myself  to  one  experience,  from  which  you  may 
judge  of  many. 

I  was  marvelously  changed.  I  was  myself,  yet  not  my- 
self. I  was  conscious  of  something  within  me,  which  has 
been  the  same  all  through  my  life,  and  which  I  have  always 
recognized  under  all  its  phases  and  varieties  as  never  alter- 
ing, and  yet  I  was  not  the  I  who  had  gone  to  bed  in  Master 
B.'s  room.  I  had  the  smoothest  of  faces  and  the  shortest  of 
legs,  and  I  had  taken  another  creature  like  myself,  also  with 
the  smoothest  of  faces  and  the  shortest  of  legs,  behind  a 
door,  and  was  confiding  to  him  a  proposition  of  the  most  as- 
tounding nature. 

This  proposition  was,  that  we  should  have  a  seraglio. 

The  other  creature  assented  warmly.  He  had  no  notion  of 
respectability  :  neither  had  I.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  East,  it 
was  the  way  of  the  good  Caliph  Haroun  Alraschid  (let  me  have 
the  corrupted  name  again  for  once,  it  u  so  scented  with  sweet 


432  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

memories  !),  the  usage  was  highly  laudable,  and  most  worthy 
of  imitation.  "  Oh  yes  !  let  us,"  said  the  other  creature, 
with  a  jump,  "  have  a  seraglio." 

It  was  not  because  we  entertained  the  faintest  doubts  of 
the  meritorious  character  of  the  Oriental  establishment  we 
proposed  to  import,  that  we  perceived  it  must  be  kept  a 
secret  from  Miss  Griffin.  It  was  because  we  knew  Miss 
Griffin  to  be  bereft  of  human  sympathies,  and  incapable  of 
appreciating  the  greatness  of  the  great  Haroun.  Mystery 
impenetrably  shrouded  from  Miss  Griffin  then,  let  us  intrust 
it  to  Miss  Bule. 

We  were  ten  in  Miss  Griffin's  establishment  by  Hamp- 
stead  Ponds  ;  eight  ladies  and  two  gentlemen.  Miss  Bule, 
whom  I  judge  to  have  attained  the  ripe  age  of  eight  or  nine, 
took  the  lead  in  society.  I  opened  the  subject  to  her  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  proposed  that  she  should  become  the 
favorite. 

Miss  Bule,  after  struggling  with  the  diffidence  so  natural 
to,  and  charming  in,  her  adorable  sex,  expressed  herself  as 
flattered  by  the  idea,  but  wished  to  know  how  it  was  pro- 
posed to  provide  for  Miss  Pipson  ?  Miss  Bule — who  was 
understood  to  have  vowed  toward  that  young  lady  a  friend- 
ship, halves,  and  no  secrets,  until  death,  on  the  Church  Ser- 
vice and  Lessons  complete  in  two  volumes  with  case  and 
lock — Miss  Bule  said  she  could  not,  as  the  friend  of  Pipson, 
disguise  from  herself,  or  me,  that' Pipson  was  not  one  of  the 
common. 

Now  Miss  Pipson,  having  curly  light  hair,  and  blue  eyes 
(which  was  my  idea  of  any  thing  mortal  and  feminine  that 
was  called  fair),  I  promptly  replied  that  I  regarded  Miss 
Pipson  in  the  light  of  a  fair  Circassian. 

"And  what  then  ?"  Miss  Bule  pensively  asked. 

I  replied  that  she  must  be  inveigled  by  a  merchant,  brought 
to  me  veiled,  and  purchased  as  a  slave. 

[The  other  creature  had  already  fallen  into  the  second 
male  place  in  the  state,  and  was  set  apart  for  grand  vizier. 
He  afterward  resisted  this  disposal  of  events,  but  had  his 
hair  pulled  until  he  yielded.] 

"  Shall  I  not  be  jealous  ? "  Miss  Bule  inquired,  casting 
down  her  eyes. 

"  Zobeide,  no,"  I  replied,  "  you  will  ever  be  the  favorite 
sultana ;  the  first  place  in  my  heart,  and  on  my  throne,  will 
be  ever  yours." 

Miss  Bule,  upon  that  assurance,  consented   to  propound 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  433 

the  idea  to  her  seven  beautiful  companions.  It  occurring 
to  me  in  the  course  of  the  same  day,  that  we  knew  we  could 
trust  a  grinning  and  good-natured  soul  called  Tabby,  who 
was  the  serving-drudge  of  the  house,  and  had  no  more 
figure  than  one  of  the  beds,  and  upon  whose  face  there  was 
always  more  or  less  black-lead,  I  slipped  into  Miss  Bule's 
hand  after  supper  a  note  to  that  effect  :  dwelling  on  the 
black-lead  as  being  in  a  manner  deposited  by  the  finger  of 
Providence,  pointing  Tabby  out  for  Mesrour,  the  celebrated 
chief  of  the  blacks  of  the  harem. 

There  were  difficulties  in  the  formation  of  the  desired  in- 
stitution, as  there  are  in  all  combinations.  The  other  creat- 
ure showed  himself  of  a  low  character,  and,  when  defeated 
in  aspiring  to  the  throne,  pretended  to  have  conscientious 
scruples  about  prostating  himself  before  the  caliph  ;  wouldn't 
call  him  Commander  of  the  Faithful  ;  spoke  of  him  slight- 
ingly and  inconsistently  as  a  mere  "  chap  ;  "  said  he,  the 
other  creature,  "  wouldn't  play  " — Play ! — and  was  otherwise 
coarse  and  offensive.  This  meanness  of  disposition  was, 
however,  put  down  by  the  general  indignation  of  an  united 
seraglio,  and  I  became  blessed  in  the  smiles  of  eight  of  the 
fairest  daughters  of  men. 

The  smiles  could  only  be  bestowed  when  Miss  Griffin 
was  looking  another  way,  and  only  then  in  a  very  wary  man- 
ner, for  there  was  a  legend  among  the  followers  of  the 
prophet  that  she  saw  with  a  little  round  ornament  in  the 
middle  of  the  pattern  on  the  back  of  her  shawl.  But  every 
day  after  dinner,  for  an  hour,  we  were  all  together,  and  then 
the  favorite  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  harem  competed  who 
should  most  beguile  the  leisure  of  the  serene  Haroun,  re- 
posing from  the  cares  of  state — which  were  generally,  as  in 
most  affairs  of  state,  of  an  arithmetical  character,  the  Com- 
mander of  the  Faithful  being  a  fearful  boggier  at  a  sum. 

On  these  occasions,  the  devoted  Mesrour,  chief  of  the 
blacks  of  the  harem,  was  always  in  attendance  (Miss  Griffin 
usually  ringing  for  that  officer,  at  the  same  time,  with  great 
vehemence),  but  never  acquitted  himself  in  a  manner  worthy 
of  his  historical  reputation.  In  the  first  place,  his  bringing 
a  broom  into  the  divan  of  the  caliph,  even  when  Haroun 
wore  on  his  shoulders  the  red  robe  of  anger  (Miss  Pipson's 
pelisse),  though  it  might  be  got  over  for  the  moment,  was 
never  to  be  quite  satisfactorily  accounted  for.  In  the  second 
place,  his  breaking  out  into  grinning  exclamations  of  "  Lork, 
you  pretties  !  "  was  neither  Eastern  nor  respectful.     In  the 


434  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

third  place,  when  specially  instructed  to  say  "  Bismillah  !  "  he 
always  said  "  Hallelujah  !  "  This  officer,  unlike  his  class,  was 
too  good-humored  altogether,  kept  his  mouth  open  far  too  wide 
expressed  approbation  to  an  incongruous  extent,  and  even 
once — it  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  purchase  of  the  Fair 
Circassian  for  five  hundred  thousand  purses  of  gold,  and 
cheap,  too — embraced  the  slave,  the  favorite,  and  the 
caliph,  all  round.  (Parenthetically  let  me  say  God  bless 
Mesrour,  and  may  there  have  been  sons  and  daughters  on 
that  tender  bosom,  softening  many  a  hard  day  since  !) 

Miss  Griffin  was  a  model  of  propriety,  and  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  imagine  what  the  feelings  of  the  virtuous  woman  would 
have  been,  if  she  had  known,  when  she  paraded  us  down  the 
Hampstead  road  two  and  two,  that  she  was  walking  wTith  a 
stately  step  at  the  head  of  Polygamy  and  Mohammedanism. 
I  believe  that  a  mysterious  and  terrible  joy  with  which  the 
contemplation  of  Miss  Griffin,  in  this  unconscious  state,  in- 
spired us,  and  a  grim  sense  prevalent  among  us  that  there 
was  a  dreadful  power  in  our  knowledge  of  what  Miss  Griffin 
(who  knew  all  things  that  could  be  learned  out  of  book) 
didn't  know,  were  the  mainspring  of  the  preservation  of  our 
secret.  It  was  wonderfully  kept,  but  was  once  upon  the 
verge  of  self-betrayal.  The  danger  and  escape  occurred 
upon  a  Sunday.  We  were  all  ten  ranged  in  a  conspicuous 
part  of  the  gallery  at  church,  with  Miss  Griffin  at  our  head 
— as  we  were  every  Sunday — advertising  the  establishment 
in  an  unsecular  sort  of  way — when  the  description  of  Solo- 
mon in  his  domestic  glory  happened  to  be  read.  The 
moment  that  monarch  was  thus  referred  to,  conscience 
whispered  me,  "  Thou,  too,  Haroun  !  "  The  officiating 
minister  had  a  cast  in  his  eye,  and  it  assisted  conscience  by 
giving  him  the  appearance  of  reading  personally  at  me.  A 
crimson  blush,  attended  by  a  fearful  perspiration,  suffused 
my  features.  The  grand  vizier  became  more  dead  than 
alive,  and  the  whole  seraglio  reddened  as  if  the  sunset  of 
Bagdad  shone  direct  upon  their  lovely  faces.  At  this  por- 
tentous time  the  awful  Griffin  rose,  and  balefully  surveyed 
the  children  of  Islam.  My  own  impression  was,  that 
church  and  state  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  with  Miss 
Griffin  to  expose  us,  and  that  we  should  all  be  put  into  white 
sheets,  and  exhibited  in  the  center  aisle.  But,  so  westerly 
— if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression  as  opposite  to  eastern 
associations — was  Miss  Griffin's  sense  of  rectitude,  that 
she  merely  suspected  apples,  and  we  were  saved. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  435 

I  have  called  the  seraglio  united.  Upon  the  question 
solely,  whether  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  durst  ex- 
ercise a  right  of  kissing  in  that  sanctuary  of  the  palace, 
were  its  peerless  inmates  divided.  Zobeide  asserted  a  coun- 
ter right  in  t  the  favorite  to  scratch,  and  the  Fair  Circassian 
put  her  face  for  refuge,  into  a  green  baize  bag,  originally  de- 
signed for  books.  On  the  other  hand,  a  young  antelope  of 
transcendent  beauty  from  the  fruitful  plains  of  Camden 
Town  (whence  she  had  been  brought,  by  traders,  in  the  half- 
yearly  caravan  that  crossed  the  intermediate  desert  after  the 
holidays),  held  more  liberal  opinions,  but  stipulated  for  lim- 
iting the  benefit  of  them  to  that  dog,  and  son  of  a  dog,  the 
grand  vizier — who  had  no  rights,  and  was  not  in  question. 
At  length,  the  difficulty  was  compromised  by  the  installation 
of  a  very  youthful  slave  as  deputy.  She,  raised  upon  a 
stool,  officially  received  upon  her  cheeks  the  salute  intended 
by  the  gracious  Haroun  for  other  sultanas,  and  was  pri- 
vately rewarded  from  the  coffers  of  the  ladies  of  the 
harem. 

And  now  it  was,  at  the  full  height  of  enjoyment  of  my 
bliss,  that  I  became  heavily  troubled.  I  began  to  think  of 
my  mother,  and  what  she  would  say  to  my  taking  home  at 
midsummer  eight  of  the  most  beautiful  daughters  of  men, 
but  all  unexpected.  I  thought  of  the  number  of  beds  we 
made  up  at  our  house,  of  my  father's  income,  and  of 
the  baker,  and  my  despondency  redoubled.  Seraglio  and 
malicious  vizier,  divining  the  cause  of  their  lord's  unhap- 
piness,  did  their  utmost  to  augment  it.  They  professed  un- 
bounded fidelity,  and  declared  that  they  would  live  and  die 
with  him.  Reduced  to  the  utmost  wretchedness  by  these 
protestations  of  attachment,  I  lay  awake,  for  hours  at  a  time, 
ruminating  on  my  frightful  lot.  In  my  despair,  I  think  I 
might  have  taken  an  early  opportunity  of  falling  on  my 
knees  before  Miss  Griffin,  avowing  my  resemblance  to  Solo- 
mon, and  praying  to  be  dealt  with  according  to  the  out- 
raged laws  of  my  country,  if  an  unthought-of  means  of 
escape  had  not  opened  before  me. 

One  day  we  were  out  walking,  two  and  two — on  which  oc- 
casion the  vizier  had  his  usual  instructions  to  take  note 
of  the  boy  at  the  turnpike,  and  if  he  profanely  gazed  (which 
he  alway  did)  at  the  beauties  of  the  harem,  to  have  him  bow- 
strung  in  the  course  of  the  night — and  it  happened  that  our 
hearts  were  veiled  in  gloom.  An  unaccountable  action  on 
the  part  of  the  antelope  had  plunged  the  state  into  disgrace, 


436  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

That  charmer,  on  the  representation  that  the  previous  day 
was  her  birthday,  and  that  vast  treasures  had  been  sent  in 
a  hamper  for  its  celebration  (both  baseless  assertions),  had 
secretly  but  most  pressingly  invited  thirty-five  neighbor- 
ing princes  and  princesses  to  a  ball  and  supper,  with  a 
special  stipulation  that  they  were  "  not  to  be  fetched 
till  twelve."  This  wandering  of  the  antelope's  fancy, 
led  to  the  surprising  arrival  at  Miss  Grimns's  door, 
in  divers  equipages  and  under  various  escorts  of  a 
great  company  in  full  dress,  who  were  deposited  on  the  top 
step  in  a  flush  of  high  expectancy,  and  who  were  dismissed 
in  tears.  At  the  beginning  of  the  double  knocks  attendant 
on  these  ceremonies,  the  antelope  had  retired  to  a  back  attic 
and  bolted  herself  in  ;  and  at  every  new  arrival,  Miss  Grif- 
fin had  gone  so  much  rnore  and  more  distracted,  that  at 
last  she  had  been  seen  to  tear  her  front.  Ultimate  capitu- 
lation on  the  part  of  the  offender,  had  been  followed  by  soli- 
tude in  the  linen-closet,  bread  and  water,  and  a  lecture  to  all, 
of  vindictive  length,  in  which  Miss  Griffin  had  used  expres- 
sions :  Firstly,  "  I  believe  you  all  of  you  knew  of  it  ;  " 
Secondly,  "  Every  one  of  you  is  as  wicked  as  another  ;  " 
"  Thirdly,  "  A  pack  of  little  wretches." 

Under  these  circumstances,  we  were  walking  drearily 
along  ;  and  I  especially,  with  my  Mussulman  responsibilities 
heavy  on  me,  was  in  a  very  low  state  of  mind  ;  when  a 
strange  man  accosted  Miss  Griffin,  and,  after  walking  on  at 
her  side  for  a  little  while  and  talking  with  her,  looked  at  me. 
Supposing  him  to  be  a  minion  of  tbe  law,  and  that  my 
hour  was  come,  I  instantly  ran  away,  with  a  general  purpose 
of  making  for  Egypt. 

The  whole  seraglio  cried  out,  when  they  saw  me  making 
off  as  fast  as  my  legs  would  carry  me  (I  had  an  impression 
that  the  first  turning  on  the  left,  and  round  by  the  public- 
house,  would  be  the  shortest  way  to  the  Pyramids),  Miss 
Griffin  screamed  after  me,  the  faithless  vizier  ran  after  me, 
and  the  boy  at  the  turnpike  dodged  me  into  a  corner,  like  a 
sheep,  and  cut  me  off.  Nobody  scolded  me  when  I  was 
taken  and  brought  back  ;  Miss  Griffin  only  said,  with  a  stun- 
ning gentleness.  This  ways  very  curious  !  Why  had  I  run 
away  when  the  gentleman  looked  at  me  ? 

If  I  had  had  my  breath  to  answer  with,  I  dare  say  I  should 
have  made  no  answer  ;  having  no  breath,  I  certainly  made 
none.  Miss  Griffin  and  the  strange  man  took  me  between 
them,  and  walked  me  back  to  the  palace  in  a  sort  of  state  ; 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE.  437 

but  not  at  all  (as  I  couldn't  help  feeling,  with  astonishment), 
in  culprit  state. 

When  we  got  there,  we  went  into  a  room  by  ourselves,  and 
Miss  Griffin  called  into  her  assistance,  Mesrour,  chief  of  the 
dusky  guards  of  the  harem.  Mesrour,  on  being  whispered 
to,  began  to  shed  tears. 

"  Bless  you,  my  precious  !  "  said  that  officer,  turning  to 
me  ;  "  your  pa's  took  bitter  bad  !  " 

I  asked,  with  a  fluttered  heart,  "  Is  he  very  ill  ?  " 

"  Lord  temper  the  wind  to  you,  my  lamb  !  "  said  the  good 
Mesrour,  kneeling  down,  that  I  might  have  a  comforting 
shoulder  for  my  head  to  rest  on,  "  your  pa's  dead  !  " 

Haroun  Alraschid  took  to  flight  at  the  words  ;  the  serag- 
lio vanished  ;  from  that  moment,  I  never  again  saw  one  of 
the  eight  of  the  fairest  of  the  daughters  of  men. 

I  was  taken  home,  and  there  was  debt  at  home  as  well  as 
death,  and  we  had  a  sale  there.  My  own  little  bed  was  so 
superciliously  looked  upon  by  a  power  unknown  to  me, 
hazily  called  "  The  Trade,"  that  a  brass  coal-scuttle,  or 
roasting-jack,  and  a  bird-cage,  were  obliged  to  be  put  into  it 
to  make  a  lot  of  it,  and  then  it  went  for  a  song.  So  I  heard 
mentioned,  and  I  wondered  what  song,  and  thought  what  a 
song  it  must  have  been  to  sing  ! 

Then  I  was  sent  to  a  great,  cold,  bare  school  of  big  boys  ; 
where  every  thing  to  eat  and  wear  was  thick  and  clumpy, 
without  being  enough  ;  where  every  body,  large  and  small, 
was  cruel  ;  where  the  boys  knew  all  about  the  sale,  before  I 
got  there,  and  asked  me  what  I  had  fetched,  and  who  had 
bought  me,  and  hooted  at  me,  "  Going,  going,  gone  !  "  i 
never  whispered  in  that  wretched  place  that  I  had  been 
Haroun,  or  had  had  a  seraglio  ;  for  I  knew  that  if  I  men- 
tioned my  reverses,  I  should  be  so  worried,  that  I  should 
have  to  drown  myself  in  the  muddy  pond  near  the  play- 
ground, which  looked  like  the  beer. 

Ah  me,  ah  me  !  No  other  ghost  has  haunted  the  boy's 
room,  my  friends,  since  I  have  occupied  it,  than  the  ghost  of 
my  own  childhood,  the  ghost  of  my  own  innocence,  the 
ghost  of  my  own  airy  belief.  Many  a  time  have  I  pursued 
the  phantom — never  with  this  man's  stride  of  mind  to  come 
up  with  it,  never  with  these  man's  hands  of  mine  to  touch  it, 
never  more  to  this  man's  heart  of  mine  to  hold  it  in  its 
purity.  And  here  you  see  me  working  out,  as  cheerfully  and 
thankfully  as  I  may,  my  doom  of  shaving  in  the  glass  a  con- 
stant change  of  customers,  and  of  lying  down  and  rising  up 
with  the  skeleton  allotted  to  me  for  my  mortal  companion. 


GOING    INTO    SOCIETY. 


At  one  period  of  its  reverses,  the  House  to  Let  fell  into  the 
occupation  of  a  showman.  He  was  found  registered  as  its 
occupier,  on  the  parish  books  of  the  time  when  he  rented  the 
house,  and  there  was  therefore  no  need  of  any  clew  to  his 
name.  But  he  himself  was  less  easy  to  be  found  ;  for  he  had 
led  a  wandering  life,  and  settled  people  had  lost  sight  of 
him,  and  people  who  plumed  themselves  on  being  respect- 
able were  shy  of  admitting  that  they  had  ever  known  any 
thing  of  him.  At  last,  among  the  marsh  lands  near  the 
river's  level,  that  lie  about  Deptford  and  the  neighboring 
market-gardens,  a  grizzled  personage  in  velveteen,  with  a 
face  so  cut  up  by  varieties  of  weather  that  he  looked  as  if 
he  had  been  tattooed,  was  found  smoking  a  pipe  at  the  door 
of  a  wooden  house  on  wheels.  The  wooden  house  was  laid 
up  in  ordinary  for  the  winter  near  the  mouth  of  a  muddy 
creek  ;  and  every  thing  near  it,  the  foggy  river,  the  misty 
marshes,  and  the  steaming  market-gardens,  smoked  in  com- 
pany with  the  grizzled  man.  In  the  midst  of  this  smoking 
party,  the  funnel-chimney  of  the  wooden  house  on  wheels 
was  not  remiss,  but  took  its  pipe  with  the  rest  in  a  compan- 
ionable manner. 

On  being  asked  if  it  were  he  who  had  once  rented  the 
house  to  let,  Grizzled  Velveteen  looked  surprised,  and  said 
yes.  Then  his  name  was  Magsman  ?  That  was  it,  Toby 
Magsman — which  lawfully  christened  Robert ;  but  called  in 
the  line  from  a  infant,  Toby.  There  was  nothing  agin  Toby 
Magsman,  he  believed  ?  If  there  was  suspicion  of  such, 
mention  it  ! 

There  was  no  suspicion  of  such,  he  might  rest  assured. 
But  some  inquiries  were  making  about  that  house,  and  would 
he  object  to  say  why  he  left  it  ? 

Not  at  all ;  why  should  he  ?     He  left  it  along  of  a  dwarf. 

Along  of  a  dwarf  ? 


GOING  INTO  SOCIETY.  439 

Mr.  Magsman  repeated,  deliberately  and  emphatically. 
Along  of  a  dwarf. 

Might  it  be  compatible  with  Mr.  Magsman's  inclination 
and  convenience  to  enter,  as  a  favor,  into  a  few  particulars  ? 

Mr.  Magsman  entered  into  the  following  particulars. 

It  was  a  long  time  ago,  to  begin  with  ; — afore  lotteries  and 
a  deal  more  was  done  away  with.  Mr.  Magsman  was  look- 
ing about  for  a  good  pitch,  and  he  see  that  house,  and  he 
says  to  himself,  "  I'll  have  you  if  you're  to  be  had.  If 
money'll  get  you,  I'll  have  you. 

The  neighbors  cut  up  rough,  and  made  complaints  ;  but 
Mr.  Magsman  don't  know  what  they  would  have  had.  It  was 
a  lovely  thing.  First  of  all,  there  was  the  canvas  representin' 
the  picter  of  the  giant,  in  Spanish  trunks  and  a  ruff,  who  was 
himself  half  the  height  of  the  house,  and  was  run  up  with  a 
line  and  pulley  to  a  pole  on  the  roof,  so  that  his  'ed  was 
coeval  with  the  parapet.  Then  there  was  the  canvas  repre- 
sentin' the  picter  of  the  Albina  lady,  showin'  her  white  'air 
to  the  army  and  navy  in  correct  uniform.  Then  there  was 
the  canvas  representin'  the  picter  of  the  wild  Indian  a-scalp- 
in'  a  member  of  some  foreign  nation.  Then  there  was  the 
canvas  representin'  the  picter  of  the  child  of  a  British 
planter,  seized  by  two  boa  constrictors — not  that  we  never 
had  no  child,  nor  no  constrictors  neither.  Similarly  there 
was  the  canvas  representin'  the  picter  of  the  wild  ass  of  the 
prairies — not  that  we  never  had  no  wild  asses,  nor  wouldn't 
have  had  'em  at  a  gift.  Last  there  was  the  canvas  represent- 
in'  the  picter  of  the  dwarf,  and  like  him  too  (considerin'), 
with  George  the  Fourth  in  such  a  state  of  astonishment  an' 
him  as  his  majesty  couldn't  with  his  utmost  politeness  and 
stoutness  express.  The  front  of  the  house  was  so  covered 
with  canvas,  that  there  wasn't  a  spark  of  daylight  ever  vis- 
ible on  that  side.  "  Magsman's  Amusements,"  fifteen  foot 
long  by  two  foot  high,  ran  over  the  front  door  and  parlor 
winders.  The  passage  was  a  arbor  of  green  baize  and  gar- 
den-stuff. A  barrel-organ  performed  there  unceasing.  And 
as  to  respectability — if  threepence  ain't  respectable,  what 
is? 

But  the  dwarf  is  the  principal  article  at  present,  and  he  was 
worth  the  money.  He  was  wrote  up  as  Major  Tpschoffki,  of 
the  Imperial  Bulgraderian  Brigade.  Nobody  couldn't 
pronounce  the  name,  and  it  never  was  intended  any  body 
should.  The  public  always  turned  it,  as  a  regular  rule,  into 
Chopski.     In  the  line  he  was  called  Chops ;  partly  on  that 


44o  GOING  INTO  SOCIETY. 

account,  and  partly  becanse  his  real  name,  if  he  ever  had  a 
real  name  (which  was  very  dubious),  was  Stakes. 

He  was  an  uncommon  small  man,  he  really  was.  Certainly 
not  so  small  as  he  was  made  out  to  be,  but  where  is  your 
dwarf  as  is  ?  He  was  a  most  uncommon  small  man  with  a 
most  uncommon  large  'ed  ;  and  what  he  had  inside  that  'ed, 
nobody  never  knowed  but  himself  ;  even  supposin'  himself 
to  have  ever  took  stock  of  it,  which  it  would  have  been  a 
stiff  job  for  even  him  to  do. 

The  kindest  little  man  as  never  growed  !  Spirited,  but 
not  proud.  When  he  traveled  with  the  spotted  baby, 
though  he  knowed  himself  to  be  a  nat'ral  dwarf,  and  knowed 
the  baby's  spots  to  be  put  upon  him  artificial,  he  nursed  the 
baby  like  a  mother.  You  never  heerd  him  give  a  ill-name 
to  a  giant.  He  did  allow  himself  to  break  out  into  strong 
language  respecting  the  fat  lady  from  Norfolk  ;  but  thatwas 
an  affair  of  the  'art  ;  and  when  a  man's  'art  has  been  trifled 
with  by  a  lady,  and  the  preference  give  to  a  Indian,  he  ain't 
master  of  his  actions. 

He  was  always  in  love,  of  course  ;  every  human  nat'ral 
phenomenon  is.  And  he  was  always  in  love  with  a  large 
woman  ;  /  never  knowed  the  dwarf  as  could  be  got  to  love  a 
small  one.  Which  helps  to  keep  'em  the  curiosities  they 
are. 

One  sing'lar  idea  he  had  in  that  'ed  of  his,  which  must 
have  meant  something,  or  it  wouldn't  have  been  there.  It 
was  always  his  opinion  that  he  was  entitled  to  property.  He 
never  would  put  his  name  to  any  thing.  He  had  been  taught 
to  write,  by  the  young  man  without  arms,  who  got  his  living 
with  his  toes  (quite  a  writing-master  he  was^and  taught 
scores  in  the  line),  but  Chops  would  have  starved  to  death 
afore  he'd  have  gained  a  bit  of  bread  by  putting  his  hand  to 
a  paper.  This  is  the  more  curious  to  bear  in  mind,  because 
HE  had  no  property,  nor  hope  of  property,  except  his  house 
and  a  sarser.  When'l  say  his  house,  I  mean  the  box,  painted 
and  got  up  outside  like  a  reg'lar  six-roomer,  that  he  used  to 
creep  into,  with  a  diamond  ring  (or  quite  as  good  to  look  at) 
on  his  forefinger,  and  ring  a  little  bell  out  of  what  the  public 
believed  to  be  the  drawing-room  winder.  And  when  I  say 
sarser,  I  mean  a  chaney  sarser  in  which  he  made  a  collec- 
tion for  himself  at  the  end  of  every  entertainment.  His  cue 
for  that,  he  took  from  me  :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  lit- 
tle man  will  now  walk  three  times  round  the  cairawan,  and 
retire  behind  the  curtain,"     When  he  saidanv  thing  import- 


GOING  INTO  SOCIETY.  44i 

ant,  in  private  life,  he  mostly  wound  it  up  with  this  form  of 
words,  and  they  was  generally  the  last  thing  he  said  to  me 
at  night  afore  he  went  to  bed. 

He  had  what  I  consider  a  fine  mind — a  poetic  mind.  His 
ideas  respectin'  his  property  never  come  upon  him  so  strong 
as  when  he  sat  upon  a  barrel-organ  and  had  the  handle 
turned.  Arter  the  wibration  had  run  through  him  a  little 
time,  he  would  screech  out  :  "Toby,  I  feel  my  property 
coming — grind  away  !  I'm  counting  my  guineas  by  thou- 
sands, Toby — grind  away  !  Toby,  I  shall  be  a  man  of 
fortun  !  I  feel  the  mint  a  jingling  in  me,  Toby,  and  I'm 
swelling  out  into  the  Bank  of  England  ! "  Such  is  the  influence 
of  music  on  a  poetic  mind.  Not  that  he  was  partial  to  any 
other  music  but  a  barrel-organ  ;  on  the  contrary,  hated  it. 

He  had  a  kind  of  a  everlasting  grudge  agin  the  public  ; 
which  is  a  thing  you  may  notice  in  many  phenomenons  that 
get  their  living  out  of  it.  What  riled  him  most  in  the  nater 
of  his  occupation  was  that  it  kep'  him  out  of  society.  He  was 
continiwally  sayin'  :  "  Toby,  my  ambition  is  to  go  into  so- 
ciety. The  curse  of  my  position  toward  the  public  is  that  it 
keeps  me  hout  of  society.  This  don't  signify  to  a  low  beast 
of  a  Indian  ;  he  ain't  formed  for  society.  This  don't  signify 
to  a  spotted  baby  ;  he  ain't  formed  for  society — I  am." 

Nobody  never  could  make  out  what  Chops  done  with  his 
money.  He  had  a  good  salary,  down  on  the  drum  every 
Saturday  as  the  day  come  round,  besides  having  the  run  of  his 
teeth — and  he  was  a  woodpecker  to  eat — but  all  dwarfs 
are.  The  sarser  was  a  little  income,  bringing  him  in  so 
many  half-pence  that  he'd  carry  'em,  for  a  week  together, 
tied  up  in  a  pocket  handkerchief.  And  yet  he  never  had 
money.  And  it  couldn't  be  the  fat  lady  from  Norfolk,  as 
was  once  supposed  ;  because  it  stands  to  reason  that  when 
you  have  a  animosity  toward  a  Indian  which  makes  you 
grind  your  teeth  at  him  to  his  face,  and  which  can  hardly 
hold  you  from  goosing  him  audible  when  he's  going  through 
his  war-dance — it  stands  to  reason  you  wouldn't  under 
them  circumstances  deprive  yourself  to  support  that  Indian 
in  the  lap  of  luxury. 

Most  unexpected,  the  mystery  come  out  one  day  at  Egham 
Races.  The  public  was  shy  of  bein'  pulled  in,  and  Chops  was 
ringin'  his  little  bell  out  of  his  drawing-room  winder,  and  was 
snarlin'  to  me  over  his  shoulder  as  he  kneeled  down  with  his 
legs  out  at  the  back  doer — for  he  couldn't  be  shoved  into  his 
house  without  kneeling  down,  and  the  premises  wouldn't  ac- 


442  Going  into  sociEf  y. 

commodate  his  legs — was  snarlin,  "  Here's  a  precious  public 
for  you  ;  why  the  devil  don't  they  tumble  up  ?  "  when  a  man 
in  the  crowd  holds  up  a  carrier-pigeon,  and  cries  out  :  "  If 
there's  any  person  here  as  has  got  a  ticket,  the  lottery's  just 
drawed,  and  the  number  as  has  come  up  for  the  great  prize 
is  three,  seven,  forty-two  !  Three,  seven,  forty-two  !  "  1  was 
givin'  the  man  to  the  furies  myself,  for  calling  off  the  pub- 
lic's attention — for  the  public  will  turn  away,  at  any  time,  to 
look  at  any  thing  in  preference  to  the  thing  showed  'em  : 
and  if  you  doubt  it,  get  'em  together  for  any  indiwidual  pur- 
pose on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  send  only  two  people  in 
late,  and  see  if  the  whole  company  ain't  far  more  interested 
in  takin'  particular  notice  of  them  two  than  of  you — I  say,  I 
wasn't  best  pleased  with  the  man  for  callin'  out,  and  wasn't 
blessin'  him  in  my  own  mind,  when  I  see  Chops's  little  bell 
fly  out  of  winder  at  a  old  lady,  and  he  gets  up  and  kicks  his 
box  over,  exposin'  the  whole  secret,  and  he  catches  hold  of 
the  calves  of  my  legs  and  he  says  to  me,  "  Carry  me  into  the 
wan,  Toby,  and  throw  a  pail  of  water  over  me  or  I'm  a  dead 
man,  for  I've  come  into  my  property  !  " 

Twelve  thousand  odd  hundred  pound,  was  Chops's  win- 
nins.  He  had  bought  a  half-ticket  for  the  twenty -five  thou- 
sand prize,  and  it  had  come  up.  The  first  use  he  made  of 
his  property  wras  to  offer  to  fight  the  wild  Indian  for  five 
hundred  pound  a  side,  him  with  a  poisoned  darnin '-needle 
and  the  Indian  with  a  club  ;  but  the  Indian  bein'  in  want  of 
backers  to  that  amount,  it  went  no  further. 

Arter  he  had  been  mad  for  a  wreek — in  a  state  of  mind,  in 
short,  in  which,  if  I  had  let  him  sit  on  the  organ  for  only 
two  minutes,  I  believe  he  would  have  burst — but  we  kep'  the 
organ  from  him — Mr.  Chops  come  round,  and  behaved  lib- 
eral and  beautiful  to  all.  He  then  sent  for  a  young  man  he 
knowed,  as  had  a  wery  genteel  appearance  and  was  a  Bon- 
net at  a  gaming-booth  (most  respectable  brought  up,  father 
having  been  imminent  in  the  livery-stable  line  but  unfort'nate 
in  a  commercial  crisis  through  paintin'  a  old  gray,  ginger- 
bay,  and  sellin'  him  with  a  pedigree),  and  Mr.  Chops  said  to 
this  Bonnet,  who  said  his  name  was  Normandy,  which  it 
wasn't  :: — 

"  Normandy,  I'm  a  going  into  society.  Will  you  go  with 
me  ?  " 

Says  Normandy  :  "Do  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Chops,  to 
hintimate  that  the  'ole  of  the  expenses  of  that  move  will  be 
borne  by  yourself  ?  " 


GOING  INTO  SOCIETY  443 

"Correct,"  says  Mr.  Chops.  "And  you  shall  nave  a 
princely  allowance  too." 

The  Bonnet  lifted  Mr.  Chops  upon  a  chair  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  replied  in  poetry,  with  his  eyes  seemingly  fulL 
of  tears  : — 

"  My  boat  is  on  the  shore, 
And  my  bark  is  on  the  sea, 
And  1  do  not  ask  for  more, 
But  I'll  go  ; — along  with  thee." 

They  went  into  society,  in  a  chay  and  four  grays  with  silk 
jackets.  They  took  lodgings  in  Pall  Mall,  London,  and  they 
blazed  away. 

In  consequence  of  a  note  that  was  brought  to  Bartlemy 
Fair  in  the  autumn  of  next  year  by  a  servant,  most  wonder- 
ful got  up  in  milk-white  cords  and  tops,  I  cleaned  myself 
and  went  to  Pall  Mall,  one  evenin'  appinted.  The  gentle- 
men was  at  their  wine  arter  dinner,  and  Mr.  Chops's  eyes 
was  more  fixed  in  that  'ed  of  his  than  I  thought  good  for 
him.  There  was  three  of  'em  (in  company,  I  mean),  and  I 
knowed  the  third  well.  When  last  met,  he  had  on  a  white 
Roman  shirt,  and  a  bishop's-miter  covered  with  leopard- 
skin,  and  played  the  clarionet  all  wrong,  in  a  band  at  a  wild 
beast  show. 

This  gent  took  on  not  to  know  me,  and  Mr.  Chops  said  : 
"Gentlemen,  this  is  an  old  friend  of  former  days;"  and 
Normandy  looked  at  me  through  a  eye-glass,  and  said, 
"  Magsman,  glad  to  see  you  !  " — which  I'll  take  my  oath  he 
wasn't.  Mr.  Chops,  to  git  him  convenient  to  the  table,  had 
his  chair  on  a  throne  (much  of  the  form  of  George  the 
Fourth's  in  the  canvas),  but  he  hardly  appeared  to  me  to  be 
king  there  in  any  other  pint  of  view,  for  his  two  gentlemen 
ordered  about  like  emperors.  They  was  all  dressed  like 
May-day — gorgeous  ! — and  as  to  wine,  they  swam  in  all 
sorts. 

I  made  the  round  of  the  bottles,  first  separate  (to  say  I  had 
done  it),  and  then  mixed  'em  all  together  (to  say  I  had  done 
it),  and  then  tried  two  of  'em  as  half-and-half,  and  then 
t'other  two.  Altogether,  I  passed  a  pleasin'  evenin',  but  with 
a  tendency  to  feel  muddled,  until  I  considered  it  good  man- 
ners to  get  up  and  say  :  "  Mr.  Chops,  the  best  of  friends 
must  part,  I  thank  you  for  the  wariety  of  foreign  drains  you 
have  stood  so  'ansome,  I  looks  toward  you  in  red  wine,  and 
I  takes  my  leave."  Mr.  Chops  replied  :  "  If  you'll  just 
hitch  me  out  of  this  over  your  right  arm,  Magsman,  and 
carry  me  down  stairs,  I'll  see  you  out."     I  said  I  couldn't 


444  GOING  INTO  SOCIETY. 

think  of  such  a  thing,  but  he  would  have  it,  so  I  lifted  him 
off  his  throne.  He  smelt  strong  of  maideary,  and  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  as  I  carried  him  down  that  it  was  like  carrying 
a  large  bottle  full  of  wine,  with  a  rayther  ugly  stopper,  a 
good  deal  out  of  proportion. 

When  I  sat  him  on  the  door  mat  in  the  hall,  he  kep'  me 
close  to  him  by  holding  on  to  my  coat-collar,  and  he  whis- 
pers— 

"  I  ain't  'appy,  Magsman." 

"  What's  on  your  mind,  Mr.  Chops  ? " 

"  They  don't  use  me  well.  They  ain't  grateful  to  me. 
They  puts  me  on  the  mantle-piece  when  I  won't  have  in  more 
champagne-wine,  and  they  locks  me  in  the  sideboard  when 
I  won't  give  up  my  property." 

"  Get  rid  of  'em,  Mr.  Chops." 

"  I  can't.  We're  in  society  together,  and  what  would 
society  say  ? " 

"  Come  out  of  society,"  says  I. 

"  I  can't.  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about 
When  you  have  once  gone  into  society,  you  mustn't  come  out 
of  it." 

"Then  if  you'll  excuse  the  freedom,  Mr.  Chops,"  were 
my  remark,  shaking  my  head  grave,  "  I  think  it's  a  pity  you 
ever  went  in." 

Mr.  Chops  shook  that  deep  'ed  of  his  to  a  surprisin'  ex' 
tent,  and  slapped  it  half  a  dozen  times  with  his  hand,  and 
with  more  wice  than  I  thought  were  in  him.  Then  he  says: 
u  You're  a  good  feller,  but  you  don't  understand.  Good- 
night, go  along,  Magsman,  the  little  man  will  now  walk  three 
times  round  the  cairawan,  and  retire  behind  the  curtain." 
The  last  I  see  of  him  on  that  occasion  was  his  tryin',  on  the 
extremest  werge  of  insensibility,  to  climb  up  the  stairs,  one 
by  one,  with  his  hands  and  knees.  They'd  have  been  much 
too  steep  for  him,  if  he  had  been  sober  ;  but  he  wouldn't  be 
helped. 

It  warn't  long  after  that,  that  I  read  in  the  newspaper  of 
Mr.  Chops's  being  presented  at  court.  It  was  printed  :  "  It 
will  be  recollected  " — and  I've  noticed  in  my  life,  that  it  is 
sure  to  be  printed  that  it  will  be  recollected  whenever  it 
won't — "  that  Mr.  Chops  is  the  individual  of  small  stature 
whose  brilliant  success  in  the  last  state  lottery  attracted  so 
much  attention."  Well,  I  says  to  myself,  such  is  life  !  He 
has  been  and  done  it  in  earnest  at  last !  He  has  astonished 
George  the  Fourth  ! 


GOING  INTO  SOCIETY.  445 

(On  account  of  which,  I  had  that  canvas  new-painted,  him 
with  a  bag  of  money  in  his  hand,  a  presentin'  it  to  George 
the  Fourth,  and  a  lady  in  ostrich  feathers  falling  in  love 
with  him  in  a  bag-wig,  sword,  and  buckles  correct.) 

I  took  the  house  as  is  the  subject  of  present  inquiries — 
though  not  the  honor  of  bein'  acquainted — and  I  run  Mags- 
man's  Amusements  in  it  thirteen  months — sometimes  one 
thing,  sometimes  another,  sometimes  nothin'  particular,  but 
always  all  the  canvases  outside.  One  night,  when  we  had 
played  the  last  company  out, which  was  a  shy  company  through 
its  raining  heavens  hard,  I  was  takin'  a  pipe  in  the  one  pair 
back  along  with  the  young  man  with  the  toes,  which  I  had 
taken  on  for  a  month  (though  he  never  drawed — except  on 
paper),  and  I  heard  a  kickin'  at  the  street  door.  "  Halloa  !  " 
I  says  to  the  young  man,  "what's  up  !"  he  rubs  his  eye- 
brows with  his  toes,  and  he  says,  "  I  can't  imagine,  ifar. 
Magsman," — which  he  never  could  imagine  nothin',  and 
was  monotonous  company. 

The  noise  not  leavin'  off,  I  laid  down  my  pipe,  and  I  took 
up  a  candle,  and  I  went  down  and  opened  the  door.  I 
looked  out  into  the  street  ;  but  nothin'  could  I  see,  and 
nothin'  was  I  aware  of,  until  I  turned  round  quick,  because 
some  creetur  run  between  my  legs  into  the  passage.  There 
was  Mr  Chops  ! 

"  Magsman,"  he  says,  "  take  me  on  the  hold  terms,  and 
you've  got  me  ;  if  it's  done,  say  done  !  " 

I  was  all  of  a  maze,  but  I  said,  "  Done,  sir." 

"  Done  to  your  done,  and  double  done  !  "  says  he.  "  Have 
you  got  a  bit  of  supper  in  the  house  ? " 

Bearin'  in  mind  them  sparklin'  warieties  of  foreign  drains 
as  we'd  guzzled  away  at  in  Pall  Mall,  I  was  ashamed  to 
offer  him  cold  sassages  and  gin-and-water  ;  but  he  took  'em 
both  and  took  'em  free  ;  havin'  a  chair  for  his  table,  and 
sittin'  down  at  it  on  a  stool,  like  hold  times.  I  all  of  a  maze 
all  the  while. 

It  was  arter  he  had  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the  sassages 
(beef,  and  to  the  best  of  my  calculations  two  pound  and  a 
quarter),  that  the  wisdom  as  was  in  that  little  man  began  to 
come  out  of  him  like  perspiration. 

"  Magsman,"  he  says,  "  look  upon  me  !  You  see  afore 
you  one  as  has  both  gone  in  society  and  come  out." 

"  Oh,  you  are  out  of  it,  Mr.  Chops  ?  How  did  you  get 
out,  sir?  " 

l<  Sold  out  ! "  says  he.     You  never  saw  the  like  of  the 


446  GOING  INTO  SOCIETY. 

wisdom  as  his  'ed  expressed,  when  he  made  use  of  them  two 
words. 

"  My  friend  Magsman,  I'll  impart  a  discovery  to  you  I've 
made.  It's  wallable  ;  it's  cost  twelve  thousand  five  hundred 
pound  ;  it  may  do  you  good  in  life. — The  secret  of  this 
matter  is,  that  it  ain't  so  much  that  a  person  goes  into  so- 
ciety, as  that  society  goes  into  a  person." 

Not  exactly  keeping  up  with  his  meanin'  I  shook  my  head, 
put  on  a  deep  look,  and  said,  "  You're  right  there,  Mr.. 
Chops." 

"  Magsman."  he  says,  twitchin'  me  by  the  leg,  "  society 
has  gone  into  me,  to  the  tune  of  every  penny  of  my  prop- 
erty." 

I  felt  that  I  went  pale,  and,  though  nat'rally  a  bold 
speaker,  I  couldn't  hardly  say,  "  Where's  Normandy  ?  " 

"  Bolted.     With  the  plate,"  says  Mr.  Chops. 

"  And  t'other  one  ?  " — meaning  him  as  formerly  wore  the 
bishop's  miter. 

"  Bolted.     With  the  jewels,"  says  Mr.  Chops. 

I  sat  down  and  looked  at  him,  and  he  stood  up  and  looked 
at  me. 

"  Magsman,"  he  says,  and  he  seemed  to  myself  to  get 
wiser  as  he  got  hoarser.  "  Society,  taken  in  the  lump,  is  all 
dwarfs.  At  the  court  of  Saint  James's  they  was  all  a-doin' 
my  hold  bisness — all  a-goin'  three  times  round  the  cairawan, 
in  the  hold  court-suits  and  properties.  Elsewheres,  they 
was  most  of  'em  ringing  their  little  bells  out  of  make-believ- 
ers. Everywheres  the  sarser  was  a-goin'  round.  Magsman, 
the  sarser  is  the  uniwersal  institution  !  " 

I  perceived,  you  understand,  that  he  was  soured  by  his 
misfortunes,  and  I  felt  for  Mr.  Chops. 

"  As  to  fat  ladies,"  says  he,  giving  his  'ed  a  tremendious 
one  agin  the  wall,  "  there's  lots  of  them  in  society,  and  worse 
than  the  original.  Hers  was  a  outrage  upon  taste — simply  a 
outrage  upon  taste — awakenin'  contempt — carryin'  its  own 
punishment  in  the  form  of  a  Indian  !  "  Here  he  giv'  him- 
self another  tremendious  one.  "  But  theirs,  Magsman,  theirs 
is  mercenary  outrages.  Lay  in  Cashmeer  shawls,  buy  brace- 
lets, strew  'em  and  a  lot  of  'andsome  fans  and  things  about 
your  rooms,  let  it  be  known  that  you  give  away  like  water  to 
all  as  come  to  admire,  and  the  fat  ladies  that  don't  exhibit 
for  so  much  down  upon  the  drum  will  come  from  all  the 
pints  of  the  compass  to  flock  about  you,  whatever  you  are. 
They'll  drill  holes  in  your  'art,  Magsman,  like  a  cullender. 


GOING  INTO  SOCIETY.  447 

And  when  you've  no  more  left  to  give,  they'll  laugh  at  you 
to  your  face,  and  leave  you  to  have  your  bones  picked  dry 
by  wulturs,  like  the  dead  wild  ass  of  the  prairies  that  you 
deserve  to  be  !  "  Here  he  giv'  himself  the  most  tremendious 
one  of  all,  and  dropped. 

I  thought  he  was  gone.  His  'ed  was  so  heavy,  and  he 
knocked  it  so  hard,  and  he  fell  so  stony,  and  the  sassagerial 
disturbance  in  him  must  have  been  so  immense,  that  I 
thought  he  was  gone.  But  he  soon  come  round  with  care, 
and  he  sat  up  on  the  floor,  and  he  said  to  me,  with  wis- 
dom comin'  out  of  his  eyes,  if  ever  it  come  : — 

"  Magsman  !  The  most  material  difference  between  the 
two  states  of  existence  through  which  your  unhappy  friend 
has  passed," — he  reached  out  his  poor  little  hand,  and  his 
tears  dropped  down  on  the  mustachio  which  it  was  credit  to 
him  to  have  done  his  best  to  grow,  but  it  is  not  in  mortals  to 
command  success — "  the  difference  is  this.  When  I  was  out 
of  society,  I  was  paid  light  for  being  seen.  When  I  went 
into  society,  I  paid  heavy  for  being  seen.  I  prefer  the 
former,  even  if  I  wasn't  forced  upon  it.  Give  me  out  through 
the  trumpet,  in  the  hold  way  to-morrow." 

Arter  that,  he  slid  into  the  line  again  as  easy  as  if  he 
had  been  iled  all  over.  But  the  organ  was  kep'  from  him, 
and  no  allusions  was  ever  made,  when  a  company  was  in,  to 
his  property.  He  got  wiser  every  day  ;  his  views  of  society 
and  the  public  was  luminous,  bewilderin',  awful :  and  his  'ed 
got  bigger  and  bigger  as  his  wisdom  expanded  it. 

He  took  well,  and  pulled  'em  in  most  excellent  for  nine 
weeks.  At  the  expiration  of  that  period,  when  his  'ed  was  a 
sight,  he  expressed  one  evenin',  the  last  company  havin' 
been  turned  out,  and  the  door  shut,  a  wish  to  have  a  little 
music. 

"  Mr.  Chops,"  I  said  (I  never  dropped  the  "  Mr."  with 
him  ;  the  world  might  do  it,  but  not  me) — "  Mr.  Chops,  are 
you  sure  as  you  are  in  a  state  of  mind  and  body  to  sit  upon 
the  organ  ?  " 

His  answer  was  this  :  "  Toby,  when  next  met  with  on  the 
tramp,  I  forgive  her  and  the  Indian.     And  I  am." 

It  was  with  fear  and  trembling  that  I  began  to  turn  the 
handle  ;  but  he  sat  like  a  lamb.  It  will  be  my  belief  to  my 
dying  day,  that  I  see  his  'ed  expand  as  he  sat  ;  you  may 
therefore  judge  how  great  his  thoughts  was.  He  sat  out  all 
the  changes,  and  then  he  come  off. 

"  Toby,"  he  says  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  the  little  man  will 


448  GOING  INTO  SOCIETY. 

now  walk  three  times  round  the  cairawan,  and  retire  behind 
the  curtain.'' 

When  we  called  him  in  the  morning,  we  found  him  gone 
"into  a  much  better  society  than  mine  or  Pall  Mall's.  I  giv' 
Mr.  Chops  as  comfortable  a  funeral  as  lay  in  my  power,  fol- 
lowed myself  as  chief,  and  had  the  George  the  Fourth  can- 
vas carried  first,  in  the  form  of  a  banner.  But  the  house 
was.  so  dismal  arterward  that  I  giv'  it  up,  and  took  to  the 
wan  again. 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

[1861.] 

IN  THREE  CHAPTERS* 


I. 

PICKING    UP   SOOT    AND   CINDERS. 

"  And  why  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground  ?  "  asked  the  traveler. 
"  Because  he  scatters  half-pence  to  tramps  and  such-like," 
returned  the  landlord,  "  and  of  course  they  pick  'em  up. 
And  this  being  done  on  his  own  land  (which  it  is  his  own 
land,  you  observe,  and  were  his  family's  before  him),  why 
it  is  but  regarding  the  half-pence  as  gold  and  silver,  and  turn- 
ing the  ownership  of  the  property  a  bit  round  your  finger, 
and  there  you  have  the  name  of  the  children's  game  com- 
plete. And  it's  appropriate  too,"  said  the  landlord,  with 
his  favorite  action  of  stooping  a  little,  to  look  across  the 
table  out  of  window  at  vacancy,  under  the  window-blind 
which  was  half  drawn  down.  "  Leastwise  it  has  been  so 
considered  by  many  gentlemen  which  have  partook  of  chops 
and  tea  in  the  present  humble  parlor." 

The  traveler  was  partaking  of  chops  and  tea  in  the  pres- 
ent humble  parlor,  and  the  landlord's  shot  was  fired  ob- 
liquely at  him. 

"And  you  call  him  a  hermit  ?  "  said  the  traveler. 

"  They  call  him  such,"  returned  the  landlord,  evading 
personal  responsibility  ;  M  he  is  in  general  so  considered." 

"  What  is  a  hermit  ? "    asked  the  traveler. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  repeated  the  landlord,  drawing  his  hand 
across  his  chin. 

"  Yes,  what  is  it  ?  " 

*  The  original  has  seven  chapters  ;    but  those  not  printed  here  were  not  written  &y 
Mr.  Dickens. 


45©  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

The  landlord  stooped  again,  to  get  a  more  comprehensive 
view  of  vacancy  under  the  window-blind,  and— with  an 
asphyxiated  appearance  on  him  as  one  unaccustomed  to  defi- 
nition— made  no  answer. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  suppose  it  to  be,"  said  the  traveler. 
"  An  abominably  dirty  thing." 

"  Mr.  Mopes  is  dirty,  it  can  not  be  denied,"  said  the  land- 
lord. 

"  Intolerably  conceited." 

"  Mr.  Mopes  is  vain  of  the  life  he  leads,  some  do  say," 
replied  the  landlord,  as  another  concession. 

"  A  slothful,  unsavory,  nasty  reversal  of  the  laws  of  hu- 
man nature,"  said  the  traveler  ;  "  and  for  the  sake  of  God's 
working  world  and  its  wholesomeness,  both  moral  and 
physical,  I  would  put  the  thing  on  the  tread-mill  (if  I  had 
my  way)  wherever  I  found  it  ;  whether  on  a  pillar,  or  in  a 
hole  ;  whether  on  Tom  Tiddler's  ground,  or  the  Pope  of 
Rome's  ground,  or  a  Hindoo  fakier's  ground,  or  any  other 
ground." 

"  I  don't  know  about  putting  Mr.  Mopes  on  the  tread- 
mill," said  the  landlord,  shaking  his  head  very  seriously. 
"  There  ain't  a  doubt  but  what  he  has  got  landed  property." 

"  How  far  may  it  be  to  this  said  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground  ? " 
asked  the  traveler. 

"  Put  it  at  five  mile,"  returned  the  landlord. 

"  Well !  When  I  have  done  my  breakfast,"  said  the 
traveler,  "  I'll  go  there.  I  came  over  here  this  morning  to 
find  it  out  and  see  it." 

"  Many  does,"  observed  the  landlord. 

The  conversation  passed,  in  the  midsummer  weather  of 
no  remote  year  of  grace,  down  among  the  pleasant  dales  and 
trout-streams  of  a  green  English  county.  No  matter  what 
county.  Enough  that  you  may  hunt  there,  shoot  there,  fish 
there,  traverse  long  grass-grown  Roman  roads  there,  open 
ancient  barrows  there,  see  many  a  square  mile  of  richly 
cultivated  land  there,  and  hold  Arcadian  talk  with  a  bold 
peasantry,  their  country's  pride,  who  will  tell  you  (if  you 
want  to  know)  how  pastoral  housekeeping  is  done  on  nine 
shillings  a  week. 

Mr.  Traveler  sat  at  his  breakfast  in  the  little  sanded  par- 
lor of  the  Peal  of  Bells  village  ale-house,  with  the  dew  and 
dust  of  an  early  walk  upon  his  shoes — an  early  walk  by  road 
and  meadow  and  coppice,  that  had  sprinkled  him  bountifully 
with  little  blades  of  grass,  and  scraps  of  new  hay,  and  with 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  451 

leaves  both  young  and  old,  and  with  other  such  fragrant  to- 
kens of  the  freshness  and  wealth  of  summer.     The  window 
through  which  the  landlord  had  concentrated  his  gaze  upon 
vacancy  was  shaded,  because  the  morning  sun  was  hot  and 
bright  on  the  village  street.    The  village  street  was  like  most 
other  village  streets  :   wide  for  its  height,  silent  for  its  size, 
and  drowsy  in  the  dullest  degree..    The  quietest  little  dwell- 
ings with  the  largest  of  window-shutters  (to  shut  up  nothing 
as  carefully  as  if  it  were  the  mint,  or  the  Bank  of  England), 
had  called  in  the  doctor's  house  so  suddenly,  that  his  brass 
door-plate  and  three  stories  stood  among  them  as  conspicuous 
and  different  as  the  doctor  himself  in  his  broadcloth,  among 
the  smock-frocks  of    his  patients.     The  village  residences 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  law  with  a  similar  absence  of  con- 
sideration, for  a  score  of  weak  little  lath-and-plaster  cabins 
clung  in  confusion   about   the   attorney's  red-brick  house, 
which,  with   glaring  doorsteps   and  a  most  terrific  scraper, 
seemed  to  serve  all  manner  of  ejectments  upon  them.   They 
were  as  various  as  laborers— high-shouldered,  wry-necked, 
one-eyed,  goggle-eyed,  squinting,  bow-legged,  knock-kneed, 
rheumatic,  crazy.     Some  of  the   small   tradesmen's  houses, 
such  as  the  crockery-shop  and  the  harness-maker's,  had  a 
Cyclops  window  in  the  middle  of  the  gable,  within  an  inch  or 
two  of  its  apex,  suggesting  that  some  forlorn  rural  'prentice 
must  wriggle  himself  into  that  apartment  horizontally,  when 
he  retired  to  rest,  after  the  manner  of  the  worm.  So  beauti- 
ful in  its  abundance  was  the  surrounding  country,  and  so  lean 
and  scant  the  village,  that  one  might  have  thought  the  village 
had  sown  and  planted  every  thing  it  once  possessed,  to  con- 
vert the  same  into  crops.     This  would  account  for  the  bare- 
ness of  the  little  shops,  the  bareness  of  the  few  boards  and 
trestles  designed  for  market    purposes  in  a   corner  of  the 
street,  the  bareness  of  the  obsolete  inn   and   inn   yard,  with 
the  ominous  inscription,  "  Excise  Office,"  not  yet  faded  out 
from  the  gate-way  as  indicating  the  very  last  thing  that  pov- 
erty could  get  rid  of.     This  would  also  account  for  the  de- 
termined abandonment  of  the  village  by  one  stray  dog,  fast 
lessening  in  the  perspective  where  the  white  posts  and  the 
pond  were,  and  would  explain  his  conduct  on  the  hypothesis 
that  he  was  going  (through  the  act   of  suicide)  to  convert 
himself  into  manure,  and  become  a  part  proprietor  in   tur- 
nips or  mangold-wurzel. 

Mr  Traveler  having  finished  his  breakfast  and  paid  his 
moderate  score,  walked  out  to  the  threshold   of  the   Peal  of 


452  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

Bells,  and  thence  directed  by  the  pointing  finger  of  his  host, 
betook  himself  toward  the  ruined  hermitage  of  Mr.  Mopes, 
the  hermit. 

For  Mr.  Mopes,  by  suffering  every  thing  about  him  to  go 
to  ruin,  and  by  dressing  himself  in  a  blanket  and  skewer, 
and  by  steeping  himself  in  soot  and  grease,  and  other  nasti- 
ness,  had  acquired  great  renown  in  all  that  country  side — 
far  greater  renown  than  he  could  ever  have  won  for  himself, 
if  his  career  had  been  that  of  any  ordinary  Christian,  or 
decent  Hottentot.  He  had  even  blanketed  and  skewered 
and  sooted  and  greased  himself  into  the  London  papers. 
And  it  was  curious  to  find,  as  Mr.  Traveler  found  by  stop- 
ping for  a  new  direction  at  this  farm-house  or  at  that  cottage 
as  he  went  along,  with  how  much  accuracy  the  morbid 
Mopes  had  counted  on  the  weakness  of  his  neighbors  to  em- 
bellish him.  A  mist  of  home-brewed  marvel  and  romance 
surrounded  Mopes,  in  which  (as  in  all  fogs)  the  real  propor- 
tions of  the  real  object  were  extravagantly  heightened.  He 
had  murdered  his  beautiful  beloved  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  and 
was  doing  penance  ;  he  had  made  a  vow  under  the  influence 
of  grief  ;  he  had  made  a  vow  under  the  influence  of  a  fatal 
accident  ;  he  had  made  a  vow  under  the  influence  of  re- 
ligion ;  he  had  made  a  vow  under  the  influence  of  drink  ; 
he  had  made  a  vow  under  the  influence  of  disappointment ; 
he  had  never  made  any  vow,  but  "  had  got  led  into  it  "  by 
the  possession  of  a  mighty  and  most  awful  secret  ;  he  was 
enormously  rich,  he  was  stupendously  charitable,  he  was 
profoundly  learned,  he  saw  specters,  he  knew  and  could  do 
all  kinds  of  wonders.  Some  said  he  went  out  every  night, 
and  was  met  by  terrified  wayfarers  stalking  along  dark  roads, 
others  said  he  never  went  out ;  some  knew  his  penance  to  be 
nearly  expired,  others  had  positive  information  that  his  se- 
clusion was  not  a  penance  at  all,  and  would  expire  but  with 
himself.  Even  as  to  the  easy  facts  of  how  old  he  was,  or 
how  long  he  had  held  verminous  occupation  of  his  blanket 
and  skewer,  no  consistent  information  was  to  be  got,  from 
those  who  must  know  if  they  would.  He  was  represented 
as  being  all  the  ages  between  five-and-twenty  and  sixty,  and 
as  having  been  a  hermit  seven  years,  twelve,  twenty,  thirty — 
though  twenty,  on  the  whole,  appeared  the  favorite  term. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Mr.  Traveler.  "  At  any  rate,  let  us 
see  what  a  real  live  hermit  looks  like." 

So  Mr.  Traveler  went  on,  and  on,  and  on,  until  he  came 
to  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground. 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  453 

It   was  a  nook   in  a  rustic  bv-road,  which   the   genius  of 
Mopes  had  laid  waste  as  completely  as  if  he  had  been  born 
an  emperor  and  a  conqueror.     Its  center  object  was  a  dwell- 
ing-house,  sufficiently  substantial,  all   the  window-glass  of 
which  had  been  long  ago  abolished  by  the  surprising  genius 
of  Mopes  and  all  the  windows  of  which  were  barred  across 
with  rough  split  logs  of  trees  nailed   over  them  on  the  out- 
side     A  rick-yard,  hip-high  in  vegetable  rankness  and  ruin, 
contained  out-buildings,  from  which  the  thatch  had  lightly 
fluttered  away,  on  all  the  winds  of  all  the  seasons  of  the  year 
and  from  which  the  planks  and  beams  had  heavily  dropped 
and  rotted      The  frosts  and  damps  of  winter,  and  the  heat 
of  summer,  had  warped  what  wreck  remained,  so  that  not  a 
post  or  board  retained  the  position  it  was  meant  to  hold,  but 
every  thing  was  twisted  from  its  purpose,  like  its  owner,  and 
degraded  and  debased.     In  this  homestead  of  the  sluggard 
behind  the  ruined  hedge,  and  sinking  away  among  the  ruined 
grass  and  the  nettles,  were  the  last  perishing  fragments  of 
certain  ricks,  which  had  gradually  mildewed  and  collapsed, 
until  they  looked  like  mounds  of  rotten  honeycomb  or  dirty 
sponge      Tom  Tiddler's  Ground  could  even  show  its  ruined 
water  •'  for  there  was  a  slimy  pond  into  which  a  tree  or  two 
had  fallen— one  soppy  trunk  and  branches  lay  across  it  then 
—which  in  its  accumulation   of   stagnant  weed,  and  in  its 
black   decomposition,   and  in  all  its  foulness   and   filth,  was 
almost  comforting,  regarded   as   the  only  water  that   could 
have  reflected  the  shameful  place  without  seeming  polluted 
by  that  low  office.  T,*jW(1 

Mr  Traveler  looked  all  around  him  on  Tom  Tiddler  s 
Ground,  and  his  glance  at  last  encountered  a  dusty  tinker 
lying  among  the  weeds  and  rank  grass,  in  the  shade  of  the 
dwelling-house.  A  rough  walking-staff  lay  on  the  ground  by 
his  side?  and  his  head  rested  on  a  small  wallet.  He  met  Mr. 
Traveler's  eye  without  lifting  up  his  head,  merely  depressing 
his  chin  a  little  (for  he  was  lying  on  his  back)  to  get  a  better 
view  of  him. 

"  Good-day  I  "  said  Mr.  Traveler.  t 

"  Same  to  you,  if  you  like  it,"  returned  the  tinker. 

"  Don't  you  like  it?     It's  a  very  fine  day." 

"  I  ain't  partickler  in  weather,"  returned  the  tinker,  with 

a  Mr /Traveler  had  walked  up  to  where  ab  lay,  and  was 
looking  down  at  him.  "  This  is  a  curious  place,  said  Mr. 
Traveler. 


454 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 


"  Ay,  I  suppose  so  !  "  returned  the  tinker.  "  Tom  Tid- 
dler's Ground,  they  call  this." 

"  Are  you  well  acquainted  with  it?  " 

"  Never  saw  it  afore  to-day,"  said  the  tinker,  with  an- 
other yawn,  "  and  don't  care  if  I  never  see  it  again.  There 
was  a  man  here  just  now,  told  me  what  it  was  called.  If  you 
want  to  see  Tom  himself,  you  must  go  in  at  the  gate."  He 
faintly  indicated  with  his  chin  a  little  mean  ruin  of  a  wooden 
gate  at  the  side  of  the  house. 

"  Have  you  seen  Tom  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  ain't  partickler  to  see  him.  I  can  see  a  dirty 
man  anywhere." 

"  He  does  not  live  in  the  house,  then  ?  "  said  Mr.  Traveler, 
casting  his  eyes  upon  the  house  anew. 

"  The  man  said,"  returned  the  tinker,  rather  irritably, — 
"  him  as  was  here  just  now — '  this  what  you're  a-lying  on, 
mate,  is  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground.  And  if  you  want  to  see 
Tom,'  he  says,  '  you  must  go  in  at  that  gate.'  The  man  come 
out  at  that  gate  himself,  and  he  ought  to  know." 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 

"  Though,  perhaps,"  exclaimed  the  tinker,  so  struck  by 
the  brightness  of  his  own  idea,  that  it  had  the  electric  effect 
upon  him  of  causing  him  to  lift  up  his  head  an  inch  or  so, 
"  perhaps  he  was  a  liar  !  He  told  some  rum  'uns — him  as  was 
here  just  now,  did  about  this  place  of  Tom's.  He  says — him 
as  was  here  just  now — 'When  Tom  shut  up  the  house,  mate, 
to  go  to  rack,  the  beds  was  left,  all  made,  like  as  if  somebody 
was  a-going  to  sleep  in  every  bed.  And  if  you  was  to  walk 
through  the  bedrooms  now,  you'd  see  the  ragged  moldy  bed- 
clothes a-heaving  and  a-heaving  like  seas.  And  a-heaving 
and  a-heaving  with  what  ? '  he  says.  '  Why,  with  the  rats 
under  'em.'  " 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  that  man,"  Mr.  Traveler  remarked. 

"  You'd  have  been  welcome  to  see  him  instead  of  me 
seeing  him,"  growled  the  tinker  ;  "  for  he  was  a  long-winded 
o^  e." 

Not  without  a  sense  of  injury  in  the  remembrance,  the 
tinker  gloomily  closed  his  eyes.  Mr.  Traveler,  deeming 
the  tinker  a  short-winded  one,  from  whom  no  further 
breath  of  information  was  to  be  derived,  betook  himself  to 
the  gate. 

Swung  upon  its  rusty  hinges,  it  admitted  him  into  a  yard 
in  which  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  an  out-house 
attached  to  the  ruined  building,  with  a  barred  window  in 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  455 

it.  As  there  were  traces  of  many  recent  footsteps  under 
this  window,  and  as  it  was  a  low  window,  and  unglazed, 
Mr.  Traveler  made  bold  to  peep  within  the  bars.  And 
there  to  be  sure  he  had  a  real  live  hermit  before  him,  and 
could  judge  how  the  real  dead  hermits  used  to  look. 

He  was  lying  on  a  bank  of  soot  and  cinders,  on  the  floor, 
in  front  of  a  rusty  fireplace.  There  was  nothing  else  in  the 
dark  little  kitchen,  or  scullery,  or  whatever  his  den  had 
been  originally  used  as,  but  a  table  with  a  litter  of  old  bot- 
tles on  it.  A  rat  made  a  clatter  among  these  bottles,  jumped 
down,  and  ran  over  the  real  live  hermit  on  his  way  to  his 
hole,  or  the  man  in  his  hole  would  not  have  been  so  easily 
discernible.  Tickled  in  the  face  by  the  rat's  tail,  the  owner 
of  Tom  Tiddler's  Ground  opened  his  eyes,  saw  Mr.  Traveler, 
started  up,  and  sprang  to  the  window. 

"  Humph  !  "  thought  Mr.  Traveler,  retiring  a  pace  or  two 
from  the  bars.  "  A  compound  of  Newgate,  Bedlam,  a  debt- 
ors' prison  in  the  worst  time,  a  chimney-sweep,  a  mudlark, 
and  the  Noble  Savage  !  A  nice  old  family,  the  hermit 
family.     Hah  !  " 

Mr.  Traveler  thought  this,  as  he  silently  confronted  the 
sooty  object  in  the  blanket  and  skewer  (in  sober  truth  he 
wore  nothing  else),  with  the  matted  hair  and  the  staring 
eyes.  Further,  Mr.  Traveler  thought,  as  the  eyes  surveyed 
him  with  a  very  obvious  curiosity  in  ascertaining  the  effect 
they  produced  "  Vanity,  vanity,  vanity  !  Verily,  all  is 
vanity  !  " 

a  What  is  your  name,  sir,  and  where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Mopes  the  hermit — with  an  air  of  authority,  but 
in  the  ordinary  human  speech  of  one  who  has  been  to  school. 

Mr.  Traveler  answered  the  inquiries. 

"  Did  you  come  here,  sir,  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  did.  I  heard  of  you,  and  I  came  to  see  you. — I  know 
you  like  to  be  seen."  Mr.  Traveler  coolly  threw  the  last 
words  in,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  forestall  an  affectation  of 
resentment  or  objection  that  he  saw  rising  beneath  the  grease 
and  grime  of  the  face.     They  had  their  effect. 

"  So,"  said  the  hermit,  after  a  momentary  silence,  un- 
clasping the  bars  by  which  he  had  previously  held,  and  seat- 
ing himself  behind  them  on  the  ledge  of  the  window,  with 
his  bare  legs  and  feet  crouched  up,  "  you  know  I  like  to  be 
seen  ?  " 

Mr.  Traveler  looked  about  him  for  something  to  sit  on, 
and,  observing  a  billet  of  wood  in  a  corner,  brought  it  near 


4$6  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

the  window.     Deliberately  seating  himself  upon  it,  he  an* 
swered,  "  Just  so." 

Each  looked  at  the  other,  and  each  appeared  to  take  some 
pains  to  get  the  measure  of  the  other. 

"Then  you  have  come  to  ask  me  why  I  lead  this  life," 
said  the  hermit,  frowning  in  a  stormy  manner.  "  I  never 
tell  that  to  any  human  being.     I  will  not  be  asked  that." 

"Certainly  you  will  not  be  asked  that  by  me,"  said  Mr. 
Traveler,  "for  I  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  know." 

"  You  are  an  uncouth  man,"  said  Mr.  Mopes   the  hermit. 

"You  are  another,"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 

The  hermit,  who  was  plainly  in  the  habit  of  overawing 
his  visitors  with  the  novelty  of  his  filth  and  his  blanket  and 
skewer,  glared  at  his  present  visitor  in  some  discomfiture 
and  surprise,  as  if  he  had  taken  aim  at  him  with  a  sure  gun, 
and  his  piece  had  missed  fire. 

"  Why  do  you  come  here  at  all  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  said  Mr.  Traveler,  "  I  was  made  to  ask 
myself  that  very  question  only  a  few  minutes  ago — by  a 
tinker  too." 

As  he  glanced  toward  the  gate  in  saying  it,  the  hermit 
glanced  in  that  direction  likewise. 

"  Yes.  He  is  lying  on  his  back  in  the  sunlight  outside," 
said  Mr.  Traveler,  as  if  he  had  been  asked  concerning  the 
man,  "  he  won't  come  in  ;  for  he  says — and  really  very 
reasonably — '  What  should  I  come  in  for  !  I  can  see  a  dirty 
man  anywhere  !  '  " 

"  You  are  an  insolent  person.  Go  away  from  my  premises 
Go  !  "  said  the  hermit,  in  an  imperious  and  angry  tone. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  returned  Mr.Traveler,  quite  undisturbed. 
"  This  is  a  little  too  much.  You  are  not  going  to  call  your- 
self clean  ?  Look  at  your  legs.  And  as  to  these  being  your 
premises,  they  are  in  far  too  disgraceful  a  condition  to  claim 
any  privilege  of  ownership,  or  any  thing  else." 

The  hermit  bounced  down  from  his  window-ledge,  and 
cast  himself  on  his  bed  of  soot  and  cinders. 

"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Mr.  Traveler,  glancing  in  after 
him.  "  You  won't  get  rid  of  me  in  that  way.  You  had  bet- 
ter come  and  talk." 

"  I  won't  talk,"  said  the  hermit,  flouncing  round  to  get  his 
back  to  the  window. 

"Then  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Traveler.  "Why  should  you 
take  it  ill  that  I  have  no  curiosity  to  know  why  you  live 
this  highly  absurd  and  highly   indecent  life  ?     When  I  con- 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  457 

template  a  man  in  a  state  of  disease,  surely  there  is  no 
moral    obligation  on  me   to  be   anxious   to   know  how  he 

'°  After  a  short  silence,  the  hermit  bounced  up  again,  and 
came  back  to  the  barred  window.  '      m 

"  What  ?  You  are  not  gone  ? "  he  said,  affecting  to  have 
supposed  that  he  was.  . 

"Nor  going,"  Mr.  Traveler  replied  :  "  I  design  to  pass 
this  summer  day  here."  . 

"  How  dare  you  come,  sir,  upon  my  premises—  the  her- 
mit was  returning,  when  his  visitor  interrupted  him. 

"  Really,  you  know,  you  must  not  talk  about  your  premises, 
I  can  not  allow  such  a  place  as  this  to  be  dignified  with  the 
name  of  premises."  m  .     , 

"How  dare  you,"  said  the  hermit,  snaking  his  bars 
"  come  in  at  my  gate,  to  taunt  me  with  being  m  a  diseased 

state  ? " 

"  Whv  Lord  bless  my  soul,"  returned  the  other,  very  com- 
nosedly    "you  have  not  the  face  to  say  that  you  are  m  a 
wholesome  state  ?     Do  allow  me  again  to  call  your  attention 
to  your  legs.     Scrape  yourself  anywhere-with  any  thmg- 
and  then   tell  me  that  you  are  in  a  wholesome  state.  ^  lne 
fact  is   Mr.  Mopes,  that  you  are  not  only  a  nuisance— 
"  A  nuisance  ?  "  repeated  the  hermit,  fiercely. 
«  What  is  a  place  in  this  obscene  state  of  dilapidation  but 
*  nuisance  ?     What  is  a  man  in  your  obscene  state  of  dilapi- 
dation but  a  nuisance  ?     Then,  as  you  very  well  know,  you 
can  not  do  without   an   audience,   and   your  audience  is  a 
nuisance.     You  attract  all  the  disreputable  vagabonds  and 
prowlers  within   ten  miles  round,  by  exhibiting  yourself  to 
them  in  that  objectionable  blanket   and  by  throwing  copper 
money  among  them,  and  giving  them   drink  out  of  those 
very  dirty  jar!  and  bottles  that  I  see  in  there  (their  stomachs 
need  be  strong!);  and  in  short,"  said  Mr.   Traveler  sum- 
ming up  in  a  quietly  and  comfortably  settled  manner,      you 
ale  a  nuisance,  and  this  kennel  is  a  nuisance   and  the  audi- 
ence that  you  can  not  possibly  dispense  with  is  a  nuisance 
and  the  nuisance  is  not  merely  a  local  nuisance  because  it 
is  a  general  nuisance  to  know  that  there  can  be  such  a  nuisance 
left  in  civilization  so  very  long  after  its  time. 

?  Will  you  go  away  ?     I  have  a  gun  in  here,    said  the 
hermit. 
"  Pooh  !  " 
"I  have!** 


458  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

*  Now,  I  put  it  to  you.  Did  I  say  you  had  not  ?  And  as 
to  going  away,  didn't  I  say  I  am  not  going  away  ?  You  have 
made  me  forget  where  I  was.  I  now  remember  that  I  was 
remarking  on  your  conduct  being  a  nuisance.  Moreover, 
it  is  in  the  last  and  lowest  degree  inconsequent  foolishness 
and  weakness." 

"  Weakness  ? "  echoed  the  hermit. 

"  Weakness,"  said  Mr.  Traveler,  with  his  former  comfort- 
ably settled  final  air. 

"  I  weak,  you  fool  ? "  cried  the  hermit — "  I,  who  have 
held  to  my  purpose,  and  my  diet,  and  my  only  bed  there,  all 
these  years  ?" 

"  The  more  the  years,  the  weaker  you,"  returned  Mr. 
Traveler.  "  Though  the  years  are  not  so  many  as  folks 
say,  and  as  you  willingly  take  credit  for.  The  crust  upon 
your  face  is  thick  and  dark,  Mr.  Mopes,  but  I  can  see 
enough  of  you  through  it,  to  see  that  you  are  still  a  young 
man." 

"  Inconsequent  foolishness  is  lunacy,  I  suppose  ?  said  the 
Hermit. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  very  like  it,"  answered  Mr.  Traveler. 

"  Do  I  converse  like  a  lunatic  ?  " 

"  One  of  us  two  must  have  a  strong  presumption  against 
him  of  being  one,  whether  or  no.  Either  the  clean  and 
decorously  clad  man,  or  the  dirty  and  indecorously  clad 
man.     I  don't  say  which." 

"  Why,  you  self-sufficient  bear,"  said  the  hermit,  "  not  a 
day  passes  but  I  am  justified  in  my  purpose  by  the  conversa- 
tions I  hold  here  ;  not  a  day  passes  but  I  am  shown,  by 
every  thing  I  hear  and  see  here,  how  right  and  strong  I  am 
in  holding  my  purpose." 

Mr.  Traveler,  lounging  easily  on  his  billet  of  wood,  took 
out  a  pocket  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it.  "  Now,  that  a  man," 
he  said,  appealing  to  the  summer  sky  as  he  did  so,  "  that  a 
man — even  behind  bars,  in  a  blanket  and  skewer — should  tell 
me  that  he  can  see,  from  day  to  day,  any  orders  or  conditions 
of  men,  women,  or  children,  who  can  by  any  possibility  teach 
him  that  it  is  any  thing  but  the  miserablest  driveling  for  a 
human  creature  to  quarrel  with  his  social  nature — not  to  go 
so  far  as  to  say,  to  renounce  his  common  human  decency, 
for  that  is  an  extreme  case  ;  or  who  can  teach  him  that  he 
can  in  any  wise  separate  himself  from  his  kind  and  the 
habits  of  his  kind,  without  becoming  a  deteriorated  spectacle 
calculated  to  give  the  devil  (and  perhaps   the  monkeys) 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  459 

pleasure, — is  something  wonderful !  I  repeat,"  said  Mr. 
Traveler,  beginning  to  smoke,  "  the  unreasoning  hardihood 
of  it  is  something  wonderful — even  in  a  man  with  the  dirt 
upon  him  an  inch  or  two  thick — behind  bars — in  a  blanket 
and  skewer  !  " 

The  hermit  looked  at  him  irresolutely,  and  retired  to  his 
soot  and  cinders  and  lay  down,  and  got  up  again  and  came 
to  thenars,  and  again  looked  at  him  irresolutely,  and  finally 
said  with  sharpness  :  "I  don't  like  tobacco." 

"  I  don't  like  dirt,"  rejoined  Mr.  Traveler ;  "  tobacco  is 
an  excellent  disinfectant.  We  shall  both  be  the  better  for 
my  pipe.  It  is  my  intention  to  sit  here  through  this  sum- 
mer day,  until  that  blessed  summer  sun  sinks  low  in  the 
west,  and  to  show  you  what  a  poor  creature  you  are,  through 
the  lips  of  every  chance  wayfarer  who  may  come  in  at  your 
gate." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  hermit,  with  a  furi- 
ous air. 

"  I  mean  that  yonder  is  your  gate,  and  there  are  you,  and 
here  am  I.  I  mean  that  I  know  it  to  be  a  moral  impossi- 
bility that  any  person  can  stray  in  at  that  gate  from  any 
point  of  the  compass,  with  any  sort  of  experience,  gained  at 
first  hand,  or  derived  from  another,  that  can  confute  me  and 
justify  you." 

"You  are  an  arrogant  and  boastful  hero,"  said  the  hermit. 
"You  think  yourself  profoundly  wise." 

"  Bah  !  "  returned  Mr.  Traveler,  quietly  smoking.  "  There 
is  little  wisdom  in  knowing  that  every  man  must  be  up  and 
doing,  and  that  all  mankind  are  made  dependent  on  one 
another." 

"  You  have  companions  outside,"  said  the  hermit.  "  I  am 
not  to  be  imposed  upon  by  your  assumed  confidence  in  the 
people  who  may  enter." 

"A  depraved  distrust,"  returned  the  visitor,  compassion- 
ately raising  his  eyebrows,  "  of  course  belongs  to  your  state. 
I  can't  help  that." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  no  confederates  ? " 

"  I  mean  to  tell  you  nothing  but  what  I  have  told  you. 
What  I  have  told  you  is,  that  it  is  a  moral  impossibility  that 
any  son  or  daughter  of  Adam  can  stand  on  this  ground  that 
I  put  my  foot  on,  or  any  ground  that  mortal  treads,  and 
gainsay  the  healthy  tenure  on  which  we  hold  our  existence." 

"Which  is,"  sneered  the  hermit,  "according  to  you — " 

"Which  is,"  returned  the  other,  "according  to  eternal 


460  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

providence,  that  we  must  arise  and  wash  our  faces  and  do 
our  gregarious  work,  and  act  and  react  on  one  another, 
leaving  only  the  idiot  and  the  palsied  to  sit  blinking  in  the 
corner.  Come  !  "  apostrophizing  the  gate,  "  Open  Sesame  ! 
Show  his  eyes  and  grieve  his  heart !  I  don't  care  who  comes, 
for  I  know  what  must  come  of  it !  " 

With  that  he  faced  round  a  little  on  his  billet  of  wood 
toward  the  gate  ;  and  Mr.  Mopes,  the  hermit,  after  two  or 
three  ridiculous  bounces  of  indecision  at  his  bed  and  back 
again,  submitted  to  what  he  could  not  help  himself  against, 
and  coiled  himself  on  his  window-ledge,  holding  to  his  bars 
and  looking  out  rather  anxiously. 


VI. 

PICKING   UP   MISS   KIMMEENS. 

The  day  was  by  this  time  waning,  when  the  gate  again 
opened,  and,  with  the  brilliant  golden  light  that  streamed 
from  the  declining  sun  and  touched  the  very  bars  of  the 
sooty  creature's  den,  there  passed  in  a  little  child  ;  a  little 
girl  with  beautiful  bright  hair.  She  wore  a  plain  straw  hat, 
had  a  door-key  in  her  hand,  and  tripped  toward  Mr.  Trav- 
eler as  if  she  were  pleased  to  see  him,  and  were  going  to 
repose  some  childish  confidence  in  him,  when  she  caught 
sight  of  the  figure  behind  the  bars,  and  started  back  in 
terror. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  darling  !  "  said  Mr.  Traveler,  taking 
her  by  the  hand. 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  like  it !  "  urged  the  shrinking  child  ;  "  it's 
dreadful." 

"  Well !     I  don't  like  it  either,"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 

"Who  has  put  it  there?"  asked  the  little  girl.  "  Does  it 
bite?" 

"  No — only  barks.  But  can't  you  make  up  your  mind  to 
see  it,  my  dear  ?  "     For  she  was  covering  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no  !  "  returned  the  child.  "  I  can  not  bear 
to  look  at  it !  " 

Mr.  Traveler  turned  his  head  toward  his  friend  in  there, 
as  much  as  to  ask  him  how  he  liked  that  instance  of  his 
success,  and  then  took  the  child  out  at  the  still  open  gate, 
and  stood  talking  to  her  for  some  half  an  hour  in  the  mel- 
low sunlight.      At  length  he  returned,  encouraging  her  as 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  461 

she  held  his  arm  with  both  her  hands  ;  and  laying  his  pro- 
tecting hand  upon  her  head  and  smoothing  her  pretty  hair, 
he  addressed  his  friend  behind  the  bars  as  follows  : 

Miss  Pupford's  establishment  for  six  young  ladies  of  tender 
years,  is  an  establishment  of  a  compact  nature,  an  establish- 
ment in  miniature,  quite  a  pocket  establishment.  Miss  Pup- 
ford,  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  with  the  Parisian  accent,  Miss 
Pupford's  cook,  and  Miss  Pupford's  housemaid,  complete 
what  Miss  Pupford  calls  the  educated  and  domestic  staff  of 
her  Liliputian  Jollege. 

Miss  Pupford  is  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  her  sex  ;  it 
necessar  y  follows  that  she  possesses  a  sweet  temper,  and 
would  own  to  the  possession  of  a  great  deal  of  sentiment 
if  :7  considered  it  quite  reconcilable  with  her  duty  to 
par  its.  Deeming  it  not  in  the  bond,  Miss  Pupford  keeps 
it  -  far  out  of  sight  as  she  can — which  (God  bless  her  !)  is 
not  very  far. 

Miss  Pupford's  assistant  with  the  Parisian  accent,  may 
be  regarded  as  in  some  sort  an  inspired  lady,  for  she  never 
converse  '  with  a  Parisian,  and  was  never  out  of  England — 
except  once  in  the  pleasure-boat  Lively,  in  the  foreign  waters 
that  ebb  and  flow  two  miles  off  Margate  at  high  water. 
Even  under  those  geographically  favorable  circumstances 
for  the  acquisition  of  the  French  language  in  its  utmost 
politeness  and  purity,  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  did  not  fully 
profit  by  the  opportunity  ;  for,  the  pleasure-boat  Lively, 
so  strongly  asserted  its  title  to  its  name  on  that  occasion, 
that  she  was  reduced  to  the  condition  of  lying  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  pickling  in  brine — as  if  she  were  being  salted 
down  for  the  use  of  the  navy — undergoing  at  the  same 
time  great  mental  alarm,  corporeal  distress,  and  clear-starch- 
ing derangement. 

When  Miss  Pupford  and  her  assistant  first  foregathered, 
is  not  known  to  men,  or  pupils.  But  it  was  long  ago.  A 
belief  would  have  established  itself  among  pupils  that  the 
two  once  went  to  school  together,  were  it  not  for  the  diffi- 
culty and  audacity  of  imagining  Miss  Pupford  born  without 
mittens,  and  without  a  front,  and  without  a  bit  of  gold  wire 
among  her  front  teeth,  and  without  little  dabs  of  powder  on 
her  neat  little  face  and  nose.  Indeed,  whenever  Miss  Pup- 
ford gives  a  little  lecture  on  the  mythology  of  the  misguided 
heathens  (always  carefully  excluding  Cupid  from  recogni- 
tion), and  tells  how  Minerva    sprang,  perfectly  equipped, 


462  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

from  the  brain  of  Jupiter,  she  is  half  supposed  to  hint,  "  So 
I  myself  came  into  the  world,  completely  up  in  Pinnock, 
Mangnall,  Tables,  and  the  use  of  the  Globes." 

Howbeit,  Miss  Pupford  and  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  are  . 
old,  old  friends.  And  it  is  thought  by  pupils  that,  after 
pupils  are  gone  to  bed,  they  even  call  one  another  by  their 
Christian  names  in  the  quiet  little  parlor.  For,  once  upon 
a  time  on  a  thunderous  afternoon,  when  Miss  Pupford  fainted 
away  without  notice,  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  (never  heard, 
before  or  since,  to  address  her  otherwise  than  as  Miss  Pup- 
ford) ran  to  her,  crying  out,  "  My  dearest  Euphemia  !  " 
And  Euphemia  is  Miss  Pupford's  Christian  name  on  the 
sampler  (date  picked  out)  hanging  up  in  the  college  hall, 
where  the  two  peacocks,  terrified  to  death  by  some  German 
te^t  that  is  waddling  down  hill  after  them  out  of  a  cottage, 
are  scuttling  away  to  hide  their  profiles  in  two  immense  bean- 
stalks growing  out  of  flower-pots. 

Also  there  is  a  notion  latent  among  pupils,  that  Miss  Pup- 
ford was  once  in  love,  and  that  the  beloved  object  still  moves 
upon  this  ball.  Also,  that  he  is  a  public  character,  and  a 
personage  of  vast  consequence.  Also,  that  Miss  Pupford's 
assistant  knows  all  about  it.  For  sometimes  of  an  afternoon 
when  Miss  Pupford  has  been  reading  the  paper  through  her 
little  gold  eye-glass  (it  is  necessary  to  read  it  on  the  spot,  as 
the  boy  calls  for  it,  with  ill-conditioned  punctuality,  in  an 
hour),  she  has  become  agitated,  and  has  said  to  her  assistant, 
"  G  !  "  Then  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  has  gone  to  Miss  Pup- 
ford, and  Miss  Pupford  has  pointed  out,  with  her  eye-glass,  G 
in  the  paper,  and  then  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  has  read  about 
G,  and  has  shown  sympathy.  So  stimulated  has  the  pupil- 
mind  been  in  its  time  to  curiosity  on  the  subject  of  G,  that 
once,  under  temporary  circumstances  favorable  to  the  bold 
sally,  one  fearless  pupil  did  actually  obtain  possession 
of  the  paper  and  range  all  over  it  in  search  of  G,  who  had 
been  discovered  therein  by  Miss  Pupford  not  ten  minutes 
before.  But  no  G  could  be  identified,  except  one  capital 
offender  who  had  been  executed  in  a  state  of  great  hardi- 
hood, and  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  Miss  Pupford  could 
ever  have  loved  him.  Besides,  he  couldn't  be  always  being 
executed.  Besides,  he  got  into  the  paper  again,  alive,  within 
a  month. 

On  the  whole,  it  is  suspected  by  the  pupil-mind  that  G  is 
a  short  chubby  old  gentleman,  with  little  black  sealing-wax 
boots  up  to  his  knees,  whom  a  sharply  observant  pupil,  Mfss 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  463 

Linx,  when  she  once  went  to  Tunbridge  Wells  with  Miss 
Pupford  for  the  holidays,  reported  on  her  return  (privately 
and  confidentially)  to  have  seen  come  capering  up  to  Miss 
Pupford  on  the  promenade,  and  to  have  detected,  in  the  act 
of  squeezing  Miss  Pupford's  hand,  and  to  have  heard  pro- 
nounce the  words,  "  Cruel  Euphemia,  ever  thine  !  "  or  some- 
thing like  that.  Miss  Linx  hazarded  a  guess  that  he  might 
be  House  of  Commons,  or  Money  Market,  or  Court  Circular, 
or  Fashionable  Movements  ;  which  would  account  for  his 
getting  into  the  paper  so  often.  But  it  was  fatally  objected 
by  the  pupil-mind,  that  none  of  those  notabilities  could  pos- 
sibly be  spelled  with  a  G. 

There  are  other  occasions  closely  watched  and  perfectly 
comprehended  by  the  pupil-mind,  when  Miss  Pupford  im- 
parts with  mystery  to  her  assistant  that  there  is  special  ex- 
citement in  the  morning  paper.  These  occasions  are,  when 
Miss  Pupford  finds  an  old  pupil  coming  out  under  the  head 
of  births,  or  marriages.  Affectionate  tears  are  invariably 
seen  in  Miss  Pupford's  meek  little  eyes  when  this  is  the  case  ; 
and  the  pupil-mind,perceiving  that  its  order  has  distinguished 
itself — though  the  fact  is  never  mentioned  by  Miss  Pupford 
—becomes  elevated,  and  feels  that  it  likewise  is  reserved  for 
greatness. 

Miss  Pupford's  assistant  with  the  Parisian  accent  has  a 
little  more  bone  than  Miss  Pupford,  but  is  of  the  same  trim, 
orderly,  diminutive  cast,  and,  from  long  contemplation,  ad- 
miration, and  imitation  of  Miss  Pupford,  has  grown  like  her. 
Being  entirely  devoted  to  Miss  Pupford,  and  having  a  pretty 
talent  for  pencil-drawing,  she  once  made  a  portrait  of  that 
lady  ;  which  was  so  instantly  identified  and  hailed  by  the 
pupils,  that  it  was  done  on  stone  at  five  shillings.  Surely 
the  softest  and  milkiest  stone  that  ever  was  quarried,  re- 
ceived that  likeness  of  Miss  Pupford  !  The  lines  of  her 
placid  little  nose  are  so  undecided  in  it  that  strangers  to  the 
work  of  art  are  observed  to  be  exceedingly  perplexed  as  to 
where  the  nose  goes  to,  and  involuntarily  feel  their  own 
noses  in  a  disconcerted  manner.  Miss  Pupford  being  rep- 
resented in  a  state  of  dejection  at  an  open  window,  rum- 
inating over  a  bowl  of  gold  fish,  the  pupil-mind  has  settled 
that  the  bowl  was  presented  by  G,  and  that  he  wreathed  the 
bowl  with  flowers  of  soul,  and  that  Miss  Pupford  is  depicted 
as  waiting  for  him  on  a  memorable  occasion  when  he  was 
behind  his  time. 

The  approach  of  the  last  midsummer  holidays  had  a  par- 


464  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND 

ticular  interest  for  the  pupil-mind,  by  reason  of  its  knowing 
that  Miss  Pupford  was  bidden,  on  the  second  day  of  those 
holidays,  to  the  nuptials  of  a  former  pupil.  As  it  was  impos- 
sible to  conceal  the  fact — so  extensive  were  the  dress-mak- 
ing preparations — Miss  Pupford  openly  announced  it.  But 
she  held  it  due  to  parents  to  make  the  announcement  with 
an  air  of  gentle  melancholy,  as  if  marriage  were  (as  indeed 
it  exceptionally  has  been)  rather  a  calamity.  With  an  air 
of  softened  recognition  and  pity,  therefore,  Miss  •Pupford 
went  on  with  her  preparations  ;  and  meanwhile  no  pupil  ever 
went  up  stairs,  or  came  down,  without  peeping  in  at  the  door 
of  Miss  Pupford's  bedroom  (when  Miss  Pupford  wasn't 
there),  and  bringing  back  some  surprising  intelligence  con- 
cerning the  bonnet. 

The  extensive  preparations  being  completed  on  the  day 
before  the  holidays,  an  unanimous  entreaty  was  preferred  to 
Miss  Pupford  by  the  pupil-mind — finding  expression  through 
Miss  Pupford's  assistant — that  she  would  deign  to  appear 
in  all  her  splendor.  Miss  Pupford  consenting,  presented  a 
lovely  spectacle.  And  although  the  oldest  pupil  was  barely 
thirteen,  every  one  of  the  six  became  in  two  minutes  perfect 
in  the  shape,  cut,  color,  price,  and  quality  of  every  article 
Miss  Pupford  wore. 

Thus  delightfully  ushered  in,  the  holidays  began.  Five 
of  the  six  pupils  kissed  little  Kitty  KimmcciiG  twenty  times 
over  (round  total,  one  hundred  times,  for  she  was  very  pop- 
ular), and  so  went  home.  Miss  Kitty  Kimmeens  remained 
behind,  for  her  relations  and  friendc  were  all  in  India,  far 
away.  A  self-helpful,  steady  little  child  is  Miss  Kitty  Kim- 
meens ;  a  dimpled  child  too,  and  a  loving. 

So  the  great  marriage  day  came,  and  Miss  Pupford,  quite 
as  much  fluttered  as  any  bride  could  be  (G  !  thought  Miss 
Kitty  Kimmeens),  went  away,  splendid  to  behold,  in  the  car- 
riage that  was  sent  for  her.  But  not  Miss  Pupford  only 
went  away  ;  for  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  went  away  with 
her,  on  a  dutiful  visit  to  an  aged  uncle — though  surely  the 
venerable  gentleman  couldn't  live  in  the  gallery  of  the 
church  where  the  marriage  was  to  be,  thought  Miss  Kitty 
Kimmeens — and  yet  Miss  Pupford's  assistant  had  let  out 
that  she  was  going  there.  Where  the  cook  was  going,  didn't 
appear,  but  she  generally  conveyed  to  Miss  Kimmeens  that 
she  was  bound,  rather  against  her  will,  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
perform  some  pious  office  that  rendered  new  ribbons  neces- 
sary to  her  best  bonnet,  and  also  sandals  to  her  shoes. 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  465 

11  So  you  see,"  said  the  housemaid,  when  they  were  all 
gone,  "there's  nobody  left  in  the  house,  but  you  and  me, 
Miss  Kimmeens." 

"  Nobody  else,"  said  Miss  Kitty  Kimmeens,  shaking  her 
curls  a  little  sadly.     "  Nobody  !  " 

"  And  you  wouldn't  like  your  Bella  to  go  too  ;  would 
you,  Miss  Kimmeens  ?"  said  the  housemaid.  (She  being 
Bella.) 

"  N — no,"  answered  little  Miss  Kimmeens. 

"  Your  poor  Bella  is  forced  to  stay  with  you,  whether  she 
likes  it  or  not ;  ain't  she,  Miss  Kimmeens  ?  " 

"  Doiit  you  like  it  ?  "  inquired  Kitty. 

"  Why,  you're  such  a  darling,  miss,  that  it  would  be  un- 
kind of  your  Bella  to  make  objections.  Yet  my  brother-in- 
law  has  been  took  unexpected  bad  by  this  morning's  post. 
And  your  poor  Bella  is  much  attached  to  him,  letting  alone 
her  favorite  sister,  Miss  Kimmeens." 

"  Is  he  very  ill  ?  "  asked  little  Kitty. 

"  Your  poor  Bella  has  her  fears  so,  Miss  Kimmeens,"  re- 
turned the  housemaid,  with  her  apron  at  her  eyes.  "  It  was 
but  his  inside,  it  is  true,  but  it  might  mount,  and  the  doctor 
said  that  if  it  mounted  he  wouldn't  answer."  Here  the 
housemaid  was  so  overcome  that  Kitty  administered  the  only 
comfort  she  had  ready  :  which  was  a  kiss. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  disappointing  cook,  dear  Miss 
Kimmeens,"  said  the  housemaid,  "  your  Bella  would  have 
asked  her  to  stay  with  you.  For  cook  is  sweet  company, 
Miss  Kimmeens  ;  much  more  so  than  your  own  poor  Bella." 

"  But  you  are  very  nice,  Bella." 

"  Your  Bella  could  wish  to  be  so,  Miss  Kimmeens,"  re- 
turned the  housemaid,  "  but  she  knows  full  well  that  it  do 
not  lay  in  her  power  this  day." 

With  which  despondent  conviction,  the  housemaid  drew 
a  heavy  sigh,  and  shook  her  head,  and  dropped  it  on  one 
side. 

"  If  it  had  been  anyways  right  to  disappoint  cook,"  she 
pursued,  in  a  contemplative  and  abstracted  manner,  "  it 
might  have  been  so  easily  done  !  I  could  have  got  to  my 
brother-in-law's  and  had  the  best  part  of  the  day  there,  and 
got  back,  long  before  our  ladies  come  home  at  night,  and 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  of  them  need  never  have 
known  it.  Not  that  Miss  Pupford  would  at  all  object,  but. 
that  it  might  put  her  out,  being  tender-hearted.  Hows'ever,, 
your  own  poor  Bella,  Miss  Kimmeens,"  said  the  housemaid,. 


466  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

rousing  herself,  "  is  forced  to  stay  with  you,  and  you're  a 
precious  love,  if  not  a  liberty." 

"  Bella,"  said  little  Kitty,  after  a  short  silence. 

11  Call  me  your  own  poor  Bella,  your  Bella,  dear,"  the 
housemaid  besought  her. 

"  My  Bella,  then  !  " 

"  Bless  your  considerate  heart !  "  said  the  housemaid. 

"If  you  would  not  mind  leaving  me,  I  should  not  mind 
being  left.  I  am  not  afraid  to  stay  in  the  house  alone.  And 
you  need  not  be  uneasy  on  my  account,  for  I  would  be  very 
careful  to  do  no  harm." 

"Oh  !  As  to  harm,  you  more  than  sweetest,  if  not  a  lib- 
erty," exclaimed  the  housemaid,  in  a  rapture,  "  your  Bella 
could  tr«st  you  anywhere,  being  so  steady,  and  so  answera- 
ble. The  oldest  head  in  this  house  (me  and  cook  says),  but 
for  its  bright  hair,  is  Miss  Kimmeens.  But  no,  I  will  not 
leave  you  ;  for  you  would  think  your  Bella  unkind." 

"  But  if  you  are  my  Bella,  you  must  go,"  returned  the  child. 

u  Must  I  ?"  said  the  housemajd,  rising,  on  the  whole,  with 
alacrity.  "  What  must  be,  must  be,  Miss  Kimmeens.  Your 
own  poor  Bella  acts  according,  though  unwilling.  But  go  or 
stay,   your  own  poor  Bella  loves  you,  Miss  Kimmeens." 

It  was  certainly  go,  and  not  stay,  for  within  five  minutes 
Miss  Kimmeens's  own  poor  Bella — so  much  improved  in 
point  of  spirits  as  to  have  grown  almost  sanguine  on  the 
subject  of  her  brother-in-law — went  her  way,  in  apparel  that 
seemed  to  have  been  expressly  prepared  for  some  festive  oc- 
casion. Such  are  the  changes  of  this  fleeting  world,  and  so 
short-sighted  are  we  poor  mortals  ! 

When  the  house  door  closed  with  a  bang  and  a  shake,  it 
seemed  to  Miss  Kimmeens  to  be  a  very  heavy  house  door, 
shutting  her  up  in  a  wilderness  of  a  house.  But  Miss  Kim- 
meens being,  as  before  stated,  of  a  self-reliant  and  methodi- 
cal character,  presently  began  to  parcel  out  the  long  summer- 
day  before  her. 

And  first  she  thought  she  would  go  all  over  the  house,  to 
make  quite  sure  that  nobody  with  a  great-coat  on  and  a 
carving-knife  in  it,  had  got  under  one  of  the  beds  or  into 
•ne  of  the  cupboards.  Not  that  she  had  ever  before  been 
troubled  by  the  image  of  any  body  armed  with  a  great-coat 
and  a  carving-knife,  but  that  it  seemed  to  have  been  shaken 
into  existence  by  the  shake  and  the  bang  of  the  great  street 
door,  reverberating  through  the  solitary  house.  So  little 
Miss  Kimmeens  looked  under  the  five  empty  beds  of  the  five 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  467 

departed  pupils,  and  looked  under  her  own  bed,  and  looV^d 
under  Miss  Pupford's  bed,  and  looked  under  Miss  Pupford's 
assistant's  bed.  And  when  she  had  done  this,  and  was  mak- 
ing the  tour  of  the  cupboards,  the  disagreeable  thought  came 
into  her  young  head,  What  a  very  alarming  thing  it  would 
be  to  find  somebody  with  a  mask  on,  like  Guy  Fawkes, 
hiding  bolt  upright  in  a  corner,  and  pretending  not  to  be 
alive  !  However,  Miss  Kimmeens  having  finished  her  in- 
spection without  making  any  such  uncomfortable  discovery, 
sat  down  in  her  tidy  little  manner  to  needle- work,  and  began 
stitching  away  at  a  great  rate. 

The  silence  all  about  her  soon  grew  very  oppressive,  and 
the  more  so  because  of  the  odd  inconsistency  that  the  more 
silent  it  was  the  more  noises  there  were.  The  noise  of  her 
own  needle  and  thread  as  she  stitched,  was  infinitely  louder 
in  her  ears  than  the  stitching  of  all  the  six  pupils,  and  of 
Miss  Pupford,  and  of  Miss  Pupford's  assistant,  all  stitching 
away  at  once  on  a  highly  emulative  afternoon.  Then,  the 
school-room  clock  conducted  itself  in  a  way  in  which  it  had 
never  conducted  itself  before — fell  lame,  somehow,  and  yet 
persisted  in  running  on  as  hard  and  as  loud  as  it  could  : 
the  consequence  of  which  behavior  was,  that  it  staggered 
among  the  minutes  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  confusion,  and 
knocked  them  about  in  all  directions  without  appearing  to  get 
on  with  its  regular  work.  Perhaps  this  alarmed  the  stairs  :  but 
be  that  as  it  might,  they  began  to  creak  in  a  most  unusual 
manner,  and  then  the  furniture  began  to  crack,  and  then  poor 
little  Miss  Kimmeens,  not  liking  the  furtive  aspect  of  things 
in  general,  began  to  sing  as  she  stitched.  But  it  was  not  her 
own  voice  that  she  heard — it  was  somebody  else  making  be- 
lieve to  be  Kitty,  and  singing  excessively  flat,  without  any 
heart — so,  as  that  would  never  mend  matters,  she  left  off 
again. 

By  and  by,  the  stitching  became  so  palpable  a  failure  that 
Miss  Kitty  Kimmeens  folded  her  work  neatly,  and  put  4it 
away  in  its  box,  and  gave  it  up.  Then  the  question  arose 
about  reading.  But  no  ;  the  book  that  was  so  delightful 
when  there  was  somebody  she  loved  for  her  eyes  to  fall  on 
when  they  rose  from  the  page,  had  not  more  heart  in  it  than 
her  own  singing  now.  The  book  went  to  its  shelf  as  the 
needle-work  had  gone  to  its  box,  and  since  something  must 
be  done — thought  the  child,  I'll  go  put  my  room  to  rights. 

She  shared  her  room  with  her  dearest  little  friend  among 
the  other  five  pupils,  and  why  then  should  she  now  conceive 


468  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

a  lurking  dread  of  the  little  friend's  bedstead  ?  But  she  did. 
There  was  a  stealthy  air  about  its  innocent  white  curtains, 
and  there  were  even  dark  hints  of  a  dead  girl  lying  under  the 
coverlet.  The  great  want  of  human  company,  the  great  need 
of  a  human  face,  began  now  to  express  itself  in  the  facility 
with  which  the  furniture  put  on  strange  exaggerated  resem- 
blances to  human  looks.  A  chair  with  a  menacing  frown 
was  horribly  out  of  temper  in  a  corner  :  a  most  vicious  chest 
of  drawers  snarled  at  her  from  beneath  the  windows.  It  was 
no  relief  to  escape  from  those  monsters  to  the  looking-glass, 
for  the  reflection  said,  M  What  ?  Is  that  you  all  alone  there  ? 
How  you  stare  ? "  And  the  background  was  all  a  great  void 
stare  as  well. 

The  day  dragged  on,  dragging  Kitty  with  it  very  slowly 
by  the  hair  of  her  head,  until  it  was  time  to  eat.  There 
were  good  provisions  in  the  pantry,  but  their  right  flavor  and 
relish  had  evaporated  with  the  five  pupils,  and  Miss  Pup- 
ford,  and  Miss  Pupford's  assistant,  and  the  cook  and  house- 
maid. Where  was  the  use  of  laying  the  cloth  symmetrically 
for  one  small  guest,  who  had  gone  on  ever  since  the  morn- 
ing growing  smaller  and  smaller,  while  the  empty  house  had 
gone  on  swelling  larger  and  larger  ?  The  very  grace  came 
out  wrong,  for  who  were  "  we  "  who  were  going  to  receive 
and  be  thankful  ?  So  Miss  Kimmeens  was  not  thankful, 
and  found  herself  taking  her  dinner  in  very  slovenly  style — 
gobbling  it  up,  in  short,  rather  after  the  manner  of  the  lower 
animals,  not  to  particularize  the  pigs. 

But  this  was  by  no  means  the  worst  of  the  change  wrought 
out  in  the  naturally  loving  and  cheery  little  creature  as  the 
solitary  day  wore  on.  She  began  to  brood  and  be  suspicious. 
She  discovered  that  she  was  full  of  wrongs  and  injuries. 
All  the  people  she  knew  got  tainted  by  her  lonely  thoughts 
and  turned  bad. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  papa,  a  widower  in  India,  to  send 
her  home  to  be  educated,  and  to  pay  a  handsome  round 
sum  every  year  for  her  to  Miss  Pupford,  and  to  write  charm- 
ing letters  to  his  darling  little  daughter ;  but  what  did  he 
care  for  her  being  left  by  herself,  when  he  was  (as  no  doubt 
he  always  was)  enjoying  himself  in  company  from  morning 
till  night  ?  Perhaps  he  only  sent  her  here,  after  all,  to  get 
her  out  of  the  way.  It  looked  like  it — looked  like  it  to-day, 
fchat  is,  for  she  had   never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  before. 

And  this  old  pupil  who  was  being  married.  It  was  insup- 
portably  conceited  and  selfish  in  the  old  pupil  to  be  married. 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  469 

She  was  very  vain,  and  very  glad  to  show  off  ;  and  it  was 
highly  probable  that  she  wasn't  pretty  ;  and  even  if  she 
were  pretty  (which  Miss  Kimmeens  now  totally  denied),  she 
had  no  business  to  be  married  ;  and  even  if  marriage  were 
conceded,  she  had  no  business  to  ask  Miss  Pupford  to  her 
wedding.  As  to  Miss  Pupford,  she  was  too  old  to  go  to 
any  wedding.  She  ought  to  know  that.  She  had  much 
better  attend  to  her  business.  She  had  thought  she  looked 
nice  in  the  morning,  but  she  didn't  look  nice.  She  was  a 
stupid  old  thing.  G  was  another  stupid  old  thing.  Miss 
Pupford's  assistant  was  another.  They  were  all  stupid  old 
things  together. 

More  than  that :  it  began  to  be  obvious  that  this  was  a 
plot.  They  had  said  to  one  another,  "  Never  mind  Kitty  ; 
you  get  off  ;  and  I'll  get  off  ;  and  we'll  leave  Kitty  to  look 
after  herself.  Who  cares  for  her  ?  "  To  be  sure  they  were 
right  in  that  question  ;  for  who  did  care  for  her,  a  poor  little 
lonely  thing  against  whom  they  all  planned  and  plotted  ? 
Nobody,  nobody  ?     Here  Kitty  sobbed. 

At  all  other  times  she  was  the  pet  of  the  whole  house, 
and  loved  her  five  companions  in  return  with  a  child's  ten- 
derest  and  most  ingenuous  attachment ;  but  now,  the  five 
companions  put  on  ugly  colors,  and  appeared  for  the  first 
time  under  a  sullen  cloud.  There  they  were,  at  all  their 
homes  that  day,  being  made  much  of,  being  taken  out,  being 
spoiled  and  made  disagreeable,  and  caring  nothing  for  her.  It 
was  like  their  artful  selfishness  always  to  tell  her  when  they 
came  back  under  pretense  of  confidence  and  friendship,  all 
those  details  about  where  they  had  been,  and  what  they  had 
done  and  seen,  and  how  often  they  had  said,  "  Oh  !  .  If  we 
had  only  darling  little  Kitty  here  !  "  Here  indeed  !  I  dare 
say  !  When  they  came  back  after  the  holidays,  they  were 
used  to  being  received  by  Kitty,  and  to  saying  that  coming 
to  Kitty  was  like  coming  to  another  home.  Very  well  then 
why  did  they  go  away  ?  If  they  meant  it,  why  did  they  go 
away  ?  Let  them  answer  that.  But  they  didn't  mean  it, 
and  couldn't  answer  that,  and  they  didn't  tell  the  truth,  and 
people  who  didn't  tell  the  truth  were  hateful.  When  they 
came  back  next  time,  they  should  be  received  in  a  new 
manner  ;  they  should  be  avoided  and  shunned. 

And  there,  the  while  she  sat  all  alone  revolving  how  ill 
she  was  used,  and  how  much  better  she  was  than  the  people 
who  were  not  alone,  the  wedding  breakfast  was  going  on  : 
no  question  of  it  !      With  a  nasty  bride-cake,  and  with  those 


47©  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

ridiculous  orange-flowers,  and  with  that  conceited  bride, 
and  that  hideous  bridegroom,  and  those  heartless  brides- 
maids, and  Miss  Pupford  stuck  up  at  the  table  !  They 
thought  they  were  enjoying  themselves  but  it  would  come 
home  to  them  one  day  to  have  thought  so.  They  would  all 
be  dead  in  a  few  years,  let  them  enjoy  themselves  ever  so 
much.     It  was  a  religious  comfort  to  know  that. 

It  was  such  a  comfort  to  know  it,  that  little  Miss  Kitty 
Kimmeens  suddenly  sprang  from  the  chair  in  which  she 
had  been  musing  in  a  corner,  and  cried  out,  "  Oh  those 
envious  thoughts  are  not  mine,  Oh  this  wicked  creature  isn't 
me  !  Help  me,  somebody  !  I  go  wrong  alone  by  my  weak 
self.     Help  me,  any  body  '  " 

"  — Miss  Kimmeens  is  net  a  professed  philosopher,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Traveler,  presenting  her  at  the  barred  window,  and 
smoothing  her  shining  hair,  "  but  I  apprehend  there  was 
some  tincture  of  philosophy  m  her  words,  and  in  the  prompt 
action  with  which  she  followed  them.  That  action  was,  to 
emerge  from  her  unnatural  solitude,  and  look  abroad  for 
wholesome  sympathy,  to  bestow  and  to  receive.  Her  foot- 
steps strayed  to  this  gate,  bringing  her  here  by  chance,  as  an 
opposite  contrast  to  you.  The  child  came  out,  sir.  If  you 
have  the  wisdom  to  learn  from  a  child  (but  I  doubt  it,  for 
that  requires  more  wisdom  than  one  in  your  condition  would 
seem  to  possess),  you  can  not  do  better  than  imitate  the 
child,  and  come  out  too — from  that  very  demoralizing  hutch 
of  yours." 


VII. 

PICKING    UP    THE   TINKER. 

It  was  now  sunset.  The  hermit  had  betaken  himself  to 
his  bed  of  cinders  half  an  hour  ago,  and  lying  on  it  in  his 
blanket  and  skewer  with  his  back  to  the  window,  took  not 
the  smallest  heed  of  the  appeal  addressed  to  him. 

All  that  had  been  said  for  the  last  two  hours,  had  been 
said  to  a  tinkling  accompaniment  performed  by  the  tinker 
who  had  got  to  work  on  some  villager's  pot  or  kettle,  and 
was  working  briskly  outside.  This  music  still  continuing, 
seemed  to  put  it  into  Mr.  Traveler's  mind  to  have  another 
word  or  two  with  the  tinker.     So,  holding  Miss  Kimmeens 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  471 

(with  whom  he  was  now  on  the  most  friendly  terms)  by  the 
hand,  he  went  out  at  the  gate  to  where  the  tinker  was  seated 
at  his  work  on  the  patch  of  grass  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road,  with  his  wallet  of  tools  open  before  him,  and  his 
little  fire  smoking. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  employed,"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 
"  I  am  glad  to  be  employed,"  returned  the  tinker,  looking 
up  as  he  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his  job.     "  But  why 
are  you  glad  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  lazy  fellow  when  I  saw  you  this 
morning." 

"  I  was  only  disgusted,"  said  the  tinker. 

"  Do  you  mean  with  the  fine  weather  ?  " 

"  With  the  fine   weather?"    repeated  the  tinker,  staring. 

"  You  told  me  you  were  not  particular  as  to  weather,  and 
I  thought — " 

"  Ha,  ha  !  How  should  such  as  me  get  on,  if  we  was 
partickler  as  to  weather  ?  We  must  take  it  as  it  comes,  and 
make  the  best  of  it.  There's  something  good  in  all  weathers. 
If  it  don't  happen  to  be  good  for  my  work  to-day,  it's  good 
for  some  other  man's  to-day,  and  will  come  round  to  me 
to-morrow.     We  must  all  live." 

"  Pray  shake  hands,"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 

"  Take  care,  sir,"  was  the  tinker's  caution,  as  he  reached 
up  his  hand  in  surprise  ;  "the  black  comes  off." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Traveler.  "  I  have  been  for 
several  hours  among  other  black  that  does  not  come  off." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Tom  in  there  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  tinker,  blowing  the  dust  off  his 
job,  which  was  finished.  "  Ain't  it  enough  to  disgust  a 
pig,  if  he  could  give  his  mind  to  it  ?  " 

"  If  he  could  give  his  mind  to  it,"  returned  the  other, 
smiling,  "  the  probability  is  that  he  wouldn't  be  a  pig." 

"  There  you  clench  the  nail,"  returned  the  tinker. 
"  Then  what's  to  be  said  for  Tom  ?  " 

"  Truly  very  little." 

"  Truly  nothing  you  mean,  sir,"  said  the  tinker,  as  he  put 
away  his  tools. 

"  A  better  answer,  and  (I  freely  acknowledge)  mymean- 
ing.     I  infer  that  he  was  the  cause  of  your  disgust  ?  " 

"Why,  look'ee  here,  sir,"  said  the  tinker,  rising  to  his 
feet,  and  wiping  his  face  on  the  corner  of  his  black  apron 
energetically  ;    "  I  leave   you  to  judge  !— I  ask  you  !— Last 


472  TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND. 

night  I  has  a  job  that  needs  to  be  done  in  the  night,  and  1 
works  all  night.  Well,  there's  nothing  in  that.  But  this 
morning  I  comes  along  this  road  here,  looking  for  a  sunny 
and  soft  spot  to  sleep  in,  and  I  sees  this  desolation  and 
ruination.  I've  lived  myself  in  desolation  and  ruination  ; 
I  knows  many  a  fellow-creetur  that's  forced  to  live  life-long 
in  desolation  and  ruination  ;  and  I  sits  me  down  and  takes 
pity  on  it,  as  I  casts  my  eyes  about.  Then  comes  up  the 
long-winded  one  as  I  told  you  of  from  that  gate,  and  spins 
himself  out  like  a  silkworm  concerning  the  donkey  (if  my 
donkey  at  home  will  excuse  me)  as  has  made  it  all — made 
it  of  his  own  choice  !  And  tells  me,  if  you  please,  of  his 
likewise  choosing  to  go  ragged  and  naked  and  grimy — 
maskerading,  mountebanking,  in  what  is  the  real  hard  lot  of 
thousands  and  thousands  !  Why,  then  I  say  it's  a  unbearable 
and  nonsensical  piece  of  inconsistency,  and  I'm  disgusted. 
I'm  ashamed  and  disgusted  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  and  look  at  him,"  said  Mr. 
Traveler,  tapping  the  tinker  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Not  I,  sir,"  he  rejoined,  "/ain't  a-going  to  natter  him 
up,  by  looking  at  him  !  " 

"  But  he  is  asleep." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  asleep  ?  "  asked  the  tinker,  with  an 
unwilling  air,  as  he  shouldered  his  wallet. 

"  Sure." 

"  Then  I'll  look  at  him  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,"  said 
the  tinker,  "since  you  so  much  wish  it  ;  but  not  a  moment 
longer." 

Then  all  three  went  back  across  the  road  ;  and,  through 
the  barred  window,  by  the  dying  glow  of  the  sunset  coming 
in  at  the  gate — which  the  child  held  open  for  its  admission 
— he  could  be  pretty  clearly  discerned  lying  on  his  bed. 

"You  see  him  ?"  said  Mr.  Traveler. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  tinker,  "and  he's  worse  than  I 
thought  him." 

Mr.  Traveler  then  whispered  in  a  few  words  what  he  had 
done  since  morning  ;  and  asked  the  tinker  what  he  thought 
of  that  ? 

"  I  think,"  returned  the  tinker,  as  he  turned  from  the 
window,  "  that  you've  wasted  a  day  on  him." 

"  I  think  so,  too  ;  though  not,  I  hope,  upon  myself.  Do 
you  happen  to  be  going  anywhere  near  the  Peal  of  Bells  ? " 

"That's  my  direct  way,  sir,"  said  the  tinker. 

"  I  invite  you  to  supper  there.     And  as  I  learn  from  this 


TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND.  473 

young  lady  that  she  goes  some  three-quarters  of  a  mile  in 
the  same  direction,  we  will  drop  her  on  the  road,  and  we 
will  spare  time  to  keep  her  company  at  her  garden  gate  until 
her  own  Bella  come  home." 

So  Mr.  Traveler,  and  the  child,  and  the  tinker,  went 
along  very  amicably  in  the  sweet-scented  evening  ;  and  the 
moral  with  which  the  Tinker  dismissed  the  subject  was,  that 
he  said  in  his  trade  that  metal  that  rotted  for  want  of  use, 
had  better  be  left  to  rot,  and  couldn't  rot  too  soon,  consid- 
ering how  much  true  metal  rotted  from  over-use  and  hard 
service. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


rcUg'BMS 


REC'D  I  D 


JAN    4'65-6Pft 


FEB  2   '65  A 


REG  D  LD 


JAN  2  5  '65  -12  M 


LD  2lA-60m-4,'64 
(E4555sl0)476B 


General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


M194477 

■I 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


